The last time I tried Special K* I shat myself at a festival and had to clean myself up using copious amounts of baby-wipes. I then had to disguise the lingering, putrid smell with Lynx Africa for the next two days. Somewhat reluctantly, I thought I would try again.
Oh, dear. I’m not sure if that’s the right way of phrasing it. No one is forcing me to try Special K. I purchased them from the shop. No one forced me to purchase them from the shop. There was a whole variety of other cereals I could have purchased. I don’t think I can really say that I’m about to try Special K reluctantly when I’ve chosen to purchase them and I’m choosing to eat them. I’m using my time to actually eat a bowl of Kellogg’s Special K and then write a review about it. That’s how I’ve chosen to use my time. There is an entire essay to be written about how I spend my time, but now is not the time.
I digress (and later I will digest).
It’s important when trying cereal that you don’t just eat the cereal on its own. That’s not how you’re meant to eat cereal; you’re not a student anymore. Even if you are a student, you should be better than that. For god’s sake, it’s disgusting. Just the image of eating dry cereal from the box makes me angry, so don’t do it. It’s antithetical. I just wanted an excuse to use antithetical twice, and now I’ve done it.
I’m trying it with milk; semi-skimmed milk. Some people use skimmed milk in their cereal, but those people are philistines. And you can’t use full-fat milk (or the euphemistic whole milk) with Special K because that’s antithetical. Okay, three times is getting excessive.
So I’ve tried it now and what did I think? It tastes of palatable paper, but good quality paper — perhaps paper of about 130gsm (that’s grams per square metre for any unknowledgeable dickwads reading this) with a matte finish. And crunchy. Crunchy paper. Its blandness is its virtue. There is nothing overwhelming or underwhelming about it.
If you litmus tested it, it would almost certainly come to pH7 and be green. That wouldn’t stop you spilling it on your leg and then claiming it was the equivalent to a jellyfish sting, but we all know why you’d be saying that and I’m not falling for that again, you filthy fucking pervert.
Incidentally, I did spill some on my leg and I can confirm no ill-effects. I wiped it away with the sleeve of an Adidas hooded zip-up cardigan style jacket. I didn’t even wash my leg until the next day. Still no ill-effects. This is a bonus. It’s important that we can freely spill food on our skin with no ill-effects. This is something that I look for in food. I don’t want to spill food on my thigh and wake up with only one leg. That would be terrible. I still harbour the crude idea that some sort of scout might watch me playing 5 a side and see something special in my football ability that no one else did.
By the way, I’m not talking about boy scouts. I don’t ask boy scouts to watch me play 5 a side football. I’m 32 years old and that would be highly inappropriate. People would talk. They would say, “Do you know he keeps bringing boy scouts to watch him play football?” I might not get invited to play football anymore. I imagine I would get an email first, saying something polite, like, “Look, the lads have been talking about it and they feel really uncomfortable with you bringing boy scouts to watch you play football and we’d much prefer it if you didn’t bring them. We hope you understand.” Imagine if I just carried on bringing boy scouts to watch me play anyway, despite the email. Eventually, I wouldn’t even be invited anymore. And I wouldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t blame them one bit.
If you’re going to bring boy scouts to watch you play football as a 32 year-old man with no prior involvement with scouts or scout leadership, then the moral of the story is that you’re probably going to be asked politely not to bring them and eventually asked not to play at all or simply not invited to play.
*In the interests of fairness, I’ve never actually tried ketamine (that I can recall). This revelation won’t offend the sort of pretentious people who love telling others that they write ‘creative non-fiction’. Others will be less than impressed with this silly lie. Johan Hari informs me that he is somewhat sympathetic.