Billy Ibn Fulan The Third rummaged in his refrigerator until he found what he was looking for. “Aha!” he cried, holding up the sacred soymilk. The milk was ice cold, and rivulets of freezing water dripped off the side of the milk carton. The greedy man again opened the pantry and brought out the bag of cinnamon toast crunch. The bag was made out of a transparent plastic so anyone could see the undeniably scrumptious, crunchy, squares of lightly toasted cinnamon-y squares of natural wheat cereal.
Billy Ibn Fulan grinned, his moldy teeth crusty from all of the sugar consumed throughout the day. He pushed up his black glasses and daintily emptied the milk into his porcelain bowl. The milk was a creamy white, and it created a heavenly sound as it splashed around. He then proceeded to gently pluck each sugary bite of cereal from the bag of cinnamon toast crunch, lightly placing each with expert care. After the cereal was made, Billy Ibn Fulan the third produced a teaspoon from his pocket and waved it around like a magician.
He plunged the glinting utensil into the bowl of cold milk and cereal and raised it to his mouth. Milk dripped out of the spoon, dropping back into the bowl. It was a perfect bowl of cereal. The delightfully sugary cereal was coated in creamy soymilk, and it glinted like a crystal as the dusty cinnamon reflected the sunlight streaming in from the window.
Billy Ibn Fulan looked at the cereal, before shoving the spoon down his greedy throat. He crunched down on the cereal, billows of sugar and cinnamon delight bursting from between his crusty lips like a shower of rain. Suddenly, Billy Ibn Fulan held his throat, choking like an engine that had water in its pipes. His pupils dilated, and he fell to the floor, spilling the magical bowl of cereal. The bowl crashed to the floor, shattering, and decimating the perfect bowl of cereal. Billy Ibn Fulan writhed on the ground, slowly dying. He had swallowed the spoon.
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