For the first time in America's troubled history, the five points on the pentagram of morning food evil glow as one upon store shelves, signaling the coming of the last complete breakfast. Five cereals in five days, and a Count Chocula shall lead them.
In 1971, as I was still hatching my brilliant plan to escape the confines of my mother's dark and mysterious womb (step one — conception), General Mills harnesses the sinister power of some dark artifact unearthed by whatever shadowy military organization he's the General of to bring force a pair of oat-and-marshmallow breakfast mixtures, infused with the spirit of two nightmare creatures — the dread Nosferatu Count Chocula, and a hideous beast sewn together from the corpses of criminals, Franken Berry.
Oh the good General did his best to cover up their horrific origins, partnering them with the flavors of chocolate (grave dirt) and strawberries (fresh blood), but anyone with half a mind could see through his ruse.
This was America in the 1970s though, so everyone pretty much loved them. The overwhelming success of his dark pact drew more evil to General Mills side. In 1973, the restless specter of a dead vaudevillian. In 1974, an unfortunate soul cursed with lycanthropy. That a man be trapped in the body of a beast upset and depressed consumers so greatly, that in 1987 this Fruit Brute was replaced with an undead Egyptian prince, preserved through careful application of citrus.
At no point in history have all five cursed creatures convened for consumer consumption — until now.
Our five-day journey into darkness begins with the most human, and therefor most-horrifying cereal lord — Count Chocula.
Don't let his broad, buck-toothed grin fool you. The Count's goodwill extends only as far as his desperate hunger for human blood will allow it. He may seem charming, like some sort of chocolate-wearing rabbit creature, but it's all an act.
Pour a bowl, if you dare. Fill it with the milk of human kindness and watch as it is quickly corrupted, cocoa and coloring creeping in to crush your innocence. The taste of sweet oats may distract you from the spectacle, but it's happening. Everything crunchy and delicious is quickly leached away, leaving only brown mulch and vaguely cocoa-flavored cow emissions.
Count Chocula leaches away flavor and life, much as it leached away the color from the video above, leaving only bone white shining in sun-bright lights.
Or maybe my camera sucks. Either way, all is soon naught but dust.
What's next on the menu? I leave it to you. Choose wisely and then return tomorrow.
Snacktaku is Kotaku's take on the wild and wonderful world of eating things, but not eating meals. Eating meals is for those with too much time on their hands. Past critiques can be found at the Snacktaku review archive.