Star Wars III: The Cereal

by Dave McAwesome

Every single website on the internet has posted a review of Star Wars III last week. Even the porn ones. So I'd prefer to waste your time on the Star Wars III cereal. "Limited Edition" it screams next to the Kellogg's logo.

It's a sweetened oat cereal with marshmallows, and we all know what that means: Lucky Charms knockoff. Honestly, Lucky Charms' marshmallows are so blob-like and nondescript nowadays, the only way you could tell the difference between it and Star Wars are the Cheerio-shaped oat bits. Weird, dude. It's like Kellogg's is trying to knockoff both Lucky Charms and Cheerios at one go. Watch out, General Mills! Thank christ it's only a limited edition, or else I'd dump all my General Mills stock pronto.

Like current-day Lucky Charms marshmallows, the Star Wars shapes are barely decipherable. Hang on a tick . . . "marshmallow" . . . you ever really look at that word? Marsh. Mallow. What the hell's a mallow? And if these particular mallows were dredged up from the marsh, what other kinds of mallows are there? Treemallows? Mountainmallows? Spotted yellow-crested mallows? If I were General Mills, I would totally rejuvenate the Lucky Charms brand by switching to Mountainmallows. That'd kick some ass. Deep announcer voice: "Hey, kids! Lucky Charms is gonna kick your ass with its brand new sugary sweetened Mountainmallows! Go tell your parents. Go now. Tell them you want to kick some ass. Order them to the cereal aisle of your mega-super-market for some ass-kicking Mountainmallows. Kick. Some. Ass." I think we can all agree that kids' commercials would be a lot cooler if the announcers said "ass" more often.

I'm also a little curious what other indigenous plant species grow alongside these so-called "marsh mallows." You could probably pick up some tasty twigberries and swamp-krispies there too.

Anyway, apart from the standard cereal marshmallow taste, Star Wars marshmallows suck. Look at the shapes. Just horrid.

These lightsabers no more give the indication that they emit light than they are an acceptable facsimile of a saber-shaped sword. They're just stick-like. Maybe they're twigberries from the swamp that got mixed in when they were hunting for marsh mallows. Or maybe I've driven that joke into the ground far enough. The next blob is probably R2D2. It could just as easily be a mailbox. Or a space mailbox. Space mailmen deliver letters just like normal mailmen, except at lightspeed. And UPS still does it faster (except it's called Space UPS, or SUPS).

The next thing is green, so it's gotta be Yoda. Although . . . I'm holding out secret hope that it's Endor, the forest planet with all those damned Ewoks. As Endor, this planet's grossly oblong shape would cause a terribly unstable orbital path which would send it spiraling into the sun to the sound of raucous applause and laughter. God, I hate Endor.

The yellow skull is clearly Kellogg's nod to Edvard Munch's "The Scream." Kudos to the cereal industry for introducing a bit of culture to their breakfasts as kids stuff their malnourished bodies with sugar and corn starch. Kudos.

This last thing . . . misshapen, Cthuloid mass that it is . . . remains a mystery. (Pl-thump) Whoops, I just knocked the box over and . . . my stars, what's this? They list the names of each marshmallow shape on the bottom of the box. It's Darth Vader? Wha? C'mon guys. Is there a dearth of talented cereal designers these days? That's awful. For spite, I'm revealing the solution to the Jedi Jumble word puzzle.

Take that, noodleheads. And what's this? No toy prize? This franchise was built on toys. How could they not include a Darth Vader baking soda submarine? Man, not even stickers. Bummer.

Back to Cereal Awareness Month.