Makes You Wonder Where Kool-Aid Comes From

The ad raises several questions: Why is the Kool-Aid Man luring children to a desert island? Why did the rescue helicopter just dump them off there? How did the Kool-Aid man even get on a random island in the middle of the ocean? Where did all those other kids come from? The list is endless. But despite all of the weird, loose ends and myriad unanswered questions left in the wake of this hectic little commercial, when I saw it, I could only think about one thing:

The Kool-Aid Man's dick.

Why? Because he was wearing fucking shorts! . . . He never used to wear anything and the last thing on anyone's mind was his package (or lack thereof). He's a pitcher, for chrissakes! His smooth, glass nether-globe is so featureless it makes a naked Ken doll look pornographic. When and why did he start shopping at Old Navy?

. . . why clothe him? It isn't like the Kool-Aid Man was busted for drunkenly exposing himself to 7th graders at the bowling alley. Run him through your state's sex offender database — a thousand bucks says he isn't there. Think back to when you used to see him regularly between segments of "Smurfs" and "Transformers" — do you recall seeing his giant cock, turgid with Kool-Aid, bobbing and slapping luridly against the heads and necks of the kids whose drinks he poured? Me neither.

Me, neither, but that is the way he appeared in my nightmares, all bulbous and priapic, swinging his dinosaur's tail of manloaf hither, thither and yon, like he was the cock-of-the-walk. Oh yeah! I'd wake up trembling in a pool of sweat.

I won't even go into the way I would scream when the Sandman made me dream about Capt. Crunch, ball-gagged and wet leathered, luring me onto his ship, trying to get me to play with his crunch berries. Let's just say I stopped eating breakfast cereals at an early age, and leave it at that.