What can I say: sometimes I just love cereal so much, I want to kiss it.

I know, I know: a bad one-liner to introduce a bad review. But since this Cinnamon Toast Crunch Lip Balm is the first ever non-edible product I’ve reviewed here, I didn’t know how else to start.

If the antiquated art didn’t give it away, this lip balm totally isn’t new, but I found it in a local grocery bargain bin—along with 10(!) other cereal “flavors”—and I couldn’t resist. I was tempted to drop a crisp green Alexander Hamilton, buy all of them, and coat my mouth ’til it became a living pair of those candy wax lips, but I found some self-restraint and chose the one that sounded like it’d be the most pleasant to have slathered near my taste buds all afternoon.

I’m not saying Cocoa Puff-smacked lips isn’t an appetizing idea, I’m just saying I’ve had enough public Mr. Goodbar mishaps to give me pause.

The packaging directly states that this lip balm shouldn’t be eaten, but when you’re as childish, stupid, or childishly stupid as me, that warning holds about as much sway as “do not eat raw cookie dough with your Gremlins after midnight.”

I applied, licked, and briefly considered gnawing on this glossy, flesh-colored cinna-stick, all to paint you an accurate picture of what this stuff tastes like. And let me tell you: it tastes nothing like Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. My first thought was that it’s flavored like a bad bootleg gingerbread scented candle. Potently spiced with a darkly woodsy semi-sweetness and a finish of anise and cloves, this lip balm must moonlight as holiday potpourri.

I wasn’t expecting vibrant cinnamon swirls dancing across my lips, but I was hoping it wouldn’t taste like incendiary cinnamon perfume, either. Rather than enchanting me, this stuff just kind of incensed me with its puckering incense burn. There is a faint browned butter aftertaste, but it’s not enough to redeem its brow-furrowing body.

Granted, I am a little jaded, since I never really use lip balm to begin with—it makes my lips feel like a Vaseline-coated Slip ‘N’ Slide. So this stuff totally still works as an efficient lip balm, as it kept my lips protected from any cracks for hours. That said, its lack of cereal flavor also protected me from any bakers or cannibalistic cereal squares.

Guess I’ll never get to French kiss the guy behind French Toast Crunch.

The only cereal this lip balm even remotely tastes like is, funnily enough, a Kellogg’s cereal: Cinnamon Frosted Flakes. Both have a floral spiciness that’s otherwise unseen  in the breakfast aisle—though Tony’s spiced shards are far more golden sweet. But just how similar are the two? There was only one way for me to find out.

In a strange, nearly David Lynchian turn of events, a mild Cinnamon Toast Lip Balm glaze gives Cinnamon Frosted Flakes a pleasantly oaky, herbal finish. It makes me feel like I’m eating a fancy artisanal cinnamon bun at a mahogany table decorated with scented pinecones, even though I’m really just in an empty apartment basting sugary corn flakes with beige Chapstick like a kindergartner with an Elmer’s Glue Stick.

Speaking of which, please don’t actually try this at home, unless you actually are a 6-year old who ran out of Play-Doh doughnuts to eat. I don’t know if I can recommend trying this lip balm at home at all, actually: if you’re looking to scrub some cereal across your lips, I’d advise either making out with a real bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch or trying one of this line’s other 9 flavors.

I just wish there were a Yummy Mummy variety. After all, he is the master of sweet embalming.

The Bowl: Cinnamon Toast Crunch Lip Balm

The Breakdown: Far too “Bath & Bodyworks” and not enough “bathed in cinnamon sugar,” this lip balm tastes like smoky, grandmotherly cookies. And not even the good kind of Grandma’s cookies. The kind made by a wolf in Grandma’s clothing who has little to no kitchen experience.

The Bottom Line: 3.5 games of “Seven Minutes in Heaven” with Wendell the Baker out of 10