noon
`` Merry happy , dude . '' `` You , too . '' Which it is , more or less , for us ragtags who live on Tony the Tiger 's paternal instincts and jumbo survivalist-sized boxes of Corn Flakes . And now it 's the crack of noon , and my navel is thoroughly contemplated , and my adoring public awaits , so it 's time to struggle down bravely and feed my face . I 've got a robe , it used to be white , and plush , with a hood . The hood 's still there , but the robe itself is the sweat-mat grey of everything in Tony the Tiger 's dominion . I pull it on and grope for my cane .