We need to tell you something about your morning cereal that might make Frosted Flakes taste a little, hmmm… conflicted.

You know how sometimes you have a really good idea, and then your sibling steals it, patents it, sues you over it, and then you both spend the next several decades pretending the other person doesn’t exist while living in the exact same town? No? Just us? Well, buckle up, because the Kellogg brothers took sibling rivalry to a whole new level—and accidentally invented modern breakfast in the process.

But first, we need to explain why this episode even exists.

The Episode That Shall Not Be Named

We need to have a little confessional here. Remember how we promised you a Halloween episode about Little Monsters? Yeah, about that. We didn’t record half of it (Ryan’s bad—he apparently has a complicated relationship with the record button), and the half we DID record turned into this weird, dark spiral about child trafficking metaphors that nobody—and I mean NOBODY—wanted to listen to.

Sometimes you revisit your childhood nostalgia and realize, “Oh. Oh no. That was actually deeply concerning.” So we did what any responsible podcasters would do: we ghosted you for a month and pretended it never happened. You’re welcome.

Ryan was literally in a funk for days. He texted Jacqueline multiple times being like, “I feel weird about this episode,” and she was like, “Same.” So we made an executive decision: sometimes the nostalgic things from our childhood should stay buried, along with my basement graffiti demon whose name Ryan will NEVER speak aloud because he’s not trying to summon anything into his current house.

Speaking of haunted houses...

Ghost Stories and Water Bottles: A Family Update

One of our listeners—who happens to be one of Ryan’s best friends and stayed in the haunted basement room at 26 Dryer Drive—messaged him after our last episode. His text was basically: “Bro....... Remember when my wife and I stayed in that room one time during Christmas? Does your ghost have red eyes?”

DOES. IT. HAVE. RED. EYES.

Folks, he SAW the demon. He saw RYAN’S graffiti demon. And he never mentioned it because he thought it was just a dream until he heard us talking about it on the podcast. This man wanted to sleep with the lights on LAST NIGHT because of a memory from like 12 years ago.

Here’s the thing about being an adult: you think you’re too old to be scared of the dark, and then you watch one documentary about aliens and suddenly you’re making your dog walk downstairs with you to lock the front door. We’re in our 40s, people. This is ridiculous. But also, those aliens aren’t getting in through the front door.

Meanwhile, our parents are out here living their best globetrotting life—UK with our younger brother Jonathan, then Canada with Jacqueline, and now they’re headed to visit Ryan in Japan. (he’s already panic-purchased them a Stanley cup for their water bottle problem because he’s STILL finding empty bottles they hid around his house from their last visit.)

The best part? Jonathan said they were on their “best behavior” with him. BEST BEHAVIOR. When they visit Jacqueline, it’s chaos. When they visit Ryan, it’s water bottles for dayzzzz. But Jonathan sets “ground rules” and suddenly they’re model citizens? The favoritism is palpable.

Also, Dad face-planted on a cobblestone in the UK and looked like he got in a bar fight for the rest of their trip photos. But at least he has his cabbie hat to hide behind—a hat that has officially become his entire personality.

Scram Jones and Other Things That Make No Sense

The other day, Jacqueline told her dog to “Scram Jones,” and her son asked why she says that. She genuinely didn’t know. It’s just something we’ve always said—this weird Porter family slang that makes zero sense to anybody who didn’t grow up in South Ajax.

Scram Jones was apparently a DJ? Maybe? Who knows. But it morphed into “Squam” for a while, and we’d just scream it at pets and occasionally each other. Like “skinchy face”—another term that has no meaning outside our childhood home but we ALL know exactly what it means when we say it.

Growing up with five siblings and a rotating cast of neighborhood kids created this strange linguistic soup where everyone just absorbed and redistributed weird phrases. It’s like we developed our own dialect, and now we’re all spreading it to our children like some kind of linguistic plague.

Ryan caught himself the other day telling people about “other architects” doing things a certain way, as if he’s an architect. FTR he’s not. He just really got into house design software. But the way he framed it made him sound like he was part of the architect community. This is sociopath behavior, and while he’s self-aware enough to recognize it he’s not self-aware enough to stop doing it.

The Christmas Tree Incident: A Case Study in Porter Control Issues

Speaking of traditions that reveal concerning personality traits: Ryan’s “family” decorated their Christmas tree early this year. They were SO EXCITED because Ryan had this whole system planned out. Lights first, obviously. Then garland. THEN the Christmas balls. And finally, decorations.

Noa, his almost-seven-year-old, kept trying to help by putting decorations on, and in true Porter form, Ryan kept taking them off. “Not yet, sweetie. We’re not ready for that step.” He was literally following the exact same playbook our mom used when we were kids—this rigid order of operations that turns a family bonding activity into a military operation.

But then Noa put four Christmas balls together in the middle of the tree and said, “Daddy, those four balls are our family.”

And just like that, he melted. Put whatever decorations you want wherever you want, kiddo. (Though as noted by Ryan, he did rearrange that Merry Christmas sign when she wasn’t looking because it needed to face the guests properly. Old habits die hard. And speaking of old habits, here is our very special Porter Christmas playlist that must be listened to every year on repeat.)

This is what we do, though. We bring forward these weird traditions from Dreyer Drive without even thinking about it. The order of Christmas tree decorating. Saying “Scram Jones” to pets. The annual family gathering where someone HAS to fall down (it’s tradition at this point—Dad in the UK, Mom splitting her face open when Jacqueline mocked her shaky hands, Jacqueline backflipping into a garden).

Citizen Grain: A Breakfast Tragedy in Three Acts

But enough about our family dysfunction. Let’s talk about a DIFFERENT family’s dysfunction: the Kellogg brothers.

Act One: The Broom Factory Kid Who Became a Vegetarian

John Harvey Kellogg was a sickly kid from a family of SEVENTEEN CHILDREN. Let me repeat that: SEVENTEEN. Two basketball teams’ worth of siblings. The Kelloggs weren’t messing around.

John only went to school until age 11 because he was constantly sick, so he went to work in the family broom factory instead. (Yes, they made brooms. This will not be relevant to the cereal story, but I need you to know that cereal comes from a broom family.)

Eventually, John left to work for this evangelist preacher who was OBSESSED with “healthful living.” And by healthful living, we mean this guy was anti-fun in every possible way. No alcohol, no tobacco, no spicy foods (because apparently spicy food causes “spicy behavior”), and definitely no meat. John became a vegetarian at like age 12, which in 1850 made him the most annoying child alive.

Imagine being at a family dinner in 1850 and your 12-year-old brother is like, “Actually, I don’t eat meat anymore.” Your 15 other siblings would have thrown him in the broom factory.

Act Two: The Battle Creek Medical Surgical Sanitarium (Yes, Really)

Here’s where it gets weird. John eventually goes to the University of Michigan, graduates, and immediately gets a job at the Western Health Reform Institute, which then REBRANDS as—and I need you to sit down for this—the Battle Creek Medical Surgical Sanitarium.

If you asked a group of 14-year-old boys to name a facility, they would have come up with that exact name.

A sanitarium, for those who don’t know, was basically where men sent their “difficult” wives and where people went to “get healthy” through rigorous exercise, bland food, and—we’re not making this up—YOGURT ENEMAS.

YOGURT. ENEMAS.

John was out here torturing people with flavorless food and shoving yogurt where yogurt should never go, all in the name of health. The man was ahead of his time in some ways (he understood gut health before it was trendy), but he was also promoting yogurt enemas, so let’s not give him too much credit.

Act Three: The Accidental Invention That Changed Everything

John’s wife, Ella, had a test kitchen where she was developing bland foods for the sanitarium patients. They came up with peanut butter (casual), some weird peanut paste thing called “nuholine,” and various grain mixtures.

But John had a DREAM. An actual dream about corn flakes. He woke up one day and said, “I dreamed of a corn-based flake, and we need to figure out how to make it.”

So his younger brother Will (who worked in the test kitchen) started helping him experiment. One night, John left a giant sheet of corn dough in the kitchen because he couldn’t crack the code. When Will came in the next morning, he went to throw it away—but as he rolled it up to dispose of it, it broke into perfect flakes.

Let me be clear: John was like 90% of the way there. He just needed to... break the giant single corn flake, into smaller bite-sized flakes. That’s it. That was the missing step. It’s giving “the fence is locked but it’s only five inches tall” energy from Hot Shots Part Deux.

But they did it. They invented the first breakfast cereal in 1898. Before this, people were starting their mornings with fat, caffeine, and ALCOHOL. A pint of beer for breakfast was normal. The Kellogg brothers offered an alternative: here’s some bland corn flakes to wash down your morning whiskey.

The Great Kellogg War: A Sibling Rivalry for the Ages

Here’s where it gets juicy.

Will, the younger brother, always resented living in John’s shadow. John was this big-shot doctor running a sanitarium, and Will was just... there. Making cereal. Following orders.

Then—SUSPICIOUSLY—there’s a fire at the sanitarium that ONLY destroys the test kitchen where they work. While they’re rebuilding, Will convinces John to sell him the rights to cornflakes. “Let me take care of this, bro. You focus on your yogurt enemas. I’ll handle the cereal business.”

But, not to be forgotten: Will was a marketing GENIUS. His first campaign said, “Wink at your grocer and see what you get”—and he instructed all the grocers to give out free samples to anyone who winked. (In today’s world, this would get you arrested, but in 1898, it was revolutionary marketing.)

Will also wanted to add SUGAR to cornflakes because he correctly identified that kids would like them better that way. John said absolutely not. No fun. No sugar. No spicy behavior.

So in 1906, Will started his OWN cereal company. John’s was called “Kellogg’s.” Will’s was called—wait for it—”The Battle Creek Toasted Corn Flakes Company.”

Marketing genius? Yes. Branding genius? Absolutely not.

He eventually renamed it “Kellogg’s Company.” So now you have John’s “Kellogg’s” and Will’s “Kellogg’s Company,” both selling cereal, both owned by brothers who hate each other.

This begins a TEN-YEAR legal battle over who gets to use the name “Kellogg’s.” The case goes all the way to the Michigan Supreme Court. Will argues that “cornflakes” and “Kellogg’s” are synonymous—you can’t have one without the other.

And he WINS.

Not only does Will get exclusive rights to the Kellogg’s name, but John is ordered to pay ALL the court costs AND is forbidden from using his own last name to market anything ever again. Will literally sued his brother out of their family name.

They never spoke again. Both lived into their 90s (apparently yogurt enemas work?), but they spent decades living in the same town, running competing businesses, and pretending the other didn’t exist.

The Moral of the Story (And Why This Matters)

Every time you pour a bowl of Kellogg’s cereal, you’re consuming the byproduct of a sibling rivalry so intense that it lasted longer than most marriages.

Thank John for the invention. Thank Will for the sugar and the marketing. But mostly, thank them both for proving that you should NEVER go into business with your siblings.

We have “worked together” multiple times—loose definition of “worked,” since no money ever actually changes hands. We just write contracts and pretend we’re professionals. But we both know that somewhere down the line, one of us is going to sue the other over who gets to keep the “Dreyer Drive Podcast” name, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives in different time zones refusing to acknowledge each other’s existence.

Actually, we’re already in different time zones. We’re halfway there.

A Quick Health Update (Because Apparently I’m John Kellogg Now)

Speaking of health: Ryan spent MONTHS preparing for his annual health checkup. He cut out my beloved bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches. He switched to what he thought was the healthiest breakfast possible: a giant bowl of granola with two protein yogurts every morning.

He was SO PROUD of myself. He was going to crush this health check. His life insurance was going to give him the best rates because he was THRIVING.

He gets his results back, and not only has his cholesterol not improved, but he has a new “H” (high) marker on something called triglycerides.

He put his entire diet into ChatGPT—because of course he did—and uploaded a photo of his granola’s nutrition label. ChatGPT was like, “Bingo. Found the culprit. That ‘healthy’ breakfast? You’re eating SIX TABLESPOONS OF SUGAR every morning.”

He looked at the serving size. 10 granola pieces. TEN. That’s what you’re supposed to eat. He was eating like 400 pieces a day and wondering why his bloodwork looked like he’d been mainlining Pixy Stix.

So now he’s back to measuring out ten sad pieces of granola, covering them with a tablespoon of yogurt that doesn’t even hide the granola, and wondering how the Kellogg brothers lived to their 90s on this nonsense.

The answer is probably yogurt enemas, which I’m NOT trying.

What We’re Taking Forward

Here’s what I want you to remember from this episode:

1. Your childhood nostalgia might be hiding some deeply concerning content. Sometimes it’s best to let sleeping monsters lie. (See what we did there?)

2.Sibling dynamics never really change. Whether you’re fighting over who gets the bathroom first or who owns the rights to a breakfast cereal empire, siblings are going to sibling.

3. Marketing beats innovation every time. John invented cornflakes. Will made them a household name. Guess which one ended up owning the company?

4. Read your nutrition labels. Ryan cannot stress this enough. Granola is a LIE.

5. Some traditions are worth keeping, some need to die. Christmas tree decorating order? Maybe let it go. Saying “Scram Jones” to your pets? That’s staying forever.

6. Your family’s weird slang is a feature, not a bug. Every family has their own language. Embrace the skinchy faces and the scram joneses of life.

And most importantly: Thank the Kellogg brothers for proving that you can hate someone for decades and still accidentally change the world together.

Next time you’re pouring your morning cereal, imagine John and Will surfing out on a cornflake, ready to tell you their story. Actually, don’t imagine that. That’s weird. Just eat your breakfast and be grateful you’re not in a decades-long legal battle with your sibling.

Though if you ARE currently in business with a sibling, maybe get ahead of it and start the litigation now. Save yourself some time.

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So here’s our question for you: What’s the weirdest family tradition or piece of slang you’ve carried into your adult life without realizing how strange it is? Drop it in the comments, because I guarantee we can relate.

And if you’re enjoying these deep dives into nostalgic chaos and family dysfunction, do us a solid and subscribe to the podcast. Leave us a 5-star review. Tell your friends. Tell strangers in line at the grocery store.

Just maybe don’t wink at them while you do it. That means something very different now.

Until next time, keep your cornflakes sugar-free and your sibling relationships slightly less litigious than the Kelloggs.

— Ryan & Jacqueline

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