Dear Quaker Oats Megalith,
You might recall that I warned you once before about disguising newfangled “quick” foods as the older, take-an-extra-three-minutes-to-cook-it fare. Well, fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, and I hate you double. That’s right, I accidentally bought those pulverized nubbins you call “Quick Oats,” mistaking them for the whole oats. I made this mistake because the packaging is almost exactly the same. It occurred to me that you do this so parents who are too lazy to stand over the pot a little longer can feel like they are feeding their children the same oats they grew up on. Very clever, Quaker Conglomerate.
You leave me only two options, Quaker Titans of the Food-Products Industry. I can either seek out whatever soulless building passes for your corporate headquarters and force each of you at gunpoint to eat this mush, or I can simply desist altogether from buying Quaker Oats. Since one of my New Year’s resolutions was to avoid any more felonies, I’ll have to opt for the less satisfying alternative.
Consider this my official divorce, Quaker Behemoth, after years of faithful patronage. When my children think back on their oat-eating childhoods, it will be some smaller company’s package that they remember. And when they all go on to lucrative screenwriting careers, it will be this company’s products that get prominently featured. Perhaps you can have a cameo as a wicked corporate giant that foists unwholesome products off on unsuspecting parents and their children. To take a hypothetical example.
In short, Quaker Monstrosity, may you simmer forever in the tepid waters of the lukewarm hell from whence you were spawned.
Cordially,
Tony Woodlief
