When it comes to Saturday mornings and cartoons, cereal is the undisputed king of whimsical childhood nostalgia. But cereal isn’t just one thing. It’s a sesquicentennial constellation of countless different varieties, flavors, and mascots. That’s why it’s so impressive how Dunkaroos, a single snack consisting of vanilla cookies and rainbow frosting for dunking, has amassed about the same nostalgic clout as every cereal combined.

Seriously, look up any list of old comfort foods people want to save from discontinuation and Duncan the Kangaroo will be there in all his totally tubular glory. Of course, unless you’ve been living under the rock-hard mummified remains of vintage ’90s Dunkaroos frosting, you probably already know that Dunkaroos are back, and have been for almost a year now. As part of this Dunkaromantic revival, General Mills has also released Dunkaroos cookie dough, Dunkaroos yogurt, and more—like the confetti-infused cookie discs in the Dunkaroos Cereal I’m reviewing today.

I’ll be honest: I’m hesitant about this stuff to begin with. Vanilla and birthday/confetti cake flavors are notorious for leading to boring, one-note-sweet cereals. Pair that with how similar Dunkaroos looks to GM’s mediocre Funfetti Cereal, and you’ve got a recipe for molar-melting disappointment.

But hey, you never know ’til you dunk, right? Follow along as I go spoon deep.

I’ll say this: from box to sprinkles, Dunkaroos Cereal is at least aesthetically appealing.

Okay Google, search “dunk rhymes.”

…

Clunk? Nah.

Junk? Sort of.

Ah, here we are:

Flunk.

Though I’m not at all surprised, General Mills has royally flunked their translation of Dunkaroos into cereal form. Long story short, all the caked reservations I baked into this review’s intro were accurate. Dunkaroos Cereal tastes virtually no different from the metric marshmallow fluff-ton of other vanilla cereals out there. Maybe, maybe there’s a bit more buttercreamy dimensionality when comparing these color-specked discs to Funfetti Cereal, but from bite #1 I could already tell I wouldn’t be making it past the first bowl or two of this stuff.

The problem is simple: Dunkaroos the snack is nothing without its indulgent frosting. General Mills can get away with making Dunkaroos’ dunkin’ stuff unhealthily awesome because there’s ultimately so little of it per serving. But to infuse that goodness into every piece of a cereal, they either had to compromise on delectability or risk getting audited by the FDA. I understand why there’s only a peck—a delicate pat—of creamy vanilla edge to Dunkaroos Cereal, which is why I believe they honestly shouldn’t have tried making it in the first place.

If you’re really into Frosted Flakes, Golden Crisp, or other similarly sugar-forward cereals, Dunkaroos Cereal might be worth your consideration, but to me it’s just boring. With all the cereals and taste explorations in my pantry, it’s hard to get excited about granulated faux vanilla. Not to mention how the puffed disc structure leads to a limp crunch and blandly flavored base grain. In all these ways, Dunkaroos Cereal calls to mind Cookie Crisp with Holiday Sprinkles, which basically kickstarted this trend of one-note wonders. And before you call me entirely biased against the concept, just look at Sugar Cookie Toast Crunch: that’s how you do a straightforward sweetness cereal right.

Whereas in more complicated cereals, milk is the great equalizer, in Dunkaroos Cereal it’s a grand assimilator, stripping the Dunkaroo bites of what little noteworthy nuance they had and leaving behind rapidly soggening circles of underbaked opportunity.

I wish I had more to say about Dunkaroos Cereal, but it’s run out of things to tell me. Vanilla, sugar, and a kiss of butter is about all there is to this forgettable flop of what ostensibly sounds like an epic adaptation. Catch me finding a nice rusty nail with which to carve another tally on my pantry under the phrase “# of times the cereal industry has phoned in a vanilla cake cereal.”

Looks like I’ll need a new door by July.

The Box: Dunkaroos Cereal

The Breakdown: For a commodity as hot as Dunkaroos, this is a lukewarm, stripped-down, and extremely tepid take that brings vanilla, sugar, and nothing original to the breakfast table. Save room in your pouch for better things.

The Bottom Line: 4 heaping handfuls of sticky confetti-cookie packing peanuts out of 10