Credit: Junie B. Jones is a Party Animal

Junie B. might be working hard in kindergarten, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t play even harder. It’s no surprise that a kindergartner needs to cut loose. Frequently subjected to interminable Reading Rainbow marathons and instructed to stack ill-shaped blocks that will inevitably fall down—serving as a metaphor for the children’s fragile psyches—any kid would be full of rage towards the LeVar Burton educational complex.

So maybe Junie B.’s had enough. Maybe she just needs to go to Lucille’s nana’s house for that sleepover. And maybe, just maybe, Junie B. huffs some craft glue from the Creativity Corner, steals her mom’s wallet, and goes on a strung out binge through town before waking up in Lucille’s nana’s basement, covered in Oreo crumbs, crayon shavings, and just a little bit of cocaine. That’s just Junie B. She is a party animal.

D: Junie B. Jones Smells Something Fishy

Conspiracies: we all believe them, but only the brave among us will stand on street corners and hand out fliers explaining the government’s role in the creation of DIY Network’s Vanilla Ice Goes Amish. This important novel, reminiscent of Sue Hendra’s Barry the Fish with Fingers in both its complexity of prose and the unapologetic spotlight it places on fish, is a classic example of Junie B. keeping her eyes wide open. Unfortunately, the consequences are overwhelming paranoia and estrangement from her friends and family—standard themes of the Junie B. series. I identify with J.B. here because I, too, am the victim of several conspiracies. Are we really expected to believe that we switch from velcro shoes to laces at a certain age because it makes more sense? Wake up, sheeple. If staying alert means never trusting anyone again, sign me up. I’ve only ever trusted Junie anyways.

Fail: Junie B. Jones and the Yucky Blucky Fruitcake

As a lifelong fan of both fruit and cake, I can’t help but feel that Junie B. has made a terrible misstep here. The fruitcake is not boastful. The fruitcake is not sexy. But the noble fruitcake is predicated on the simple, American ideal that we will not eat fruit unless it is added to a pastry, booze or, in the fruitcake’s case, both. It’s why Wildilicious Frosted Wild! Berry Pop-Tart has captivated the nation since its introduction in 2002, and why there are literally hundreds of YouTube videos that demonstrate how to give a watermelon a makeover by infusing it with the nuanced flavors of cheap vodka. If you add enough whiskey to a fruitcake, it can have a centuries-long shelf life. And to the future people who will feast upon the many fruitcakes I will bury in my yard: no, it is not “yucky blucky.” It’s simply misunderstood.