Frankenberry Touched My Ass

It's alright to be touched by something, but once upon a time I was touched in a meaningful but unsettling way that if I had it my way like the Burger King I would soon enough forget it. I was at the grocery aisle with my parents and I was wearing torn-up sweatpants and hadn't showered or brushed my hair in several weeks because I wanted to channel my rock and roll idol Kurt Donald Cobain. I was in a stupid grunge band (the name of the genre was stupid grunge, it was a mix of mumble rap and grunge) known as The Ununified Groundhogs. We made a music video in which one of us came out and predicted Spring while the other didn't see our shadow and it reflected a long, sad nuclear winter. We recorded it with a budget of $5 in a Checkers bathroom. The restaurant got very little traffic because it was a front for the mob. Because my mother didn't like giving money to Fat Tony and his fellow goomba trash we went to the grocery store to buy me breakfast when I heard a voice that sent shivers down my neckbones. "FREE SAMPLES!", yelled a man in pink with a deformed head like a Frankenstein monster gone terribly awry. His eyes were missing and replaced with pink gears, he had alien antennae for ears, he had one single tooth like a 700-pound man who spends all day living in a fantasy world and screaming about Starbucks unicorn drinks, and he, ah, he had strawberries for fingernails what the fuck. "I got them in a tragic boating accident", he said, holding up a plastic boat. "I saved this boat since I took baths with my dad when I was a young'n. I learned the hard way not to make toast in the bathtub, so I became a cereal mascot."
He offered me a free sample of artificial strawberry flavor frosted cereal with spooky-fun marshmallows. Although I was terrorified (a combination of horrified and terrified) I had a hunch that Frankenberry would kill me and all of my friends and family if I didn't do as he said. "Could I at least have some milk?", I gentlemanly inquired, being rather well-mannered for my age. "Sure!!", Frankenberry screamed rather loudly (so loudly that the store manager could hear it, but he was too busy ripping open cereal boxes and shoveling Super Mario and Legend of Zelda Nintendo Breakfast System food products into his mouth even though they had clearly expired in the early 90s). With that, Frankenberry ripped off his pink Buffalo Wild Wings t-shirt and revealed his breasts. There was one hair limply sticking out of each like a flower that hadn't been watered in several weeks. "Check, please.", I muttered.
Frankenberry took great offense to this and took out a knife. It was a plastic butter knife, but it made me piss my pants just the same (I have a bladder problem... pretty sure it's a genetic defect). "Now do you see?", Frankenberry added, buttering his own cereal. I vomited because of how disgusting butter on cereal was to me (and it still is, btw... that means 'by the way'). I tried to run away but it was no use. My mother just stared into Frankenberry's eyes, either because he had hypnotized her or maybe she just thought he was hot (he did remind me an awful lot of my dad when he was younger). "Oh, I just meant that I was checking out how delicious your breakfast cereal is", I gulped. I took out a Toucan Sam Pez dispenser out of my pocket and attempted to shovel in some Frankenberry cereal as if it was a spoon. It took a few minutes but I figured it out and... and I took a great big ol' strawberry gulp.
"Oh, shit, this tastes kinda O.K.", I remarked. However, I didn't realize just how cunning and clever Mr. Strawberry Frankenstein was, and by the time I figured it all out it was too late. Frankenberry... Frankenberry was touching my ass. "I'm proud of you, shortie.", Frankenberry snickered.
To this day, my pants still smell like strawberries, no matter which pair I am wearing. When I fart, it also smells like strawberries. Although this has helped me romantically, I can never forget the horrors that Frankenberry did to me out of my mind. If you ever find yourself in the grocery aisle and find a perverted-looking pink Frankenstein with a timer and factory whistle attached to his marshmallow-coated cranium, ask him what the fuck kind of drugs his mother did when she was pregnant with  him and run over to... I don't know, the frozens and get yourself some waffles. At least Eggo doesn't have a mascot who goes around touching people or doing the grocery store equivalent of driving around in a 'Free Candy' van.
Leggo my Eggo would be fitting last words.
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