Dear Mom,
Stop feeding me this stale-ass cereal, PLEASE. Lately whenever you feed me breakfast, I get a bowl full of goddamn croutons. Not those fancy Italian Mario Andretti ones either. "Great Value", violently-marauded-of-any-garlic, peli pubici croutons. I don't want all of those funky flavors, mom, but to end my digression these fruity little loops rub my mouth like corrugated fiberboard. You should just feed me the actual box with my milk. My bros have their moms making 'em omelettes, crepes, and rice pilaf before the morning grind. Listen, I'm not a classy guy. I pick my nose in church and wipe it in Corinthians. That's my booger page; don't tell Jesus. I like peeing outside and I often go out of my way to do so, right with the dog (same bush). Bi-monthly at the very least. I don't even use Q-Tips. I do, however, consider breakfast the most important meal of the day. Using the Sherlock Holmes method of conduction, this means that you're totally ruining my day. Every day. Can we have a good day tomorrow, mom? Maybe a fried egg with toast kind-of-day. Peanut butter on the toast.
Love, your favorite son.
THE IRON NODER CHALLENGE 4: FERRASSIC PARK