Kraft Cheese
 |
 20 $55 1 Kraft Grated Parmesan Cheese Coupons  US $1.69
|
 2 FREE COUPONS KRAFT FRESH TAKE CHEESE BREADCRUMB MIX $329 each US $1.99
|
 15 Coupons $1 1 Kraft Grated Parmesan Cheese 3 15 2012 US $2.00
|
 20 Coupons $55 1 Kraft Grated Cheese X3 15 US $1.99
|
 01 10 coupons $1 2 Kraft Cracker Barrel Cheese all varieties 4 15 12 BONUSs US $.06
|
 Coupons KRAFT GRATED PARMESAN CHEESE 5 $275 total US $1.00
|
 20 KRAFT Homestyle Mac Cheese Dinner coupons Save $100 2 x2 29 12 US $1.79
|
 10 $100 5 KRAFT MACCHEESE DINNER CUPS COUPONS US $.99
|
 Kraft Macaroni Cheese Topping 6 bottles popcorn US $23.99
|
 20 $55 1 Kraft Fresh Take Cheese Breadcrumb Mix coupons exp 7 31 12 US $.99
|
 20 coupons $100 2 off any 1 Kraft Homestyle mac and cheese US $1.25
|
 15 coupons $055 1 Kraft grated parmesan cheese US $1.75
|
 COUPONS 10 Save $055 off 1 Kraft Grated Parmesan Cheese Expires 3 15 2012 US $.01
|
 15 $055 1 KRAFT Grated Parmesan Cheese Coupons US $.99
|
 Kraft Velveeta Cheese Pasteurized 32 oz Loaf US $12.85
|
 67 Coupons Kraft Parmesan Cheese Chex Raisin Bran Marzetti Jolly Rancher US $1.99
|
 10 $1 1 Kraft BIG Slice Cheese Slices coupons exp 4 25 2012 US $1.04
|
| The Food People |
Any history on the kraft cheese-a-saurus rex?
I need some information on the cheese-a-saurus rex for a project... My dad works for McDonalds Corp. and he can talk to the Kraft corp. but I need a lot more information!
The Magic Realism Issue
I decide to search for them - for these immortal and reptilian family gods I've heard so much about - and I forgo my rendezvous point behind home plate with the magnanimous Pistolero.
Creeping to the upper deck, near the blue overhang that shrouds this entire level from the rain, I can't help but wonder what Hawaiian water lizards must think of baseball, especially the metal-bat version being played here. No doubt they love it. All administrators, regardless of divinity, enjoy the ordered and record-bearing nature of such a pastime. I imagine these huge dragons hanging upside down in the crisscrossed shadows of the overhang. I swear I can hear them whispering to each other, speaking in the scaly language of lizards about the botched double plays unfolding below, the pop flys lost in the mist, and especially the strange and bristly surface that sprays water whenever a ball or sliding fielder travels along it. They know, better than the rest of us, that such a stadium won't stand forever, and I'm sure that they are planning even now how to resource its surrounding waterways, once the strangers like myself are finally gone.
A woman carrying a girl-child taps me on my shoulder, and I spin around wildly, my reverie of overhangs shattered.
"Are these your seats?" she asks in a suspicious, mother-bird voice.
Ashamed, I tip my cap and slink away, down the steep row, to the stairs and the first level where people are waiting patiently at concession stands.
But then I see it. The green head. The rubbery tail. The haunches powerful, unreal. It is walking upright, which throws me off at first, but how else would a water lizard navigate such surroundings without raising suspicion?
It is being followed by a throng of children, all of them laughing and smiling, trailing like an extended tail and chanting, happily, mo'o, mo'o.
"Aha!" I shout. This lizard is man-sized, nowhere near thirty feet, and I understand that it is a child, too, that naturally it spends its time with other children - the most popular among them, of course, on account of its divinity.
This lizard-led throng is headed for the ice cream stand, and people stream around, allowing them to pass. It is only me who finds the scene strange. And now I'm ashamed for this, too.
But I shouldn't be. I'd like to think that we must all feel like this sometimes, as people, as readers, when we stumble across situations in the world and in literature that are both magical and real - as if we have been cursed to notice such strangeness, as if perhaps the only way to make our own surroundings more wondrous is to imagine a place where people aren't bound by wonder.
This is the beauty of reading the nebulous genre called "Magic Realism," reading it in this strange new thing called vice-versa, even. We readers enjoy what the characters in a story or poem cannot; we bristle with wonder at events that those bound by the narrative can only address with anger, or disillusionment, or at the very most, mild bewilderment - be these events a harvest of vine-produced tractor tires; a box that opens into bird-limned silence; a sculpted and knowing glance from an orange-haired head; or a child that has, on account of economic restrictions, been planted in the ground and grown, naturally, into a parrot-loved tree.
All of which and more you'll find within this issue.
At the stadium, I am overcome with the desire to join in the water lizard's throng, to buy it and all the other children cups and cups of ice cream, letting them know that I can be on both sides, that I understand their magical nature and at the same time accept it. And for a moment, I am thrilled to find myself with a foot in both worlds - the wondrous and the real - the vicariousness of such a sensation both absurd and strangely comforting.
A few minutes later, of course, I will find out from a smirking Pistolero that what I assumed to be a child-sized water lizard was actually Cheese-a-Saurus Rex, the Kraft Macaroni dinosaur, and the children following were simply after free samples, all of them asking for more.
"Jesus," he'll say. "This is Honolulu, not Macondo."
The stadium is filled with anthropomorphic advertisements, I'll realize, including a gecko peddling car insurance and a pineapple handing out prickly fliers, the detritus of such consumerism clogging the aisles and concourses, as blanketing as concrete.
And much later, when I head home up through the quarry and against the flowing water, this wondrous valley in the middle of the Pacific will seem stark, muted. The rain will ease up, the mist will be lessened by darkness, and the trees will droop languidly.
I won't even find it strange when a three-inch lizard, its neck wrenched precariously from the perch of a lamppost, follows me with inky eyes, as if it is simply assessing my presence within so many resources to be managed.
I know that this long, however, it is a first person description of his reaction to seeing it. Apparently it was created as an advertising gimmick. The website was called Editor's Jaunt.
gatita_63109
