Steel cut oats are the apex of all oat-related breakfasts. It’s not so much a preference on taste as my undying respect for their masculinity. First off, they are cut by STEEL and nothing else. They arrive at your breakfast table already battle tested. Each oat only falls when it brought under the considerable force of a steel broadsword wielded by assembly-line barbarians. Secondly, even in death, they refuse to acquiesce to consumption, needing 20 minutes of continuous boiling before leeching away their inpenetrable shell. Furthermore, upon being chewed, they reveal a flavor that hovers between “gravel” and “fuck you”.
Some men live their whole existence thinking that oatmeal is a sickly paste of pre-chewed grains, awash in saccharine peaches and cream flavor-additives, cast from a thin paper envelope to cook in under 45 seconds. If you can call that living.
Ian Cheesman's Internet Halfway Home 
Steel Cut oats. Now that is a breakfast fit for Chuck Norris.
Summary: Eat a dick, Wilford Brimley.
I like my oatmeal sweetened with urine and flavored with hate.
Summary: Suck it, Wilford Brimley.
Why would I want my oatmeal to taste like fuck you? I like my oatmeal to taste like a gentle hug from a friend not seen in years.
They taste best sprinkled with rusty nails and broken glass.
You people have got it all wrong. Man Oats should be eaten with salt and butter, or possibly lard. You know, Man Food.