On March 12, as Winter finally began to hide in shame and Spring gathered enough courage to show its ugly face again, Ed Johanson, self-proclaimed “Lord of the Svelte Men and Honorary Dignifier of General Embarrassments”, declared war on every one of his neighbors in the tiny strip of land known as Murdoch Court. Now, it must be known that none of Ed’s neighbors deserved this pronouncement of war. They had not called the cops on Ed for disturbing the peace or even for the “last time”. Neither had they allowed their dog, cat, or miscellaneous pet and/or child to dig among Ed’s prize vegetable garden. And they had definitely not allowed said dog, cat, miscellaneous pet and/or child to scream, howl, bark or even gestate in the dead of night or too early in the morning on one of Ed’s sleeping-in days.
No, the truth was much more convoluted than that.
See, in the dead of night, while every other human on Murdoch Court was relaxing after a long day at work, eating dinner, watching the latest comedy on television, or obeying one of their more base instincts like sinning against the Creator of the universe or playing a board game, Ed was slowly packing his sedan for a cruise into a madness and formulating a devious plan to take all of his neighbors along for the ride.
Ed’s descent into the crevice of insanity began easily enough. Approximately three and a half months earlier, as the snow fell in large, bright clumps and the streets became cocooned in their white tapestry, Ed’s mind emptied itself of all contents as he contemplated life on the inside of his cereal bowl. And then one of the whole wheat circles that struggled to stay aloft in the stained lake of milk winked at him.
Another whole wheat circle grew teeth and a tongue straight out of the pits of hell or out of an over-zealous cereal commercial intended to entertain but coming off more like the fever dreams of Charles Manson. It began to regale Ed with a plot so sinister that reality as he knew it had decided to quietly quit its day job and sign up as the bearded lady in the next travelling circus that happened to pass by.
“Hey Ed,” said the whole wheat circle with a voice as smooth as butter yet hard as margarine, “you know the world out there, the one filled with all you know and love, hurrying and scurrying like ants under a magnifying lens, maybe, just maybe, that world’s not real at all. Maybe it’s not what they want you to think it is.”
“Maybe,” Ed thought to himself in agreement, or at least in non-sequitur.
Now, the truth is that a talking whole wheat circle was not all that unusual to Ed. After all, last week, the toaster had called him a moron for burning the cinnamon raisin bread and the toilet had screamed all night for all the horrors it had to behold. But talking cereal was entirely new.
“It’s not real and neither are you, Ed.” The cereal continued, despite Ed’s reluctance to hold a meaningful conversation. “You’re nothing more than a brain in a washtub. All of these neighbors, your coworkers, that girl with hair the color of midnight who works at the bookstore that you find super attractive but won’t give you the time of day, they’re all just made up by some evil scientist, feeding you fantasy like meatloaf through his super computer. It’s all to keep you docile while he conducts experiments on your duodenum. Wouldn’t work if you were all agitated, you know?”
“Matrix,” was Ed’s one word reply.
“Sure, it’s like that,” agreed the cereal, smooth as a greased politician in a Brillo pad sea full of unruly constituents, “But every story has its origin in the truth. Otherwise you might get suspicious.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Ed smiled uneasily at the winking cereal. Truth to tell, Ed kinda wanted this uneasy experience to be over as soon as possible. Same thing with the screaming toilet. “What would I do about it anyway? If I’m a brain in a wash tub, it’s not like I could just get up, punch the mad scientist for wasting my sweet, loving time, then take off, riding the nearest hunchbacked lab assistant to freedom. I’m a brain. In a wash tub. Fantasy is probably much better than reality for me.”
“Well, sure, you could get all deafeatist. But maybe you should stand up for yourself. Maybe you should decide right here and now to stop taking it. Maybe today’s the day that Ed Johanson decides to take a stand for all oppressed brains in wash tubs everywhere. No longer will Ed submit to unnecessary and probably costly medical experiments! No longer will Ed be a slave to the whims of a maniacal, but probably very attractive scientist. No! Today is the day that Ed declares his freedom!”
Ed considered the rousing yet formulaic speech for a moment. Maybe it was time for him to take a stand. Maybe he should finally do something. After all, if he didn’t act, who would? “But again, if I’m a brain in a wash tub, what’s the point? If I get my freedom, what am I gonna do: run and join and all male production of Hamlet…in the round?”
This response, for some reason, inspired the cereal even further. “Oh, get off your high horse, Ed! Sure, you might be a brain in a wash tub, but you’ve still got your dignity. Think of the other brains! Think of the children’s brains! They’re so tired of being oppressed by the evil scientist. They’re counting on you to tear down this fantasy world that may smell so sweet, but inside is like the bloated corpse of some talk show host who overstayed their welcome far too long. They want…nay, they need their freedom. Don’t do this for yourself, Ed. Even though you clearly deserve your freedom. Do this for the countless other brains, striving under the painful petri dish of the proletariat, who is also a scientist.”
This was a tremendous amount of P’s in one statement and, with the cereal’s obvious lisp, Ed’s face was soon covered in a gentle sheen of milk and spittle.
“So, what do you say, Ed,” continued the ranting, often delusional but always entertaining yet sometimes inspiring whole wheat circle. “Are you going to lie down and remain enslaved to this regime or are you going to rise up, throw off the shackles of…mad scientist…ism and redeem the full status of your brain-like humanity?”
“Eh,” Ed shrugged, leaving the table and the cereal fuming.
“You get back here, young man. I’m not done with you yet! If you think you can just walk away from your eternal destiny, you seriously have another thing coming, brain-boy! Look, at least wash out my bowl! I feel all gross.”
Ed took a nap.
* * * * * * *
The next week, the cereal decided on a different tactic. It remained quiet and inactive while Ed devoured most of its brethren. And then, when only two whole wheat circles were left, it rolled out its strangely crossed eye, its tongue and smooth, smoky voice.
“Hey good looking,” it purred like a well-oiled cat. “You’re looking mighty fine today. Have you lost weight recently or used a new shampoo?”
“Do you think I need to lose weight?” Ed asked.
“Wait! Woah. Slow down, man. You’re taking this all wrong.”
“Oh,” Ed questioned, “and how should I be reacting to a talking piece of cereal?”
“Now, who said I was a just a talking piece of cereal,” the whole wheat circle asked in its snakiest, snake-oil salesman’s voice ever. “Ed, I’m a god, and a real powerful one too. I could make all your dreams come true. Just say the word and poof, you got it.”
“So, you’re like a genie?”
“No, like a god. I’m no bottle slave. Yeah, cosmic powers and being awesome. Not like Aladdin. Get it?”
“You’re a god?” Ed apparently had a hard time fathoming how a talking cereal piece could also be a creator the universe, infinite being as well as cereal.
“Don’t let appearances deceive you. I mean…big things come in small packages. I’m just biding my time. Chilling with the homies. You know. There are whole universes, alternate realities full of pleasures you could only dream of.”
“Cereal pleasures?” Ed wondered.
“Naw, man. You’ve got to expand your horizons. Look beyond the cereal.”
Ed cocked an eyebrow. “Should I dare a peek into the milk dimension?”
The cereal turned ugly. “Ed, shut up about cereal! Okay, I’m a god in cereal form. I’m just disguised as a piece of cereal. I’m not really cereal. I’m a huge, powerful god that can make all your dreams come true. Want to be rich? I can make you a millionaire. Want a beautiful woman? I can give you twenty gorgeous wives. Do you want…”
“Why would I want twenty wives?” Ed wondered.
“That was just an example.”
“A bad example.”
“Hey look,” the cereal threatened with the voice of a trained prize fighter or enraged chef, “it’s better than you can do. How many wives have you been able to get? Zero? I could get you twenty of them!”
“Would they be made of cereal?” Ed wondered, probably not for the last time.
“Oh my gosh,” the cereal raved, like a lunatic or possibly someone gaslighting Ed into becoming a lunatic…I forget which one. “What is wrong with you? Look, you ignorant mortal, I am seriously offering you power, fame, fortune, whatever your puny heart desires. But you can’t get over the fact that I’m a piece of cereal. Well, look, Mr. Speciest, when you’re stuck here in this dead-end life, going nowhere, doing nothing and you’re so depressed that your life stinks so bad, don’t come crying to me. Cause I may be cereal, but I don’t abide crybabies…like you!”
“Eh,” Ed shrugged and wandered out of the kitchen.
“Hey, where are you going?” The cereal screamed. I command you to come back here this instant. Don’t make me use my awesome powers. Cause I’m about to let loose with some god-level whooping in this house…on you!”
Ed decided to go watch a game show.
* * * * * * *
The cereal took a full month off to plan and regroup before it came at Ed again like a chainsaw wielding dachshund. But this time it took a swing from left field, as the saying never went.
Ed was once again enjoying his favorite cereal of whole wheat circles cause hey, knowing that they were sentient maybe them that much more delicious. No, they circles did not gain eyeballs or teeth, but the toaster spoke up.
“Hey Bingus,” the toaster berated him as only the toaster could. “I was thinking about what the cereal said to you a month ago and I think you’re an idiot for not listening to him. I mean, after all, if you’re just a brain in a washtub, you might as well take out your neighbors. It’d serve them right for trying to trick you into believing they were real.”
Ed shrugged. “What do you know? You’re just a toaster.”
The toaster began to sob. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings…jerk!”
Ed could only take the sobbing for so long. “Oh geez. Okay, look, quit crying, will ya?”
“What do you care,” sobbed the toaster. “You’ve got it all made. Living in your fantasy world with your imaginary people, basking in your washtub all day. That’s the good life. And all I’m trying to do is produce some quality toasted bread products for your enjoyment. And you can’t even get that right. You just burn them. And after all my hard work.”
Ed rolled his eyes. “Look, that only happened once.”
“I can still smell it.”
“Okay, geez. What do you want me to do?”
“I mean, I just want you to kill your neighbors. Is that so much to ask?”
Ed let out a thunderous and long-winded sigh. “Alright.”