Look: I am an adult. Very much an adult: 30 is bearing down upon me, I have various kinds of debt, the filling on my back molar is doing something fucked up, my knee hurts a good chunk of the time. But when it comes to sugar, and things with sugar in them, I am a child. A damn child. A joyous, gleeful little person, twirling in a meadow. Here is what I am saying to you: brownie batter Oreos.
In my quest to keep up with all things cookie- and candy-related, it’s come to my attention via this story in Time that brownie batter Oreos exist, and may soon be something we can buy. Eagle-eyed reporter Ana Calderone spotted evidence of them on The AV Club’s Instagram feed, a photo that was posted a couple weeks back. (That means that Ana, like me, spends her time on Instagram scrolling hurriedly past people’s selfies in order to find better pictures of cake. Get it, Ana.)
Here is the glorious photo evidence:
Yes! As if our colllective cavities weren’t aching enough: there are also things in that photo that look very much like motherfucking Oreo Dunkaroos. Tell me you remember Dunkaroos. God dammit. You’re too young for Dunkaroos. Here. These are Dunkaroos. They are cookies. You dip them in frosting. Fuck yes. Also, Peanut butter cup oreos, which, controversially, I’m not as excited for. Reese’s are already a perfect food. Whatever. I’ll still buy them.
The conspiracy theorists among you have speculated that my coverage of sugary food items is some kind of ad or sponsored content, like this post on these fucking wonderful goddamn Thin Mint ice cream bars. It is not. This is not an ad. We are not getting paid by Oreos or anyone else, and, in fact, no one in their right mind would pay for a post with this much cussing in it. (Also, do not send us Oreos, Nabisco. I’m an independent woman and I will pay for my own.) Here, just in case anyone has doubts, allow me to add some blasphemy: Jesus Christ casting a fishing line made of Oreos across a pond made of frosting.
No, the sad truth is that I write about these things because I really, really care about them. Here is an actual picture of the bonus I got from my editors when I wrote a feature very quickly:
We’ve drifted far afield here, into the sad morass of my achy teeth and elevated heart rate. The point: Brownie. Batter. Oreos.
If you need me, I’ll be lying down, perspiring gently.
A woman watches her kid eat a cookie, circa 1950s. It’s probably not even an Oreo. Oreos aren’t the only good cookie. Image via Getty.