Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions: Chapter 1

One could do worse than have a wardrobe full of t-shirts with Vonnegut quotes on them.

Chapter 1 begins like this:

This is a tale of a meeting of two lonesome, skinny, fairly old white men on a planet which was dying fast.

I don't know if mentioning the two characters are white is a tell that this book will have a little something to do with race relations in America or if it was more of a habit of writers living through the Civil Rights era. People don't often think of bias stemming from what is left out of what is said and assumed by the listener (I mean people who aren't Foucalt and Derrida). But Vonnegut could have left out the adjective "white" and most readers would have simply assumed the two characters were white being that they weren't described using a different adjective. This is a foundational part of systemic racism and also homophobia and all the other Othering that takes place in America. So to come right out and state that two of the central characters of this novel were "fairly old white men", Vonnegut's making a narrative choice and a declaration of perspective. These two characters are experiencing America through a very particular lens: white, male, and older. People didn't use the word privileged in 1973 the same way we regard it now in 2026 (or did they? What the fuck do I know?) but it's what Vonnegut's pointing out. These two men who are experiencing bad shit in America are doing so even though they're from a privileged class. They have some bad shit going down in a country Vonnegut's about to take the extreme piss out of for the rest of the chapter. The decentered point here, the unspoken bit, is, "Now imagine if you aren't male or white or older. Hoo boy!"

The Preface of this book explains some things about the book from the author's point of view. The first paragraph of the second chapter gives a tiny little synopsis of the story about to be told. I'd argue the book doesn't really start until the second section of the second chapter when Vonnegut begins with his tried and true classic method of slapping you in the face to get your attention:

Listen:

I didn't say it was a hard slap. But it's an odd thing to say in a silent medium. As a pedant, one knows it should be "Read:". But Vonnegut wants to remind us that we're being told a story in a grand oral tradition. And that we should pay attention. I'd probably have started with "Listen, Motherfucker," but then I never learned the definition of subtle. My role model for how to act out in public was Tanner from The Bad News Bears.

After the "Listen" part, Kurt Vonnegut punches America in the teeth, pushes her to the ground, and begins kicking her in the ribcage. Good for him.

I'm being hyperbolic and misogynistic. Although, to be fair to me (for once), the misogyny is only because we are raised to view America as feminine. The hyperbole, to be fair to me, is just my way. Sure, Kurt doesn't beat the shit out of America in this chapter. He just points out how fucking silly and arbitrary the things we're supposed to believe about it actually are. Kurt just wants people to realize, before he tells his story about America, that when you celebrate patriotism and all of America's trappings, you're worshiping a clown that keeps falling down and shitting itself. But it's not the country's fault! It's the people in charge who have said, "This is the way things are and these are the things you should believe, no matter how stupid we've made them!"

Here is another quote presented as evidence to the things I've written so far that lacked evidence. I will not tell you how the one provides evidence for the other for it is abundantly clear to me and so if you should ask me, "What does this have to do with the other?", I would sneer and believe you to be a dunderheaded illiterate.

The undippable flag was a beauty, and the anthem and the vacant motto might not have mattered much, if it weren't for this: a lot of citizens were so ignored and cheated and insulted that they thought they might be in the wrong country, or even on the wrong planet, that some terrible mistake had been made. It might have comforted them some if their anthem and their motto had mentioned fairness or brotherhood or hope or happiness, had somehow welcomed them to the society and its real estate.

Kurt concludes the bit about America being silly by suggesting the national motto may as well have been "In nonsense is strength." But he's not done putting the screws to the myths of America. He's got some pretty hefty ones to go, some that idiot conservatives in 2026 would suggest were not even considerations until the radical left logged onto tumblr and began spouting them. But they've always been known because they're Truths which people in power who want to control and manipulate the way people see the world simply want to obliterate from mass consciousness. So Kurt goes on to discuss how a lot of the nonsense we learn about America isn't just silly; it's actually evil.

For example, teachers of children in the United States of America wrote this date on blackboards again and again, and asked the children to memorize it with pride and joy:

The teachers told the children that this was when their continent was discovered by human beings. Actually, millions of human beings were already living full and imaginative lives on the continent in 1492. That was simply the year in which sea pirates began to cheat and rob and kill them.

See? This is why conservatives cannot like Kurt Vonnegut, no matter what they might think. To belong to their tribe, they must adamantly refuse to believe actual Truths about the world. They must openly espouse only what other members of their tribe espouse lest they be discarded like, well, like somebody who won't espouse the beliefs that conservatives have determined all conservatives believe. It's telling that conservatives came up with the term "virtue signaling" since signaling their "virtues" is all they do. It's how they think everybody acts because they know that if they don't wave a flag or praise God or kiss the ass of every military member they see in public, they'll be shunned by their peers. So they simply believe everybody is faking their lives to fit into a tribe. It's a pity they can't just be themselves and enjoy what they want without the constant fear of being abandoned. I think it's also why they strive so hard to make laws that force people to live and act in Christian or Conservative ways. Because they're angry that other people actually choose to be happy and joyful, that people simply do things that they want to do without fear of being disowned or despised.

All of this is evidence leading up to Kurt's conclusion about the terrible secret of this country and the men who founded it. Listen: it's racism.

Here was another piece of evil nonsense which children were taught: that the sea pirates eventually created a government which became a beacon of freedom to human beings everywhere else.

Actually, the sea pirates who had the most to do with the creation of the new government owned human slaves.

The sea pirates were white. The people who were already on the continent when the pirates arrived were copper-colored. When slavery was introduced onto the continent, the slaves were black.
     Color was everything.

It's at this point when Kurt puts on his steel-toed boots and really gets going on America's midsection. I was wrong about my hyperbole being too hyperbolic. Kurt just begins by writing, "Look at all this nonsense! Silly America!" And then he continues to point out how all of that silly nonsense was in service to a bunch of evil, greedy, selfish sons of bitches who fucked over the entire world to line their own pockets. And how those men and that world had a direct connection to the America of 1973, no matter how many brainwashed Christian dunderheads loudly proclaimed, "America is the greatest country on Earth!"

This isn't a review for R.F. Laird's The Boomer Bible but I might as well make it one even if R.F. Laird seems to have become a typical white reactionary who lost his mind. It's hard to believe how easily some people lose the plot of reality, especially when they wrote something so cutting and truthful and heartbreaking as The Boomer Bible. Also, I never received my $10,000 for finding the secret Christian symbol in the text, Laird. I mean, it was the same secret Christian symbol that Philip K. Dick saw after the pink light scrambled his brains and the secret Christian came to his door with his fish necklace. But, you know, I still figured it out! Pay up, buddy!

I mentioned The Boomer Bible because the Old Testament of The Boomer Bible discusses the history of civilization by telling the history of each Chosen Nation as it rises to power and then falls from its perch. It does this in incredibly hilarious and vulgar ways. A good example of the humor of the book is how one of the early chapters is The Book of Greeks. Following the Book of Greeks is "The Book of Romans. Otherwise known as the Second Book of Greeks." The final "historical" chapter in the book is The Book of Yanks because, well, they were, at the time, the current Chosen Nation and seemed like they would be for some time yet (is that time still? Or did it end in 2016? Or, more probably, 2001, on a particular morning in September). Kurt plays up this whole America as the Most Chosen Nation myth by pointing out how America became the richest nation in the world by simply threatening other nations with bombs and guns and "their capacity to astonish".

Nobody else could believe, until it was much too late, how heartless and greedy they were.

And so, you know, it continues to this day. I would say fuck Trump and Hegseth and Miller but I'm really more angry with all the idiots who bought into all of their bullshit and lies. So many friends and family members I had to abandon because they simply showed themselves to be gigantic dunderheaded illiterate non-thinking assholes. Buh-bye!

That "buh-bye" was me saying goodbye to all the useless trash whose time as my friends and family members is now done. It wasn't me ending this blog post! Kurt's not done with Chapter 1 yet! Although he is done bashing America, for the most part. He explains Communism which is just a scary word that was hijacked by more evil, nonsensical people when it really should have just meant "government based on the common good; on community; on acknowledging that nobody does anything by themselves, no matter how much Ayn Rand you've read (especially when Ayn Rand's own words in her stupid boring stories actually argue against what she thinks she's making them say! Have any of the people who worship her read Anthem? Do they fucking understand it says exactly the opposite of what she and they all think it does?! God, it's wall-to-wall illiterate dunderheads up in this house of a country!)". He points out that babies were being born into poverty all over the world and still Americans refused to help them because there was no law saying they had to help and they should only help if they want to but all the people with the money to help simply didn't want to, no matter how Christian they were. Perhaps because of how Christian they were!

The point of all of this is to begin the story by stating that Dwayne Hoover, the white Pontiac dealer, was incredibly wealthy when he met the incredibly poor Kilgore Trout, the white science fiction writer. These two characters are the main protagonists of the book although, in reality, all the characters are the main protagonists of the book, what with it being a Kurt Vonnegut novel and all. Also the black Wayne Hoobler whom we have yet to meet. Or Bunny. Or the bartender. Look, man, I can't remember the names of all of the main characters! A lot of people live in Midland City, Ohio!

I think there was more about Trout's ideas making Dwayne crazy but since that's going to be shown in the story later, maybe I'll save talking about it for then!

Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions: Preface

Cover design by Bob Giusti

[This is not a review of the novel. This is simply commentary as I read it. Those looking for pat answers and explications of complicated themes from an academic perspective should move along to some dry and boring Kurt Vonnegut Wiki.]

All speech is political. It can't help but be. But there are those who believe in words like faith and loyalty and patriotism who would have you believe otherwise so that only the things they believe should be spoken about are deemed civil and polite topics for conversation. Talking about heterosexual relationships isn't political; talking about gay relationships is. Discussing raising a baby isn't political; speaking about an abortion is. Bragging about your new rifle you were using at the gun range earlier that day isn't political; bringing up mass shootings is. Calling certain topics political, when all topics are actually political, is just a means of controlling what topics can be discussed openly in a mainstream, status quo environment. It's why one of the most common reactions to a book being banned is "Why the fuck was that banned?!" Most people just aren't searching for things to label as political; they're just living and reading and enjoying life. People who rely on an audience to make a living often discuss how they keep politics out of what they do because they don't want to lose half of their audience. But that's also political and will lose you half of your audience. Especially these days. Just ask Ed Sheeran.

Kurt Vonnegut begins his book entitled Breakfast of Champions with a blurb that, if this were any other author, would feel like a lawyer made them put it in.

The expression "Breakfast of Champions" is a registered trademark of General Mills, Inc, for use on a breakfast cereal product. The use of the identical expression as the title for this book is not intended to indicate an association with or sponsorship by General Mills, nor is it intended to disparage their fine products.

Vonnegut knows he's in the right to use this phrase as the title of his book (aside from how much better the slogan works for a martini than a bowl of shitty flakes) and he also knows that corporations are fucking lunatic bastards who try to squash anybody that might seem to be infringing on their trademark. So he kicks the legs out from under their lawyers and says, "This book is going to deal with things that a massive corporation that doesn't want to be associated with those things might get antsy about. They don't want you to think about race and poverty in America when you sit down to eat their stupid, boring fine product which you have to add a ton of sugar to. They don't want to be seen as political so I'll state right up front that this book doesn't have anything to do with them." Except Kurt knows that's not what he's saying at all. This has everything to do with them and all the other advertisers who don't want anybody to attach any politics to their product lest a boycott ensue.

What Kurt's doing here is making sure that the reader connects the advertising phrase to this book while explicitly saying that the book isn't connected to it. He wants the reader to understand capitalism is at the heart of what is happening to the people in this book. Capitalism and American exceptionalism. Because if an advertising phrase from corporate America had to be chosen as a National Advertising Campaign for the good old U.S. of A., "Breakfast of Champions" would be a frontrunner.

And, I mean, that phrase, "fine products". He's just kicking them in the balls at that point.

Next comes Kurt's explanation as to why he dedicated the book to a 40 year old widow he knew when he was 16, Phoebe Hurty, which — and even though I just re-read this bit a few days ago, I'd forgotten about when I began this commentary about what topics are deemed appropriate in polite conversations — reemphasizes the point in my initial thesis. Or my first paragraph blather. The bullshit my fingers typed out while showing grave disdain to my brain?

Phoebe Hurty wrote ad copy for the Indianapolis Times. Are you sensing a bit of a theme yet? I wonder how long it would have taken Kurt Vonnegut to write an entire novel that would cause a person to see Mad Men for what it truly is: a bunch of chimpanzees trying to look smart in tailored suits while getting smashed out of their gourds and fucking whatever moves. I mean, Mad Men was that to me when I watched it. But it was still great television! But it felt a bit like watching The Sopranos. I knew audiences were out there falling in love with the main character without understanding how fucking terrible the main character was. While watching Mad Men, I pretty much only liked Stan and Sally's weird neighbor friend.

Oh, sorry! Fucking digressions. Kurt gives an example of Phoebe's ad copy for a sale on straw hats: "For prices like this, you can run them through your horse and put them on your roses." Honesty in advertisement, I suppose. Also, both of these discussions Kurt begins with help to emphasize the name he uses to sign this preface. But first, more about Phoebe! Especially this bit which brings tears to my eyes whenever I read it because I love her so much for it. If one had to worship, they could do a lot worse than Phoebe Hurty.

She was funny. She was liberating. She taught us to be impolite in conversation not only about sexual matters, but about American history and famous heroes, about the distribution of wealth, about school, about everything.

It's odd that I choose to mention worshiping this excellent woman when what she teaches Vonnegut and his friends is simply this: hold nothing sacred. (Although, yes, Vonnegut mentions at the end of the Preface what he holds sacred. But he also reminds the people reading that he's terrible at being impolite the way Phoebe Hurty was.)

Some might read the idea of "holding nothing sacred" as having cynical feelings toward everything and believing in nothing. But that's not what I mean (I can't speak for what Phoebe Hurty meant, knowing her for only a scant few pages from a book written in 1973 about a woman from Kurt's memory of 1938). I mean you must even be able to see the humor in the things you hold most dear. And when I say "humor", I don't mean the schoolyard bully shenanigans that the most ignorant members of society believe constitute the bulk of humor. Humor isn't laughing because you made somebody's day worse. I mean seeing the ludicrous in the divine while still somehow embracing that which brings you awe. I mean that in as secular a way as possible, just in case you thought I suddenly found Jesus like my dumb childhood friend, Bob Henline. I guess his comedy career was getting too expensive and his most viral Instagram post caught on with religious nuts so now he's all-in on praising Jesus. This is just his fifty-five year old version of eating a moth at that Halloween party to impress us all when we were in our 20s.

Fuck me do I ramble. Christ!

Vonnegut's description of Phoebe as graceful in her impoliteness forces me into another digression about being an edgelord. I have, in my time, been accused of being an edgelord. But I think Vonnegut puts his finger on something that I've noted about being an edgelord, or as Kurt comments on it in 1973, being impolite. The difference I found in my "edgelord"ness versus an actual edgelord is that I find my way to "edgelord" topics naturally and by following a path through humor. If I become impolite in my commentary, it's at the service of thoughts that made me laugh, or got me thinking, or felt needed to be said for context of other ridiculous things I said. Actual edgelords, or those who have no grace in being impolite, begin with the thought: "How do I get people to react? How do I offend? What will get me a response?" Some people don't notice the difference between graceful impoliteness and edgelordism because they believe that their reaction is the deciding factor. If something offended them or made them angry, that thing was said purposefully to garner that reaction. Some people are not as perceptive as Kurt Vonnegut and, well, you know, um, me!

Vonnegut moves on to explain why, in this novel, he expresses a belief that human beings are machines. He provides ample evidence to back up his opinion that we are subject more to the whims of nature and chemicals and a body that we have less control of than we think we do than we are subject to the commands our brains issue. His conclusion — a conclusion of a man who saw his mother commit suicide, who suffered from depression himself, and who saw his son deal with schizophrenia — is thus:

So it is a big temptation to me, when I create a character for a novel, to say he is what he is because of faulty wiring, or because of microscopic amounts of chemicals which he ate or failed to eat on that particular day.

Here is Vonnegut's illustration of an asshole from the Preface. I don't remember when I first read this book but, like never forgetting "Out vile jelly!" after my first reading of King Lear, it has never not been at the forefront of my brain.

Kurt goes on to explain why he wrote this novel, a novel that he feels terrible about. He decided his brain needed a spring cleaning and he resolved to get out all of the useless junk that other people had shoved into it, leaving them in this novel. So here's more stuff that makes me cry.

The things other people have put into my head, at any rate, do not fit together nicely, are often useless and ugly, are out of proportion with one another, are out of proportion with life as it really is outside my head.
     I have no culture, no humane harmony in my brains. I can't live without a culture anymore.

Okay, sure, that's scarily close to the beginning of some spree killer's white supremacist manifesto! But take it in context and from the fifty year old man who is lamenting what he's grown up believing was "American culture" to only realize that none of it makes sense, none of it scales correctly, and most of it is ugly and useless. Most of what he's discarding is a product of capitalism, advertising, and systemic racism. He's writing this in 1972. I bet this Kurt Vonnegut would later love the short-lived disco culture.

So that's basically the premise. He goes on to shit on Veterans' Day because it's a lousy, self-serving version of the world's Armistice Day created after The Great War ended. And then he signs the Preface, "Philboyd Studge". That name, he explains, he got from a friend who said reading a particular book felt like it was written by somebody with that name. Maybe the friend was just pulling that name out of a forgotten corner of his head, part of his cultural detritus picked up and stored within his brain, and he only meant the book was tedious. But the name comes from a short story from The Chronicles of Clovis by Saki. "Filboid Studge" is the name of a shit cereal that becomes a wild success because of the advertising slogan.

Cereal. Advertising. A shit product.

Apparently Kurt Vonnegut recommends two kicks to the balls. Just to be fucking sure your opponent stays down.