Product Review: Peanut Butter Newman-O’s  »

Some of us at Vegansaurus have been all woo! no-underpants sexy-times woo!!! lately, but guess what, people: It can’t be sexy times all the times. Sometimes even carefree vegans, with our lustrous hair and glowing skin and brilliant smiles, are not having sexy times all the times. Sometimes, we are having significantly unsexy times indeed.

When you’re feeling super-unsexy, I find that Peanut Butter Newman-O’s are an excellent solution. Yes, the classic Newman-O’s are wonderful, vegan Oreo replacements, and the mint ones are a delicious and creamy variation, and the gingers are a delicate and surprising alternative, and oh, the chocolate-on-chocolates make a fancy treat indeed, but really, the peanut butter cookies are the properest cookies when a person needs an ego boost.

What makes the peanut butter Newman-O’s so especially good, in part, is that they’ve got less peanut-butter cream than the other cookies. Normally this would upset me—like, caps-lock, eyebrows-to-my-hairline, run-on-sentence-rant upset—but it doesn’t, this time. Why not? Because usually I like to take apart a Newman-O, savor its creamy insides, and maybe eat the side of the cookie that delivered those creamy insides. This is only possible with the creamier, richer Newman-O’s, certainly not with the peanut butter ones, which means that you can eat many more of the peanut butter ones without getting all full from the rich creaminess of the insides—and you know how easy it is to overdose on peanut butter. With that thin layer of peanut butter between two “chocolate” cookies, they’re perfect for dipping in icy cold soy milk. And there, friends, is the sweet spot.

Wonderful Peanut Butter Newman-O’s, your only flaw is that glaringly superfluous apostrophe in your name, which is no fault of your own and not limited to yourself. You only come in 16-ounce packages, as though Newman’s Own knew you were so good that once opened, a person would be hard-pressed to stop eating those scrumptious cookies.

All right, sex sells! Just not all the time. Sex isn’t going to sell pincushions, or cardboard boxes, or ibuprofen. Nor will it sell Newman’s Own Peanut Butter Newman-O’s; you won’t feel sexy when you buy them and you won’t feel sexy when you eat them. They are delicious comfort insta-cookies that you will eat more of than you planned when you opened the package. Vegan junk food, c’est si bon.

I’m totally wearing underpants right now. And an undershirt, and kneesocks, and fleece pants, and a sweater, too; it’s fucking freezing. Also Valentine’s Day is a stupid fake holiday meant only to encourage consumerism and insecurity in romantic relationships. Don’t buy into it, you guys.

(I mean, I hate card-company-manufactured “holidays” so much I don’t observe Mother’s or Father’s days anymore, but at least give up Valentine’s Day. It is such a dirty stupid blood-jewelry-selling patriarchal-bullshit-enforcing farce, COME ON.)

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