So, this week I did a story on the 90s, outlining a bunch of sh*t that we, as proud 90s babies, missed from the era we grew up in. Lisa Frank, "Seinfeld," "Rugrats," Furbies, "Goosebumps," Bob Saget -- all the hits, all the big ones, all the good ones.
And, to be honest, the feedback on my iPhone was overwhelming (well, at least overwhelming to me, considering the only texts I actually expect are the ones from my bookie informing me how much money I lost that day on women’s tennis).
You wouldn’t believe how many people couldn’t get over the fact that I referenced Dunkaroos among that list. It got me thinking, were Dunkaroos even that dope? And, obviously, I concluded -- yes.
For starters, any snack that takes graham crackers, a highly processed sugar-based substance (formally known as icing, but we can’t be too sure) and Australian wildlife -- and puts them all together -- is automatically a two-thumbs up in my book, right off the bat.
Dunkaroos were a culmination of all of these, plus hot air balloons. Why did they incorporate hot air balloons into the equation? Beats the hell out of me. But, I guess the most poignant rebuttal to that question would be, well: Why not?
I mean, think about it. Dunkaroos were visionary snacks, it’s obvious that they came from a visionary mind, á la Steve Jobs (who was certainly no stranger to the concept of pushing the boundaries of our imaginations).
Speaking of Jobs, Dunkaroos were basically the iPhones of kindergarten. You know, handheld items that made life instantly more enjoyable and, you, suddenly more popular. You’d sit there with your turquoise plastic container displayed proudly on your desk, feeling like the toast of the town.
The kids in class you actually liked, you’d share with, and the kids you didn’t, you’d neg. The power was in your hands. And may heaven have mercy on the kid who asked for “just one” -- only to end up overstepping his boundaries, by taking “just one” cracker... along with more than his fair share of icing.
Like, you already took 1/8th of the cookies in my only snack for the day, did you really also have to consume 75 percent of the chocolate fudge? Know your f*cking role, mate. Now, go stack Legos in the corner, and get out of my face.
Yet, in reality, you can’t really blame those types of kids when Betty Crocker, herself, couldn’t spare more than a thimble-sized portion of icing in each package. I literally just fact-checked how big that sh*t was, online.
Dunkaroos had “one cubic inch of icing” (Wikipedia, 2014). One would think that the theoretical queen of cake would’ve had the wherewithal to include a touch more frosting in a snack whose demographic consisted of 4- to 6-year-olds fiending a sugar-high that could only be rivaled in proportions by, say, Tyrone Biggums.
Oh, her demographic superseded 4- to 6-year-olds? Yeah, totally, dude. I’m sure the loyal pot-smoking/Dunkaroo-eating customers in college were overjoyed that they weren’t cheating on their diets, after indulging in the snack. (That's sarcasm.)
Still, we love them just the same, which is why I project -- on this glorious “TBT” -- an ode to everyone’s favorite snack, the Dunkaroo. Many have tried to replicate your impact on this generation, and many have failed. Here’s to you.
