Dear Head of Crunch Division,
We’ve been getting reports lately that the regular crunch bar simply doesn’t cut it anymore. The public wants something new, something exciting, something dangerous, something that will keep them up late at night, trying to figure out our next move. We want their efforts to be futile.
This Thanksgiving, as I sat amid the carnage of the holiday feast, I came to regard the gutted carcass of that erstwhile bird whose roasted body had served as our main repast. The skin and bones, now dry and barren, had supported rich bevies of plump, juicy meats only hours before—meats both dark and light. As the tryptophan took effect and I felt my girth being swallowed by the Ostrich leather lounger, I was scintillated by visions of what Crunch could be. These visions both enchanted and disturbed me.
I saw dozens of Crunch Bars, frisking in fields of puffed rice beside streams overflowing with milk chocolate. At first their play was vital, joyous, full of the light of morning and childhood. Soon however, the Crunch Bars grew bored– their dancing listless, their crispiness laconic. Even the Buncha Crunches seemed to sigh with an ennui perverse in ones so young. I looked upon my creation and was troubled. I shouted “What’s everybody so depressed about, eh? How can my children be so ungrateful?”
They replied that life felt stagnant, that since they were all the same and always would be, that they had little to look forward to and didn’t even take pleasure from being consumed anymore.
I admit, I hadn’t foreseen this.
I asked, “How can I alleviate your burdens?”
As one they replied, “Look to the Turkey.”
I was jolted awake, sweating and found myself clutching something warm in each hand.
In my right palm sat a morsel of dark meat; rich, strong and earthy.
In my left a bit of white; whimsical and quixotic.
The yin and yang of existence.
Do you read me, Mr. Crunch?
I’m talking cocoa-butter and lots of it. Milk solids and no more than 55% sweetener. I’m talking White Chocolate Crunch and I want you to make it happen. Nothing less than the fate of Nestle and the well-being of the extended Crunch family may be at stake. Please, think of the little Buncha Crunches.