Today's snack comes highly recommended by Crayon Shin Chan, a sparkplug of a little Japanese manga boy. With his little robot backpack, impetuous haircut and fantastically high right cheekbone, I imagine he gets into all sorts of half hour misunderstandings. When I see him on t.v. I wave and then send him on his way with the channel up button, because no matter how long I watch him fidget and scream, I don't understand what he's trying to tell me. AskJeeves-ipedia informs me that Crayon Shin Chan's humour revolves around misunderstandings and a youthful crassness, like asking tough looking men how many people they've killed and asking the elderly when they will die. We may not share the international language of laughter, but as luck would have it, we shared a common tongue in small 66 gram bags of crispy barrel snacks.
Hard drinking soju-bunny included for scale reference.
Like someone who pretends to appreciate wine, the first thing I did when I opened by bag of Crayon Shin Chan barrel snacks was to stick my nose in there. The slight ruddy tinge of the snack on the package had me thinking that what I had on my hands was some kind of chip offshoot of the "nacho" subvariant. Instead I smelt Cinamon Toast Crunch. I will hurry through the rest. They tasted exactly like Cinamon Toast Crunch.
Fist raised high, screams of "anarchy!" reverberating against the wall of his prodigious asymetical cheek and squeaking out of his tiny mouth hole, Crayon Shin Chan dares the combined might of General Mills and Nestle to try and defend their culinary patent. His tiny white egg-headed dog lays prostrate in fear. Chan's rage is undescriminating. He is a Pirate's Bay of snackfood, and he will distribute that which he sees fit, the profits all funnelled back into his hulking network of corporate spies, snapping stills of carefully guarded recipes and sending them encrypted back to Crayon HQ.
Closing Remark: They taste delicious, and would likely go well in a bowl of milk.
Results are in: They do.
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