It’s a product no one asked for.

A product no one could’ve imagined.

Heck, a product whose name no one but that shell-peddling West Coast Sally could even pronounce.

Froot Loops Peeps Pops [repeat x4].

Now, I’m not saying cereal-flavored Peeps are a bad idea—such a thing has been rumored for a good while now. But I’m also not saying that Peeps are a good idea. Like, at all. I’m not repulsed by the things like a lot of, ugh, my peeps, but you’d be marshmallowy-soft-pressed to find me eating more than one and a half of the things at a time, as the latter chomped chick hindquarters slowly caulks my mouth closed.

See, the real confusing part of Froot Loops Peeps Pops is the Pop itself. For what reason did we have to be served two-bite-sized candies on a squish kabob? And why does it have to look like a human centi-Peep?

I have to imagine it’s for those who don’t want to get their hands sticky by touching each porously glazed, sweet farm creature. Unfortunately, this makes it nearly impossible to eat a Froot Loops Peeps Pop without looking like a county fair blue-ribbon spectacle. You could slide a whole one off the top with your teeth, or chew around the skewer like a marsh-meat lollipop, but one thing i quickly learned is that you can’t pull them off with your hands—at least without leaving each poor thing disturbed and disemboweled.

As for the flavor? Well to get the obvious out of the way, each colored Froot Loops Peep tastes the same. And that taste is of Froot Loops endmilk heavily diluted with melted whipped cream. More so than in other limited-edition Peeps I’ve tried (and kicked under my childhood bed to the point of fossilization), the familiar techni-tropical fake fruit notes of Froot Loops are thinned and washed-out behind a sugary curtain—tongue-sliming shadows of what they once were.

I have a theory—that I will shortly test—that fruity flavors “stick” less to Peeps during the production process than other sweetness profiles. I simply couldn’t get much of any enjoyment out of my Froot Loops Peeps, as it took great masticatory labor just to squeeze a few drops of candied faux citrus out of these things. For a novelty product, I didn’t expect the gimmick to be more fun than the flavor.

Ultimately, even for Peeps fans, I’d say these aren’t worth your time. You’re better off sacrificing them to the Vlad brothers: the Impaler and the Inhaler.

The Bottom Line: 3 carbon-dated barrels of Peeps petroleum out of 10

Pancakes & Syrup Peeps Review

Speaking of Peeps preserved in amber…

These Pancakes & Syrup Peeps aren’t new—they first came out in 2018—but as Peeps sent me a long some with their care package, I figured I’d give their breakfast adjacency a quick taste test.

And boy, are these about four times as flavorfully potent as the Froot Loops Peeps. I’ve never eaten one of those hockey puck-sized Japanese fluffy pancakes, but this is how I imagine one (well, at least a Miyazaki interpretation of one) would feel and taste inside. The whipped texture and overtones play much more nicely with the ribbons of golden-brown, nearly Waffle Crisp‘d maple threaded throughout. Sure, it’s incredibly fake and nothing like real maple syrup, but it nostalgically reminds me of the first snack food I ever reviewed, which to me, is enough.

At least for me, Pancakes & Syrup Peeps are still too sweet to eat a whole package at a time, but that isn’t stopping me from trying something sopping and stupid.

Yup, this checks out: spongy Peeps are capable of sucking up vast volumes of syrup, their barnyard bosoms swelling with buttery joy. Well, at least until it comes time to digest them.

So while I can’t, in good health, recommend you drizzle your Peeps in actual syrup, I can recommend Pancakes & Syrup Peeps as a reliably fun limited-time flavor for marshmallow maniacs looking for something to flip over.

Now, how many would I need to throw into a waffle iron…

The Bottom Line: 6.5 compounded sticky situations out of 10