Throughout my three and a half years of having this blog, people have asked me about the name. I review biblical books, talk about biblical concepts from those books, occasionally talk about my life, even Pac-Man . . . but spoiled milk? Even worse… spoiled milks? I thought I’d share with you two events that have scarred me deeply, deeply enough to carry this burden around on my own as a spectacle to the world. It’s the thorn in my flesh.
The Four Letter Curd Word
Once upon a time, anybody who was anybody was a part of the megalodon known as MySpace. It was all the rage back home. I was never one for writing, not until my life flashed before my eyes. What was thought to be a one-off occurrence soon became just too common. In my family growing up, we always drank a lot of milk, especially me. There was always milk ready, and it was always good. I came home from university one day and, given my love and appreciation for (ice) cold cereal, I poured myself a bowl of Rice Krispies. We had no sugary sweets, so plain Krispies would do fine. Bowl + Ice + Cereal + Milk = a good time (I’m a simple guy).
Then a miracle happened. Call it a miracle on Elm Street. I had the aurora cerealis in my mouth. My Rice Krispies had turn into Fruit Loops! The tastes—the colors . . . . It was like the boat scene on Willy Wonka.
My tongue began to tingle.
…never happens when I eat Fruit Loops…
- Bowl? Check.
- Ice? Check.
- Cereal? Check.
- Milk? Che… waaiitt…
………………………………………Two weeks past due.
I poured the milk out, kept the cereal, poured new milk in, and ate the rest. I later found a 13-day-old un-opened gallon of milk. What is this? Goosebumps?
Thus, a machine was born. I began to blog every Tuesday about absolutely nothing. You would think Edwin Starr wrote my life.
When you’re an only child and you sink this low, the only thing to do is become more spoiled. The next occurrence involved late-night cookies, tuna fish, and a birthday party.