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In 1984, famed childhood icon Strawberry Shortcake hit new a new high with the hottest breakfast since eggs, the incredible 'Strawberry Shortcake Cereal.' An amazing effort from an amazing woman, the stuff was the only cereal marketed specifically to little girls. The women's movement had a new ally, and this new ally smelled like fruity candy. Today, we learn how it all happened. Today, we explore and expose the secret mystery origin of Strawberry Shortcake Cereal.
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One of Strawberry's friends, I forget whom, wanders up on a warm spring day to spread joy and cheer. Or was it autumn? I'm really not sure, but if this picture is any indication, we could ask the sun. It wouldn't be the first time I asked the sun something. Actually, between you and me, the sun's been kinda like the Dean Stockwell to my Scott Bakula for a long time now. If I'm walking down the road and totally forget my way, I'll just ask the sun how to get where I need to be. Sometimes he answers, sometimes he doesn't. It's pot luck. Why pot luck? I can't say, but I've heard rumors that it ties in to that whole leprechaun/rainbow/pot of gold thing. The sun works in mysterious ways, and chooses it's own path. While I can't seem to get it to tell me who Strawberry's new friend is, it did upchuck a verbal opus that provides us the secret of life. "Eastmost peninsula is the secret."
Let's just assume that the other girl's name is Cherry Shoes. Now we have our cast - Strawberry Shortcake, Cherry Shoes, and Lemon Rabbit. And the sun. There's probably a few microscopic bugs scattered around, but they're really not important enough to the plot to mention any further. Just remember that they're there, always there, and always plaguing. They swarm around and prick your flesh with jaws too tiny to see, but jaws nonetheless. Gnawing, biting, infiltrating, degrading. Shortcake and her buddies don't seem overly concerned, which is a just stance, for they cannot defeat these microscopic terrors. Neither can you. Or me. Or anyone else. Not even the sun. We'd be wise to follow the lead of our sweet-smelling heroines: scratch if you must, but ignore if you can.
Lemon Rabbit, not well-versed in proper etiquette, makes just a passing greeting to Shortcake before raiding her daily morning picnic. Strawberry tries to brush the whole exercise in bad manners off, forgiving Lemon because 'he's just a rabbit.' I find this unacceptable. It's been proven that rabbits can learn, and I find it hard to believe that this is Lemon's first trip to a Strawberry Shortcake picnic. Look at his ears - so robust and healthy. Those aren't the ears of a rabbit who's had a serious lack of Shortcake's famed strawberry pancakes. Those are the ears of a rabbit who should know the drill by now. Lemon is going to be fed no matter what, so why does he feel the need to act so rude and uncouth? Is it a cry for attention? A mental block stemming from a childhood trauma involving picnics and girls who smell like Chapstick?
Someday, I'll teach that rabbit a lesson. That day will probably come a lot sooner than Lemon thinks, too. Go ahead, Lemon. Feel your oats. Eat Strawberry's oats. Create oat-art using oats and glue, and pink crayons too! But remember, there will come a day. Yes, there will come a day when the mannered world gets their comeuppance. Oh, Lemon, don't look at me like that. This has nothing to do with malice. I don't seek revenge, only to avenge. You'll understand. Someday.
Lemon, you're lucky Strawberry Shortcake was such a good hostess. With the eye of the tiger and the stealth of the speedy alien 'Gohrazialian,' Shortcake butters the bread and fills the glasses with juice. Halfway. Half-full. Never half-empty. You must remain positive. You must remain optimistic. Like Optimistic Prime.
HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HEE HEE HO HO HA HA HA HO HEE HA.
Yes, she's serving Cherry Shoes and that little purple ostrich jackalope her brand new cereal. Aptly titled, 'Strawberry Shortcake Cereal.' Guess which flavor!!! I suppose those of you who haven't tried it are already comparing it to Franken Berry. After all, both cereals were strawberry-flavored. Both cereals were pink. Both were bite-sized, and both were represented by cartoon spokespeople who would later pioneer the while 'bobblehead' craze. So, when you look at Strawberry Shortcake's Strawberry Shortcake Cereal, you probably think it must've been a lot like General Mills' Franken Berry.
It was nothing like Franken Berry. Actually, it was more like Corn Pops blended with Kix and Cap'n Crunch to form some sort of cereal super-compound nobody had ever come across before. Now, there really haven't been a long line of cereal companies since then who wanted to duplicate the taste of Strawberry Shortcake Cereal. Take that for what it's worth. I wish I could've used the 'grain of salt' thing there instead, but it didn't really fit, and the last thing I want to go through life being known as is 'the guy who fucked up the 'grain of salt' warning.'
Though I have to admit, all cereal super-compounds are an acquired taste. You had to eat at least 80-85 boxes of the stuff before truly being able to decide if you liked it or not. So though Shortcake's cereal went down the tubes rather quickly, it might just be because people weren't willing to find out if patience was the key. Personally, I'd wager to say that it was pretty good. Even if it wasn't, it's still fun eating pink rocks. If you really sat there and considered it, I bet you couldn't think of a colored corn rock more fun to eat than 'pink.' Try it.
Shortcake pours two bowls of cereal with skills like no other. Look at those perfect, evenly matched bowls. I bet she counted out 650 strawberry rocks for each, making sure neither bowl was more impressive than the other by even one measly strawberry rock. It's convictions like these that make Strawberry Shortcake such a touted role model for little girls. If her hair didn't look like a flock of giant worms, I'd even call her 'ideal.'
The cereal didn't last long. These themed foods rarely last longer than a new Fox sitcom. I don't get the impression that Strawberry actually cared, though. I think she did this just to be able to say that she did, because Lord knows, you ain't worth jack in Hollywood unless people are eating things shaped like your head.
Cherry Shoes sure seems to like it. Shoes sure seems. 3x fast. Can't do it. Look at that damn rabbit - hasn't learned a thing. It's still sitting there acting like nothing's happened, acting like it somehow deserves some of Shortcake's cereal. Hey Lemon, maybe if you weren't such a fucktard when you got there, Strawberry would've poured three bowls. If you're lucky, they'll let you eat their pink-dyed strawberry shit. You know, I used to really like rabbits, but Lemon ruined it for me. The next time I see one on the road when I'm making my nightly run to the abandoned church, I'm gonna -- no, no I can't do that. It's too harsh. Too harsh for a rabbit who isn't Lemon. But I'll tell you this - I will hit that button that makes the blue holy water spray out of my car so I can wash my windshield whenever I'm about to pass a rabbit on the street. With any luck, a good amount of it with stray and flush the poor rabbit's eyes with forever-blinding toxic ammonia. And this, Lemon? This will be your fault.
Okay, Cherry Shoes, you can lose the smile now. There's a fine line between honesty and obvious shilling. You crossed it about twelve teeth ago. It's cereal, not diamonds. Just because Shortcake knew how to throw red sugar on top of Corn Pops doesn't make her some sort of god. Enough feigned happiness, we get the point already. I hope Strawberry poisoned your milk. She'd be like Medea, only with a sweeter scent.
Dude, don't even bother asking. The spoon will melt before you get it anywhere near that mouth of yours. Admire from afar, but don't take it further than that. You're a star, right? You must know lots and lots of other stars. Have any of them ever been gourmands? Cut the crap.
Strawberry Shortcake insists that her new cereal is 'berry delicious' and a 'berry good part of a balanced breakfast,' and who are we to argue? The girl's got milk, juice, and toast out on the table already. That's pretty balanced in itself, so the claim isn't a stretch. At this point, I sort of wished that an evil animated wolf would join the fray, biting off Shortcake's head and chewing it before turning to the camera and exclaiming - 'So is this!' That didn't happen, but the cereal was still aces in a market where there were far worse-tasting entrees.
They say that everything in this universe is cyclical, and this even extends to Strawberry Shortcake's popularity. Now back with a vengeance and plenty of new toys, we can only hope she can keep the public's interest long enough to warrant an updated version of her ol' cereal. Franken Berry's old and tired, he usually only makes appearances for a limited time around Halloween. Shortcake, we need you back. There's not enough cereals left out there that turn our milk radioactive pink. Answer our prayers. To show our appreciation, let's all adorn ourselves with plastic fruit and watch the original Strawberry Shortcake Cereal commercial. Ms. Cake, my bandwidth is an offering to you. Come back, and bring more of that amazing candy.
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