There is a certain demented genius to these in that they harmoniously bookend St. Patrick's celebrants' day: You start off the morning staring into a white bowl full of colorful bits and pieces of indeterminate origin...

...and then end the evening staring into a white bowl full of colorful bits and pieces of indeterminate origin.

But let's focus on the morning part.

You have to love brand extensions, because you never run out of new ideas if no one ever expects you to have one.

Who here is looking forward to Fast and Furious 23?!

This is a massive trend in marketing (as you may have read right in these very pages) that is designed to bring renewed attention to tired old brands by livening them up with exciting new updated versions.

Like when your newly single mother suddenly insists on coming along with you for a night on the town.

I'm kidding, of course, that never happens.

Also, I saw your mom last night.

As noted in the piece, the "limited edition" enticement is designed to induce "FOMO," or "fear of missing out." Of course, with Lucky Charms, that's counterbalanced by FOMI, "fear of missing insulin."

I purchased these anyway, as I am a dedicated corporate food reviewer and feel a deep and enduring obligation to my readers to… okay, I'm not going to lie. I bought these for the same reason I always buy this stuff.

The first thing that caught my eye, other than the price, was this.

"Magic clovers turn milk green"

That's not a marketing slogan.

That's a warning.

"Things turning green" is my go-to for practicing food safety.

That, and fuzz. Unless you're a peach or a middle-school-aged boy, fuzz is a bad sign (and I'm not completely certain about the middle-school-aged boy).

I won't keep you in suspense. It turns the milk green. Really green. The pictures don't do it justice.

On the plus side, it didn't turn fuzzy.

Otherwise, they taste exactly like Lucky Charms, making this less a brand extension and more a paint job.

It's like an automobile manufacturer trying to spice up their lineup on the cheap by adding new colors because I'm totally going to buy that Honda Civic now that it comes in meteorite gray metallic. What is that, anyway? If you were picking me up and told me, "I'll be driving the meteorite gray metallic Civic," what am I looking for?!

(Incidentally, Cadillac offers a galactic gray metallic in case you're really picky about your gray metallics.)

Nutrition here is pretty much what you'd expect, a combination of sugar and chemicals.

But you can't argue against success. First introduced in 1964, Lucky Charms would go on to fuel the generation that would one day propel us to… not the moon.

That was not nearly as inspirational as I could have hoped.

On the back of the box you have this.

Okay, but wait, what's that? A leprechaun trap?

I thought a Leprechaun trap was a trap made by Leprechauns, you know, like an Amish table. But no, these are intended to trap leprechauns.

Good Lord, they're sentient beings! What is wrong with you people?!?!

They appear to be quite dedicated to their mission of enslaving an entire Celtic race of gold-hoarding midgets, too. This is from the website:

They supply the empty used box!

All you have to do is supply the contents of your local arts and crafts store.

Thirteen hours and seventy-three dollars later, you'll be spreading cereal all over the floor bringing hours of fun!

And many more hours of vermin infestation. Well, assuming the vermin have poor nutritional habits. Let's just say I recently came across this open bag of pretzels early one morning sitting on the edge of a garbage can largely untouched.

If rats won't eat our processed food-like substances, maybe we shouldn't either?

I would like to perhaps remind readers that back in the ‘90s they'd give you a free tree.

An entire tree.

Today, you get the box.

Still, this might be my favorite brand extension yet in that it isn't. It's just a box of Lucky Charms with different marshmallows. It's also not pushing trans acceptance, it's not trying to lecture me on climate change, and it's not pushing any agenda other than childhood obesity.

Finally, I can have a bowl of marshmallows, er, cereal, in peace.