Why so much brown. It's too much really. And none of it's good either. Look, his socks are tattered, those Walmart pants are the wrong size, the belt did not start life as a belt, a homeless man died in that sweater, and his hair matches the ancient oak floor. No, you need balance. Everyone balances their wardrobe, if they want to dress well. Can't lean too much on one feature or style or colour for fear of wearing it out. Because there is rotation there is a circle and because there is a circle there must be balance. Well anyway the wardrobe matches the actions since both look ripped off from the sims.
Everything looks practiced... no, mechanical. Practiced gives him too much credit. Despite going through the routines countless times, he repeats the actions identical to the last time, as if learning something new could damage the routine. You don't have to be that careful taking puffed oats out of the Box. Speaking of the Box!! The dreaded large plastic food bin that is the Box! Aaahhhrrgrghhhhmmmm... the Box and all that it symbolizes: the Mice, but the Mice (though troublesome at times when they nibble corners off the loaves, yet still respectful in the fact that they only seemed to eat the crust leaving him primarily with the middle [a good thing for someone who does not primarily value balance]) are not truly the root of it, it is what the Mice themselves symbolize: it is the House!, but no... and on and on this game goes until Poverty takes the stage, the fun is stripped from it, and everyone goes to bed sad.
And all this is to say, even when it seems like everything in your life is problems that are rooted in poverty, why did you still choose to spend your money on puffed oats? They are tasteless, they are nutrionless, they have no benefits. They are hard to find, yet cheap and plentiful wherever they exist, making them the black sheep of supply and demand curves everywhere. So plain, in fact, that even the man notorious for eating disgustingly bland creations such as "PB, spinach, and tuna-fish sandwich," "potatoes that were boiled and rolled in salt," and the all time classic "an entire gallon of water" could not stomach these without at least adding cinnamon and sugar (some nuts and pretzels and crunchy bits added in with one extra flavour like vanilla and the puffed oats would really be divine). Cinnamon is an alright choice. Classy yet comforting, bold and rich without being too bitter or raw, it is really a good pair with the natural taste off the puffed wheat, as is the brown sugar. The fact that the brown sugar has now crystallized into little nuggets and must be shaved off for use is much less romantic, and tossing some of the nuggets in like Lucky Charms is downright childish. Leave it to him to utterly ignore the one thing was going well.
He goes for the milk cautiously; it's a well known fact that milk is a totally foreign substance that should be handled in the strangest of manners, of course. It's wild, truly. Chocolate milk is something he has no trouble drinking in a ghastly amount, and yet a glass of plain old milk stuns him. Why does he force himself to enjoy milk. Advertising campaigns associated with "Got Milk?" are proven shams, at this point it's an open support of capitalism. No one needs him to finish a gallon of milk. Yet there he goes downing another glass of milk for godknowswhat reason. Here is a man so devoid of purpose that he does not question his own purpose for these trivial yet daily annoyances
And despite all that, he seems content.