PicoZ

We’ve talked about the sex appeal of cereal mascots and Chester the Cheetah, but what about the edible appeal of the food mascots made out of the foods that they’re advertising? I ranked nine beloved food-based food mascots by how much I want to eat them, from not at all to drooling for it. 

Absolutely terrifying. The only reason I would eat this mascot would be to make sure he didn’t eat me first.

He might not be a frozen pea or carrot, but the Jolly Green Giant is certainly plant-based and that means he’s on the menu. But he looks like he would taste like old broccoli stems—tough and muddy. But maybe if you shaved him into thin strips he would be nice in a salad with a little lemon juice and olive oil.

That rootin’, tootin’ lil’ Twinkie wearing boots, a bandana, and a Stetson is just that—a Twinkie in an outfit. Take off the clothes and you’ve got yourself a classic snack cake—albeit one with a soul, possibly. That sounds pretty okay. But, honestly, I’m just not a huge Twinkie fan.

I know there are a lot of people out there who would rather eat a tiny cake cowboy than a sentient ball of dough, but I am not one of them. What can I say? I love dough! I bet the Pillsbury Dough Boy would taste like buttery croissant dough. I would start by taking a pinch of his belly…and then—I won’t go any further, otherwise this piece might turn into a dough-based version of Hostel.

Big, juicy, problematic raisins. Lemme slice a chunk off of that claymation raisin body. I’ve been wanting to have a taste ever since their 1987 holiday special.

Don’t you want to know what’s inside Mr. Peanut? I’d love to crack him open and chisel a hunk off one of his roasted nuts. I’d also love to know if he is salted on the outside. So, if smashing his exterior is just too much for your delicate constitution, then I’d be happy to just take a lick. (Someday this will be cited as the moment when things took a turn in my life).

I don’t really like Kool-Aid, but I love the idea of jumping into this anthropomorphic jug and slurping the juice right up. I don’t want to pour him into a glass. I don’t even want to use a straw to drink what I can only assume is his life force. I want to splash into his liquid being and lap it up while treading water—or, I guess, juice in this case. Cannonball, baby.

I don’t remember these commercials (I’m just so very young, you see), but apparently Charlie’s role in Starkist commercials was as a beatnik fish trying to convince the tuna company to use him in their products. He was always turned down with a cursory, “Sorry, Charlie.” That might not say much about the quality of fish I’m getting with Charlie, but I love tuna—I especially love raw, fresh tuna—and I appreciate a main course with a death drive. It would make me feel a lot less guilty. I’d just be fulfilling his lifelong dream of being eaten.

Was there ever any doubt? Of COURSE I want to eat a giant M&M! But which one? Glad you asked. It’s not going to be yellow. I already have a peanut on the menu. Not green or brown or even the new purple—because I’m a feminist. I’m going with classic red. He is smug, sassy, solid chocolate. I want to take a wedge out of him and eat it like cake.

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