A few weeks ago, friend and blog-ally Chris Carlisle noted the presence of a giant rice krispie treat lurking at a local coffee shop. When the enormous edible remained on display for an unusually extended time, the clever Mr. Carlisle realized something stranger than the sale of surrealistically large marshmallow-and-M&M confections had transpired at the local coffee-and-book outlet. (Hard to believe, but true.)

Then, some time later (when the world had doubtless forgotten the presence of the apparently innocuous rice krispie bar) Carlisle reported another, more disturbing sight: The rice-krispie invasion had begun,endangering coffee-bar counter spaceeverywhere. In time, rice krispie treats woulddisplace thetastier treats, causing a nation of coffee-drinkers to choose between latte sans pastry and the gum-slicing, tooth-cracking confection known as the week-old rice krispie treat.

I confess, I didn’t lose much sleep.

After all, Chris Carlisle lives far from California. The rice krispie clones clearly did their homework, opting to commence the invasion in a part of the country where an unsuspecting, coffee-drinking population would hardly notice their presence. After all, the advance scout helda secureposition for days, presence noticed and reported only by one observant blogger. (I checked – neither the MSM nor the local news covered the Rice Krispie threat.) Given the rate of advance (estimated based on the two-week time lapse between the original appearance of the sugary spy and the first landing of multiple shock troops) I assumed California remained safe,either becausethe Krispie Clones realized the vast number of coffee-and-book emporiums dotting the landscape would require the invading force to spread itself too thin, or because they understood the inability of most liberal California parents to refuse whining toddlers the object of their sugar-centered desires would result in an unacceptably high casualty rate. (Even higher in areas without M&M cookies to provide a diversion.)

I was wrong.

During a trip to the local coffee shop last week, I looked into the glass case,expecting to see the usual assortment of muffins and grain-filled quickbreads.Not so. Nestled between the low-fat oat-nut scones and the sugar-free blueberry-bran muffins sat an innocent-looking blue plate. On the plate, a veritable pyramid of obnoxiously-large rice-krispie blocks. I regarded the invaders for a moment, stunned to discover the rest of the country had fallen so quickly. Remembering the cardinal rule of alien invasion I decided to nuke the shop from orbit(the only way to be sure). Unfortunately, I then realized my remote-activated nuclear defense satellite happened to be in the shop. Electing “option 2,” I took my coffee and left without comment.

Some might say I should have warned the baristas or other customers, but I decided not to raise an alarm. You see, the krispie invaders may have taken over the rest of the country, but here in California they made atactical error which will almost certainly cost them not only the battle but also the war.

This time, thekrispies wedged theirpyramid ofcrispy, sugary goodness between the low-fat inedible and the sugar-free unspeakable. For most of the country, the appearance of the rice krispie treats represented a significant threat to the availability of tasty beverage accompaniments, a hazard of breakfast-shattering, snack-wreckingproportions.

Inmany California coffee shops, however, the appearance of nearly inedible, marshmallow-mortared sugary blocks actually represents an improvement.

Welcome, rice krispie invaders. We offer no resistance.

And pleasetell your brothers the chocolate-chip croissants to get a move on.

Trackposted to http://morewhat.com/wordpress/?p=2189, The Bullwinkle Blog, Rosemary’s Thoughts, and third world county, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

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