Oopsy O’s Cereal! ALL THE OUTRAGE! NONE OF THE GUILT!

“Ah, I miss the good old days,” Dad said, wishing he had a decent cup of coffee.

“What do you mean, dear?”

“When you could just be yourself without all this political correctness.”

“Dad! That’s just mutual respect and human rights. It’s being a good person. That’s not political.”

“Nuts to that! What about my rights? I don’t like being corrected all the time, changing my behavior, or losing what little status I had in society. I can’t spank you! I can’t slap your mother. Heck, I can’t even kick the dog without someone charging me with animal cruelty or thinking I’m a bad guy! And now I have to love cats. That’s a bridge too far for me.”

Dad pouted.

Everyone exchanged sad looks, then looked back at Dad. If Daddy wasn’t happy, nobody was happy. Happy dads mattered.

The doorbell rang.

Ding! Dongs!

A man in a brown suit stood beside a mountain of packages.

“FREE DELIVERY! EASY CREDIT! PREAPPROVED! Smart phones! Smart TVs! Apps! Streaming services! So much free stuff you’d think we were crazy to give it away. And there’s something for everyone!”

“Smart?” Dad asked. “I definitely need something to smarten up these soft kids. They take after their mother.”

“John!” Marsha put her hands on her hips and tutted. That man of hers. Tut tut.

“Absolutely. Here you are! You won’t even have to think about it. Just touch and swipe. It’ll even manage your passwords for you. AND BEST OF ALL, IT WILL SMARTEN EVERYONE UP!”

“You mean…”

“Yes! The wife will be shopping, losing weight, and forgetting all about human rights and mutual respect. So will the kids.”

“I’ll have my dad’s life back!”

“You sure will, sonny boy!”

Within minutes, everyone had a screen and was touching and swiping endlessly.

Dad streamed sports. Mom shopped for anti-aging, anti-cellulite glow serums made with ancient Eastern secrets. The children learned that pink was for girls and blue was for boys. A few upgrades later, girls got rainbows and boys got army camouflage.

Then the delivery man—or salesman, or spokesperson—placed a colorful cereal box in the middle of the breakfast table.

BOOM! Patriotic fireworks snapped, crackled, and popped!

“Introducing OOPSY O’S! ALL THE OUTRAGE! NONE OF THE GUILT! This will FEED the whole family! Now with even better ATTENTION-SEEKING MEDIA BITES! Fortified with chewy DOPAMINE MORSELS! Bursting with flavorful, crunchy MISINFORMATION CHUNKS!”

“Is it good for us?” Mom asked without looking up from her shopping cart.

“You’re overeducated! Sophisticated! Technologically advanced with these in your hands! You’ll know which bits to consume. AND YOU HAVE FREE WILL! Which means you’ll choose correctly. Guaranteed!”

“And if we don’t?” one of the children asked.

The salesman’s smile stayed exactly where it was.

“Well, there goes your political future. Your voice. Maybe your social life. Your friends. Your reputation. But don’t worry—we’ll keep track of you and your children for the rest of your lives. There’ll be guardrails. We’re not crazy!”

He tapped the carton.

“We have terms and conditions to apply to everything.”

Dad’s phone chimed.

TIRED OF BEING CORRECTED? YOU’RE RIGHT TO BE ANGRY!

Dad brightened. “Finally. Someone with common sense.”

Mom’s phone chimed.

IS YOUR HUSBAND EVERYTHING WRONG WITH SOCIETY?

“I knew it,” she said.

She felt depressed, so she loaded her cart with some home decor.

The children reached for the cereal.

“Look, Mikey! There’s a prize inside!”

“That’s your personalized enemy,” the salesman said. “You’ll have to collect them all!”

Soon everyone was shouting across the breakfast table.

The salesman clasped his hands.

“Wowsers. Hey, Mikey—they like it!”

Mikey turned the carton over.

“Who gets paid?”

“Same people as always.”

“Don’t they have enough money yet?”

“Oh, Mikey. Money just buys the boxes. It’s power that decides what goes inside and what comes out.”

Mikey peered into the carton. Sara saw it too and pointed. Inside the cereal box was a little door. Mikey used his spoon to open it. On the other side of this backdoor were backrooms with corridors that went on forever.

Sara and Mikey looked at their parents. Their parents were staring at their screens.

It was election season, so Mom was tuning out that circus to do some shopping for Christmas. She also checked a group neighborhood chat about Christmas decorations and how they needed to emphasize Christ was the reason for the season. There had been a war on Christmas! Well she didn’t need to respect other religions if they were going to attack hers.

Dad was playing a violent online game because he’’d started to feel small again, like his own point of view was never respected. He complained in a chat group. Then he opened a line of credit and ordered hunting supplies and joined a men’s faith group online. Then he went back to his game. Someone messaged him. He started to chat and make friends who understood him.

Bang! Bang! Boom!

“Hey, Mister,” Mikey looked up at the spokesman. “My sister and I, we were wondering, what’s all that space for?”

The salesman folded the flaps shut.

“Just plenty of space to hide the bodies.”

He turned the bright label toward the family.

“Who wants another bowl?”