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I'm not one for legal wonkery, but this is pretty wonderful on a variety of levels: it turns out you can't actually sue the makers of Cap'n Crunch because you led to believe that crunchberries were real fruit. Which is awesome enough on its own, but the details are golden:
The plaintiff, Janine Sugawara, alleged that she had only recently learned to her dismay that said "berries" were in fact simply brightly-colored cereal balls, and that although the product did contain some strawberry fruit concentrate, it was not otherwise redeemed by fruit.
"Otherwise redeemed by fruit" is quickly worming its way into my heart as one of the best turns of phrase I've read in a long time.
According to the complaint, Sugawara and other consumers were misled not only by the use of the word "berries" in the name, but also by the front of the box, which features the product's namesake, Cap'n Crunch, aggressively "thrusting a spoonful of 'Crunchberries' at the prospective buyer."
Say what you will of the plaintiff's intellectual capacities, but whoever crafted the "thrusting a spoonful" bit has earned my respect. "Thrusting Spoonful" goes atop my list of hypothetical band names.
But to put this entire debacle in context, the final graf from the blog entry:
Judge England also noted another federal court had "previously rejected substantially similar claims directed against the packaging of Fruit Loops [sic] cereal, and brought by these same Plaintiff attorneys." He found that their attack on "Crunchberries" should fare no better than their prior claims that "Froot Loops" did not contain real froot.
The plaintiff, Janine Sugawara, alleged that she had only recently learned to her dismay that said "berries" were in fact simply brightly-colored cereal balls, and that although the product did contain some strawberry fruit concentrate, it was not otherwise redeemed by fruit.
"Otherwise redeemed by fruit" is quickly worming its way into my heart as one of the best turns of phrase I've read in a long time.
According to the complaint, Sugawara and other consumers were misled not only by the use of the word "berries" in the name, but also by the front of the box, which features the product's namesake, Cap'n Crunch, aggressively "thrusting a spoonful of 'Crunchberries' at the prospective buyer."
Say what you will of the plaintiff's intellectual capacities, but whoever crafted the "thrusting a spoonful" bit has earned my respect. "Thrusting Spoonful" goes atop my list of hypothetical band names.
But to put this entire debacle in context, the final graf from the blog entry:
Judge England also noted another federal court had "previously rejected substantially similar claims directed against the packaging of Fruit Loops [sic] cereal, and brought by these same Plaintiff attorneys." He found that their attack on "Crunchberries" should fare no better than their prior claims that "Froot Loops" did not contain real froot.
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Dear Mister Language Person: I am curious about the expression, "Part of this complete breakfast". The way it comes up is, my 5-year-old
will be watching TV cartoon shows in the morning, and they'll show a commercial for a children's compressed breakfast compound such as "Froot Loops" or "Lucky Charms", and they always show it sitting on a table next to some actual food such as eggs, and the announcer always says: "Part of this complete breakfast". Don't that really mean,
"Adjacent to this complete breakfast", or "On the same table as this complete breakfast"? And couldn't they make essentially the same claim
if, instead of Froot Loops, they put a can of shaving cream there, or a dead bat?
Answer: Yes.
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