Along with one or two returning holiday flavors, Kellogg’s has blessed us with all-new Frosted Marshmallow Hot Chocolate Pop-Tarts, thereby increasing their streak of Pop-Tarts flavors with extremely long names to an impressive 267.
Okay, so they’re not as “showy” as Kellogg’s previous offerings, like Sugar Cookie Pop-Tarts or Gingerbread Pop-Tarts. They’re not as weird-in-a-good way, nor colorful, nor do they come with any bizarre recipes on the side panel. All true, but these Pop-Tarts have it where it counts:
They taste like hot chocolate.
I took that photo of them in their “plain” state, but you kinda do need to toast them. Even if you prefer your Pop-Tarts with no caloric upgrades, the heat has a way of bringing out their scent. Believe me, this is a scent you WANT brought out.
Like, picture the most classic cup of hot chocolate you can imagine. Now picture it five feet tall. Whatever you think that would smell like is pretty close to how these smell. If it’s possible to get high from the aroma of blistery Pop-Tarts, brother, I am so there.
While the pastry and its frosting cover the “chocolate” base, a core of bright goo handles the “marshmallows.” It’s like NASA figured out how to freeze-dry hot chocolate, only not really at all like that.
I don’t keep score of these things, but I’ll go out on a limb and proclaim that there’s never been a tastier Pop-Tart. I’ll also proclaim that no other Pop-Tart has ever looked so much like an army of mites swarming over Mars.
The Rule of Triples means I get one more proclamation, but I’ll save that for when it’ll really count.
Before I gush about cereal, a quick note.
I’m on a gig right now, which started small but has grown into something unfathomably huge. In many ways, that is good, but it hasn’t left me with much time to write about nonsense on the Internet. I originally thought we’d be wrapping in December, and we still might, but it may turn out to be December 2018.
So, this will likely be a “lite” Christmas season on Dino Drac. We’ll see how it goes. If push comes to shove, I can just start wearing old Ben Cooper costumes to work until someone fires me.
PS: Yes, I heard about Hostess. We’ll talk about that another day. I already promised this one to Cap’n Crunch.
Christmas Crunch is back! It’s amazing that Quaker still hasn’t succumbed to social pressure and renamed it “Holiday Crunch,” and I’m certain that the only thing keeping them from it is the incredible alliteration in the original title. “Christmas Crunch.” Two c-words that can be spoken aloud as dramatic k-words. If you have a brain, you don’t mess with that.
This year’s box design isn’t a knockout, but it ain’t half bad, either.
Some people believe that “Christmas red” is an umbrella title for several different shades of red, BUT NO, “Christmas red” really refers to one specific type of red. And this box is THAT RED. A sweet spot between brick, vermillion and cranberry. Kudos, mon capitan. You did chicken right.
Love Cap’n Crunch’s casual “yup yup me again” pose at the top of the box, too.
Regrettably, I’m not as fond of the artist’s decision to draw the innards of Cap’n Crunch’s mouth. In this case, I’d prefer that Cap’n Crunch adhere to the standard cartoon rule of having nothing in there but a big black hole.
Ending on a positive, there’s also a gift box filled with nothing but cereal, addressed to someone named “Holiday Shapes.” Truly the start-point for a great novel. Don’t any of you NaNoWriMo fuckers take my idea.
Cap’n Crunch alleges that his Crunchberries come in “four shapes.” True, there may be four shapes, but you can only decipher two of them. The trees and the stars look as they should, but to call the other shapes “snowmen” and “winter hats” goes straight past “a stretch” and into “untruth punishable by law” territory.
But I forgive Cap’n Crunch, because I never got so many Crunchberries in a single box of cereal before. Good God, if judging by sheer mass, the Crunch-to-Crunchberries ratio is pretty close to 1:1. A Christmas miracle, right in my severely chipped cereal bowl. (more…)
Pringles. A brand of ultrathin potato crisps, sold in canisters that convert nicely into coin banks. All of you already knew this.
According to the ad slogan, “once you pop, the fun don’t stop.” Until recently, that was probably true. Even the worst Pringles flavor was still pretty good, and besides, they’re just so much fun to eat. Especially if you know the “Pringles Trick.”
What, you don’t? Allow me to explain.
The “Pringles Trick” is when you take a Pringle and wedge it lengthwise into your mouth, in front of your teeth. That’s Part 1, and at the end of Part 1, you should look like a mutant alien with a Pringle for a mouth.
Part 2 is even better. In Part 2, you take the middle finger on your right hand (I don’t know why it has to be your right hand, but it does), and use it to “flick” through the lip-trapped Pringle. The effect is similar in sensation to a karate champion smacking through a pile a wood. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but just wait until you try it. Prepare to clear your calendar.
Well, look at that. Barring an aside about the Common Merganser (that’s a duck), I could not have possibly gone more off-track. I apologize. It’s not easy to map out Pringles reviews. You kinda just dive in and see what happens. Sometimes, you hit your head on the ocean floor, and die on the spot. You are seeing exactly that unfold at this precise moment.
The point was that the old Pringles slogan no longer rings true. “Once you pop, the fun don’t stop.” Here, it’s quite the opposite. Virtually all of the fun is in the pre-pop era.
These are a disaster. They’re holiday edition Pringles, in “Cinnamon & Sugar” and “White Chocolate Peppermint” flavors.
If I’m not coming in loud and clear: CANDY CANE POTATO CHIPS.
(The red text indicates “caution,” not “Christmas.”)
But I must remind you that disasters can be beautiful. Consider volcanoes. Capable of killing thousands with a single blow, and yet, when they’re not killing people, we celebrate them as we do rainbows.
These Pringles are a beautiful disaster, and I commend Kellogg’s for taking such a risk. I know Kellogg’s likes to hide behind the curtain and act like Pringles exists as a totally distinct entity fronted by a man with a Rollie Fingers mustache, but this time, I think they deserve the direct credit. (more…)