A man is only as good as the cereal he eats.  And a cereal is only as good as the mascot whose job it is to tirelessly pimp the flakey/marshmallowey/wheatey/mushy concoction.  Therefore, I do not feel the slightest bit uncomfortable saying that the quality of a society can be gauged solely on its cereal mascots.  But whose place is it to sort through the ranks of our sometimes beloved and often notorious breakfast representatives?  Why, mine of course.
    The Cheerios Bee.  Ah, the old standby.  He's kind, he's friendly, he singlehandedly taught Ebenezer Scrooge the meaning of Christmas using only a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.  These are good things, especially the last one.  Except my assumption is that he thusly put the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, completely out of business, and at least one of them went on to become responsible for that rancid Boo Berry cereal.  That's a bad thing.  Rating: B-.
    The Trix Rabbit.  This poor bunny reminds us of the last great, and thus far unrecognized, oppressed minority.  Day by day, Rabbit is seen being stripsearched and sometimes beaten by frighteningly shiny-faced children who would sooner spill his blood than share their cereal.  Granted, some legislation was presented which would allow Rabbit to taste the fruit (no pun intended) of his labor.  Remember when kids the world over could vote on whether or not the Trix Rabbit should be allowed to eat his own cereal?  And guess what those ungrateful bastards voted?  That's right.  Here's to you, Trix Rabbit.  Fight the good fight.  A.
    The Dig 'Em Smacks Frog.  Clearly a junkie.  The poor frog (or Diggy, as I called him) spent his days hopping about and babbling incoherently, "ribbit ribbit gotta have some Smacks ribbit."  Hardly a good role model for America's cereal-eating young'ns.  Not to mention that the frog's antics were barely entertaining enough to rank about a root canal, much less distract you from the fact that Smacks taste like cigarette butts soaked in Quik.  D.
    Mikey.  "He likes it!  Hey Mikey!"  Ah yes, these words shall forever be ingrained into the American vernacular.  Mikey is truly an icon of the American breakfast.  He is also dumber than a brick.  How in the hell does he like Life cereal?  Unless it were doused in sugar or coated in heroin, I cannot comprehend of a single reason why any red-blooded American boy would enjoy a cereal that turns into little twigs vaguely reminiscent of insect legs when soggy.  He does, however, get points for being one of the few non-cartoon mascots left.  C+.
    Count Chocula.  Throughout history, vampires are revered as mystical mythological creatures.  Handsome, brilliant, patient, mysterious.  Vampires are the Bond villains of the medieval world.  So let's think of Count Chocula as the freaky one from Tomorrow Never Dies.  Completely lacking the cunning instinct or devious charm of his fellow vampires (he thrives on cereal rather than blood, for pete's sake), Chocula is about as fierce as Calista Flockhart in a Turkish bath.  F.
    Snap, Crackle, and Pop.  Wow, a cereal that "talks" to you.  That is, if a series of three noises (actually one noise with three different onomatopoeic monikers) counts as "talking."  We're not talking Mrs. Butterworth here.  Combine with this the fact that Rice Krispies join Life as a cereal that is virtually inedible sans sugar, and these three cartoon chefs have little to work with.  Lastly, the "K" in the cereals name is indicative of Russian influence, thereby proving that Snap, Crackle, and Pop, are pinko commie scum who don't really do much in the way of cheffing.  D-.
    Lucky The Leprechaun.  Another oppressed cereal mascot.  This guy, though, is no wussy barnyard animal.  Save for the rabbit in Monty Python And The Holy Grail, one would be awfully hard-pressed to name a rabbit that has ever stood up for himself.  Those who have read the legends and seen the Leprechaun movies have to wonder why Lucky doesn't just lay the mystical smackdown on these ingrate punks and turn their genitals into rice patties, or something equally gratuitous and cruel.  Bottom line: Lucky's a puss.  But his cereal is better than any pot o' gold I've ever seen.  B-.
    The Alpha-Bits Kids.  Yo, these mofos are scarier than the velvet portraits of the Mexican kids with giant eyes and the Village Of The Damned children combined.  Fuck that.  Fuck.  That.  Just because I'm afraid of the repercussions of a negative rating: A+.
    Tony The Tiger.  First of all, a legend never dies.  However, a legend can lose its dignity if someone were to, say, replace its stripes with doofy-ass lightning bolts.  But the red handkerchief and low-but-nasally Barry-White-caught-in-a-bear-trap voice are everpresent.  And someone has to beat that pussy Exxon Tiger's sorry ass.  B+.