Chloe Fellwock is a junior advertising major and writes “Full Dis-Chlo-sure” for The Daily News. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the newspaper.
When I tell you I’m speechless, when I tell you I feel betrayed, when I tell you it took less than a moment for the light to leave my eyes, I say that with my whole chest. I wanted to avoid controversy and keep the
peace, but an anger which has long remained stagnant within me has been reignited.
At the risk of rambling, I’ll just say it — Raisin Bran should be illegal.
The following is a case for my first point: Raisin Bran looks like straight up vomit when strewn across a college rental.
I’m not sure what I expected a few mornings ago, but as I sipped my coffee and watched puppet history on YouTube, I hoped for the
best that day. I started on my bowl of Raisin Bran. About halfway through, I remembered I was eating shaved wood with gummy vitamins and set it aside. I didn’t want it anymore. There was half a bowl of milk-soaked bran flakes and raisins staring up at me and reminding me of my mistake.
As I got up to take the abomination and my empty coffee mug to the dishwasher, something compelled me to dream big and hold both the handle of the mug and the edge of the bowl in the same hand. That’s when it happened — a slip, shock, fear, pain, confusion and the world’s most disappointing Jackson Pollock painting known to humankind right there in front of me. Everything was over.
Milk and flakes dripped down the wall and the back of my door, seeping into my carpet. I heard every known supernatural force chide, “What have you done” while the milk burrowed deeper and deeper. I suspect my downstairs neighbor may
have even felt milk drip on their head. For that, I’m sorry — you were never meant to get caught up in any of this.
How could I let things go this far?
Carpet cleaner is a luxury unknown to this four-bedroom apartment, so I scrubbed the carpet with a Clorox wipe and prayed my roommates wouldn’t hate me for vacuuming up my breakfast. Later, I found that, while they didn’t hate me, my roommates had, in fact, heard the sound of a vacuum running mixed with sobs.
This leads me to my second point: Raisin Bran puts roommate relations at a greater risk of negative strain than other breakfast foods.
My dear friends, who I’m so blessed to say I live with, had their rest disturbed because Kellogg’s decided it wasn’t enough to contribute to capitalism. It wanted to steep the market in disquietude and sorrow.
Point No. 3: Raisin Bran has a marketing strategy that’s an insult to the American economy.
It’s skated by for years on the “Two scoops” slogan. First of all, it’s unclear. Two scoops of what? Raisins, yes, I know. But how is someone who’s never seen the box supposed to know that?
It’s also stupid on the
premise that nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever asked for more raisins than were necessary. Why would you advertise something unpleasant? And we’re expected to be enthusiastic? Raisin Bran takes the American
people for fools. It’s right, but it shouldn’t take advantage of us.
Point No. 4: Raisin Bran is a safety hazard.
Choking on food is a huge issue in the United States. According to the National Safety Council, more than 5,000 people choked to death
in 2015. Unfortunately, there’s no data available on how many of those people choked on Raisin Bran. However, considering Raisin Bran chokes at being a good cereal, I can only imagine this choking has spread to its consumers.
I can understand wanting a healthy cereal, but please believe me when I tell you this is not the way to go. Raisin Bran is a good source of fiber and vitamins, but there are other fiber-rich cereals that include fruit. Even better, they won’t ruin your day — or worse, end your life.
If you feel called to do so, please join me in my Twitter campaign to #BanTheBran.
Contact Chloe Fellwock with comments at firstname.lastname@example.org or on Twitter @helloitchlo.