Back out now, Nick. Quaker is probably making some seductive promises of co-branded snack/rock superstardom, but to them you're just a stepping stone to a bigger child star, and they'll steel-cut you into granola as soon as they're done with you. Before you know it, you'll be in some flophouse with the youngest kid from Hanson, cooking up shots of insulin in a rusty spoon, cursing the gregarious apple-cheeked pilgrim who swindled your fame away for a handful of oats.
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: Big Hurt
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