“CRUNCH, YEAH!” insists the slightly unnerving face of Carvel’s cone-headed mascot.

But what I hear echoing is, “LAWS? NAH!”

Put simply, Carvel Crunchies feels like an illegal cereal. A controlled substance. The type of stuff I’d take to have a shamanic desert odyssey.

Starting today through April 18th, the first 150 people to place an in-person or digital order at their local Carvel location will get a complimentary box of Crunchies Cereal. Just be sure to bring a holster or attache case so you can secure the box to your person without putting bystanders at risk.

See, because Carvel Crunchies is a freebie cereal that’ll never be sold at stores—though it might find a niche at Cabela’s—it doesn’t have to hold itself to the same logical balanced-breakfast standards as every mainstream cereal. After all, Carvel Crunchies are based on the brand’s beloved fudge-covered cookie crumbles…

…and thus, the cereal is literally a one-pound bag of actual fudge-covered cookie crumbles. The exact same Crunchies you’d find layered within Fudgie the Whale, Cookie Puss, or any other Carvel ice cream cake.

I was hoping Carvel would go absolutely buckwild with this, and I’m not disappointed. Seriously: this looks like they just grabbed an industrial bag of Crunchies from their kitchen and crammed it into a box—and I love every crunchin’ cubic inch of it. Carvel didn’t even dare to calculate nutrition facts for the stuff—no doubt fearing a TI-84 overflow error—instead using a faux label to house a bunch of Carvel fun facts.

As for the taste? Well, in the tradition of sinful desserts, Carvel Crunchies could easily put you into Chocolardiac Arrest. An oily mitt-full of Crunchies is rich and delicious, sure, but like shoveling plain chocolate chips into your maw, it can quickly overwhelm your palate, sugar-shock your taste buds, and melt your molars like a time-lapse video depicting riverbed erosion.

Carvel Crunchies Cereal is certainly crunchy—ever eat refrigerated M&M’s, or like, actual gravel?—and the decadent pops of fudge in every bite are indulgent to the extreme. But after a few handfuls, I realized these would work much better as mix-ins for, well, just about any other cereal imaginable. Scattering them atop my Smorz, Frosted Flakes, and oatmeal, Crunchies add a uniquely dense and compact crunch, as well as the kind of real chocolate intensity you can’t get from cocoa powdered puffs.

Sure, you could theoretically eat Carvel Crunchies “Cereal” with milk—that is, if you’re looking for 30 seconds of hedonistic bliss followed by 3 hours spent feeling like a human vacuum whose driver belt just blew out after trying to suck up a bunch of deep-fried maracas.

It’s like a punishment from a game of CharDee MacDennis, where you’re forced to eat not an ice cream cake, but the melted-down ingredients of an ice cream cake. Extremely heavy and about as cloying as snorted Nesquik lines, milky Carvel Crunchies aren’t for the faint of heartburn.

Ultimately, Carvel Crunchies Cereal may not be the most realistically consumable cereal, but it’s still a whole lot of surreal fun with huge implications for the field of cereal mixology. If you have the chance to be one of your nearest Carvel’s 150 lucky recipients, I say go for it.

And remember, kids: if someone offers you addictively delicious fudge cookie bits, just say “Crunch, yeah!”

The Bowl: Carvel Crunchies Cereal

The Breakdown: Hardly a cereal, this jumbo-sized serving of Carvel Crunchies is still enthralling, as—much like a certain whale—it’s fudgy overkill that nostalgically taps into cereal’s most extreme sense of recklessly sugared childlike whimsy.

The Bottom Line: 8 (cocoa) bean and (Crunchies) rice Choco Tacos out of 10