If I left three pages off of a page-by-page review of a comic book that's only fifteen pages long, I know I'd go to sleep feeling all bad for them, so here they are. Nothing is going to make you explode with excitement, but leave me alone, I'm more into in what's on the television four feet away than you at this point.
Oh great. I thought this Kool-Aid collecting thing was going to be easy, but judging from the above ad, I'm going to have to track down eighty versions of Sharkleberry Fin alone if I ever want to feel like a successful completist. Maybe I would've been better off collecting matchbooks of all the bars I've thrown up in, like that one guy does.
Basically, Kool-Aid Koolers were Kool-Aid Man's method of stealing a slice of the juicebox market from his sworn enemies and competitors. If memory serves, Kool-Aid's greatness just did not extend to juicebox technology. The flavors didn't taste quite the same, and the whole deal just lost something when you didn't get see the water magically turn colors yourself. Kraft knew this, so they scammed us by printing irresistible puzzles and games on the back of each box. If you ever thumb wrestle against the Kool-Aid Man, you definitely want to use your right arm.
God, so kool. Kool-Aid had creamsicles and ice pops, and to really made a strong bid for your freezer aisle loyalty, each box contained a "Mystery Berry Pop." The albino treat came in different flavors, up to you to either guess by taste or confirm by way of an included "Wacky Mystery Decoder," which told you that the shit was grape even if you would've wagered your very manhood on it being cherry. As if all of that wasn't enough, they even breathed life into the gimmick with the hat-wearing Mystery Berry Pop mascot, a mysterious being from Planet Palatable wearing the same clothes old Irish ladies do on St. Patrick's Day. Besides, any promotion that gets the Kool-Aid Man to devise an outfit made entirely of wicker wins the Daytona, baby.