Funyuns are greasy, deep-fried rings of corn meal-based material that are coated with pungent, pale yellowish, onion-flavored powder. They taste like onions in the same easily recognizable yet disconnected from reality way that grape soda tastes like grapes. Their initial taste is inoffensive, if not particularly good (one shrugging taster described them as "unbad"). Their mouth feel is akin to unwieldy rings of oversized Styrofoam calamari.

It is crucial, however, to momentarily reserve judgment when evaluating Funyuns; there is more to them than first meets the tongue. Soon, their special brand of sinister black magic manifests itself in the form of a profoundly unpleasant, multi-tonal crescendo of bad aftertaste. After swallowing, the oppressive post-Funyun funk rapidly grows in strength, overwhelming the senses of taste and smell and leaving blistering, breath-mint-resistant halitosis in its wake. Disgusted, you find yourself blindly reaching for the nearest thing to pop in your mouth, just to make it stop. Unfortunately, the nearest thing is usually another Funyun, creating a tragic and unintentional parody of Frito-Lay's elsewhere-successful slogan, "You can't eat just one."

Considering the nauseating intensity of their aftermath, it would not be unreasonable to expect the Funyuns bag to carry some sort of warning label. But Funyuns and their packaging appear to have changed very little since their 1969 invention, long before such labels were de rigueur. The simple yellow bag with its large, spring green-lettered logo and almost imperceptible diagonal white stripes is too oblivious in its outdated lameness to be considered winningly retro or uncoolly cool in an ironic hipster way; more Taz tattoo and MC Hammer pants than Strawberry Shortcake or trucker hat.

On the back of this unassuming bag, atop a short column of ad copy, bold, red, capitalized letters declare Funyuns "A DELICIOUSLY DIFFERENT SNACK THAT'S FUN!" Directly below, the first line of regular text says, "For a change of pace that's fun and deliciously different — FUNYUNS® brand Onion Flavored Rings are the snack." Funyuns "are a fun snack that you and your family can eat anywhere …" it continues, before insisting, in the same capitalized red letters as the beginning, that "FUNYUNS® BRAND ONION FLAVORED RINGS ARE FUN!"

The bag, with its weird insistence on the product's putative fun-ness, seems almost defensive, as if its author knew deep down that the very opposite was true. If Funyuns are really so fun, would the bag have to try so hard to convince us? Wouldn't we already know?

Actually, it is a wonder we know about Funyuns at all. Frito-Lay, a subsidiary of PepsiCo, has proved time and again that it is more than willing to spend lavishly on advertising, promoting and branding its products. Frankie Muniz, Jay Leno and Enrique Iglesias have shilled for Doritos in recent months. Dana Carvey hawks all varieties of Lays potato chips. Several high-profile professional athletes have appeared in ads for Tostitos and Cheetos have their own animated spokescheetah. Funyuns are conspicuously absent from the mix.

On one hand, it is understandable that Frito-Lay has not similarly promoted Funyuns, because, quite simply, Funyuns are gross. It makes sense on a very basic level to invest advertising dollars and promotional muscle in products that are actually good.

On the other hand, if Funyuns are too gross to be advertised or promoted, why keep making them in the first place?

It might be that, somewhere deep within Frito-Lay headquarters, there beats the heart of a high-ranking, executive who holds Funyuns near and dear. Back in the '70s (when he was a hot shot rookie with no respect for authority) his first big coup was the Funyuns account, and now when his underlings gently attempt to inform him (again) that Funyuns are unpopular, taste like crap and sell poorly he says things like, "Funyuns are what got me here, Jenkins, and I'm not going to turn my back on them, numbers be damned!"

Or could it be that they actually are as fun as their bag claims?

The influence of imaginary executives notwithstanding, this explanation is probably closer to the truth. Funyuns are fun, but not in a mainstream, Doritos, joking-around-with-Jay-Leno-at-a-party way. Rather, they are fun like hanging out a dicey little dive bar, drinking shitty beer with Roger Clinton would be: briefly amusing in a slumming-it sort of way that is novel for a moment but sure to leave one hell of a bad taste in your mouth.

— Alissa Rowinsky Wright (alissa@flakmag.com)