Customer Reviews: Haribo Gummi Candy Gold-Bears, 5-Pound Bag
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on October 21, 2014
I didn't feel the need to plan my weekend around 5 small gummybears. But if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.
It began with a noticeable change in the viscosity of my saliva. Within minutes of consumption, my mouth had filled with a thick foamy slime. Though I was in a cool climate controlled room a salty sweat broke out, and I felt my heartbeat quicken as my body threw itself into fight or flight.
The animal noises broadcasting from my pelvis were an ominous warning of the violent acts that were to follow. I shouldered my way into the bathroom, clawing at my belt, moaning with pain. The smell came first. It started sweet, almost tangy. That was quickly overpowered by a cloying chemical perfume.
The first volley of feces hit the water like soda cans and nickles. The resulting splash drenching my bottom in foul brackish water, but this was quickly becoming the least of my worries.
After another moment, the noises in my core hit a fever pitch and I was struck rigid with pain. The sweat was now running into my eyes, but the room had turned ice cold and my hands began to spasm.
I felt an insidious burning flooding my escape hatch. I gasped. Hot yellow poison began spraying from my rear, changing in pitch and echo as the stream of diarrhea whipped around the toilet bowl, creating a nightmarish Doppler effect that can only be appreciated in hindsight.
My legs fell asleep sitting on the toilet. I couldn't have stood up if I wanted to.
Wiping was a no-go. Toilet paper simply became a vile paper mache'. My hands were quickly soiled. A full blown shower was needed, and all of my towels had to be burned.
So happy with my purchase, would recommend to friends and definitely buying again!
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on November 16, 2015
I'm absolutely convinced the reviews are better than the product.
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on June 5, 2015
It was my last class of the semester, and the final exam was worth 30% of our grade.
After a late night study session I felt confident, but I had to decide between sleeping in or cooking breakfast. My eyelids chose sleep.
My stomach later regretted this decision, and after several uncomfortable stomach growls, I finally decided to make a quick stop by the campus bookstore and grab a snack before my test. Since the semester was ending and everyone was going home for the summer, a lot of items were on sale, including the snacks and candy that they kept up front. Being in the hungry state that I was in, it felt only logical to pick the largest, yet least expensive candy in order to get more bang for my buck.
And there they sat: two bags of Haribo Sugar-Free Gummi Bears, buy one get one free.
"What a deal!" I thought naïvely. I would eat one bag before my test, and one bag afterwards.
As I walked to class, I gleefully chewed on those abominable little bastards, unaware of the utter mayhem that they would soon unleash upon my poor, poor anus.
I sat down at my desk as the professor informed us that, due to issues with cheating in the past, restroom breaks would be prohibited until the completion of the exam.
"I'll give you 10 minutes to use the restroom now; this will be your last chance. Any takers?"
The demon bears hadn't released their unholy necromancy upon my stomach yet, so in my moment of ignorant foolishness, I remained seated, still munching on those miniature bear-shaped bombs.
After the students wise enough to take the professor's offer had returned, the professor handed out the test. I was six questions in when it happened.
It started subtly at first, almost like a slight tingly sensation in my lower abdomen. I thought nothing of it, assuming my intestines were just doing their thang. Little did I know that my intestines were trying desperately to warn me of the horror that was on the horizon.
By question 9 it happened again, but this time it was followed by a sharp pain, as if those infernal hellions had orchestrated an attack upon my colon. I fought to contain the groan that tried escaping my lips. It was at this point I began to panic; something was going horribly long, and I needed to get through this test before it got any worse.
By question 14 my worst fear was upon me; the Satan bears' burning, hot, liquidy dark magic crashed against my anal sphincter like a tidal wave. I was able to close the hatch just in time, but those relentless, toxic bears beat against it like Orcs breaking down the doors of Helm's Deep. I knew I wouldn't be able to so much as shift in my seat without risking a breach.
I kept fighting through my exam, clenching my cheeks with all my might. Beads of sweat began rolling down my neck. Suddenly, a loud, gurgling war cry came from my belly, and the entire class lifted their heads.
At this point, nothing mattered except expelling this ungodly presence from my bowels. With 15 questions left, I promptly wrote C for every answer and ran out of the classroom. My professor yelled something, but I was too preoccupied with the volcanic eruption that needed to take place before I could find sweet, sweet relief.
I burst into the restroom like the Kool-Aid man and, behold, the handicap stall was empty. Sun rays from the adjacent window shone upon it, as if it were a gift from God himself. It took me less than .5 seconds to undo my belt buckle, pull down my pants, and finally relax my weary buttocks upon the toilet seat.
It took absolutely no effort to expel this demon. Almost immediately, the floodgates of hell were opened and the damned, liquified souls of an entire bag's worth of gummi bears cried as they burned through my sphincter and into the watery abyss below. I had never felt such simultaneous relief and anguish in my life.
After 30 more minutes of this, I immediately went home, dug a hole in my backyard, and burned the remaining bag of gummi bears.
I leave with this; do not, I repeat do NOT eat these spawns of Satan. Not only did they cause me to fail my final test, but the anguish I experienced is something I wouldn't wish upon anyone, not even my worst enemy. The only place these god forsaken hell bears belong are buried deep below the Earth's surface.
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on October 21, 2015
I'm writing this from the quarantine room of my regional level 1 trauma center. by the time you read this I will surely be dead. It started off like any other shift. My partner and I, two regular paramedics from new york, checked our ambulance, restocked and then went into service. like most days we get posted in the same area. we tend to park at the local CVS drug store because of the dark parking lot and excellent wifi signal. I had just convinved my partner to watch the walking dead with me. He's an older medic, and on most calls he shuffles about on the over night shift like a newly dead corpse anyway. Nevertheless he agreed and so we went into the store to buy snacks for our zombie marathon. Being from new york and a member of the "tribe" its hard for him to pass up on a deal. i'm sure you know what i mean. So to him it must have looked like a message from god. the giant bag sat there atop all others. 5 whole pounds of gummy bears. and health consious due to their sugar free nature. all for ten dollars. My partner who we will refer to as Steve for this, my dying words, instantly snatched the bag off the shelf and proclaimed "i have chosen our snacks!." those words continue to haunt me. the poor bastard will never know what he did in that single moment. we eagerly skipped to the ambulance excited about our deal. we made an agreement that neither of us would stop until the bag was finished. this would be our undoing. see the bag was on the top shelf and covered in dust. clearly it was there for quite some time. we got in the ambulance shoveling fist fulls of bears into our mouths. like the poor doomed souls we were, we threw bears at eachother and carried on. we had gotten through the first episode and much like rick, we didn't understand the world ahead of us. the horrible little multi colored bears had developed a time delay. this allowed us to just bout polish off the entire bag before it happened. A sound came from steve that could only be described as the thunder one hears as a hurricane draws near. and then i felt it. it felt like recently meth addicted amish girl churning butter in my stomach. I looked over at steve who by now had large quantities of sweat pouring from his forehead. We both scrambled to get the doors open. we grabbed hands and ran tword the cvs bathroom promising never to leave the other behind. but we didn't make it before the first shot across the bow. steve let out a shart so hard that it tore through the triple diamond stiched tacticle 5.11 pants and splattered into the welcome mat at the front door. he let out a sigh of relief, which we both took for false hope. as it lead us to believe that if we made it to the bathroom and let the now angry demons ripping their way out of our anuses we would be fine. we didn't know we had actually opened a portal to hell in our sphincters. luckily i had made it to the bathroom first. with only one stall i realized it was just steve's bad luck that he had to wait. this wouldn't be our fate however. steve had already abandonded all hope. accross from the toilet was a urinal. steve without a moments hesitation took a three point football stance infront of me like a left tackle and dropped his pants trying to aim at the urinal. I was already letting the playdough confetti mixture out from within the depths of my intestines by the time steve had positioned himself. we locked eyes. shame was gone for us. the smell alone should have rendered us both unconsious but by some miracle we were both able to see in eachother the fear. and then it happened. steve relaxed his sphincter and the force splashing off the urinal pushed him clear over on the floor. i had already filled the toliet and i could see the slow moving river of fecal matter rolling towards him like lava. i tried to call out but my body was only able to make a muffled cry that sounded like a dying zebra. the river overtook steve who had his own problems to worry about. crying and curled on the floor he had some how managed to spray the ceiling with one of his primary erruptions. tiny yellow brown droplets fell from the sky as if it were raining our own sorrow and embarrassment back onto us. and this is where i have to fill the story in with witness accounts. you see i'm currently being quarantined with an entire rescue squad. at some point both steve and I must've blacked out. i only remember flashes.. i am told that steve with his dying breath managed to key up dispatch on the radio and send out one last cry for help. the first on scene were the local police. I only remember one of them opening the doors and instantly throwing up into the bathroom. he fell face first on the now liquid covered tile floor. his partner wanted to drag him out but it was too late. by opening the door the smell had been released and now everyone inside the store iteself was contaminated. the next time i opened my eyes i saw a police officer and a small girl rocking in the corner crying. and then i woke up here... i'm told steve is dead. men dressed in yellow hazmat suits report last seeing him push me through the bathroom door to a safer area before he forced the door closed, clearly destined on riding out the storm in solitude. surely an autopsy will reveal that he died after one final push he blew out his colon and his heart fell straight out of his chest through his pelvis and into the abyss. local authorities are classifying this as some time of weaponized pathogen. i tried telling them it was the bears. clean up crews refused to enter the premises and so the cvs and our ambulance were both set on fire and surrounding area evacuated. This is for you steve... may god have mercy on your soul. your wife will never again yell at you for losing her spoons.
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on May 2, 2016
This is a cautionary tale and - unlike most of the other reviews on this product - this is a true story and its authenticity can be qualified by a small news item that appeared in the Toronto Star's local news section during the month of April in 2013, much to my chagrin.

I would consider myself a prudent man. Not given to bouts of outspokenness or craving attention, and certainly not one to rock the boat. On any given day I can be found reading a crime novel on a park bench in the middle of the city, soaking in the opulence of nature while nibbling on my tuna fish sandwiches and fending off the voracious gulls and squirrels that threaten to spoil my repose. This is me. Law-abiding and introspective. Which is why it came as a shock to me to find myself incarcerated because of the Devil's Confectionery, Satan's Sweetmeat, Lucifer's Lozenges - the horror that is known as 'Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears".

I'll set the scene: It was late winter / early spring in Toronto and the city had just been digging itself out from a late season snow-storm. I was heading to Pearson International Airport for a redeye flight to Amsterdam in order to give the Dutch arm of our company some training on the new software that had been installed (I'm deliberately being vague to prevent my place of work from being linked in any way to the incident that occurred). I had just finished packing, checked the time and found I was running late, my flight was at 7:10 PM and it was now almost 5:00 PM. Cursing softly, I ran out to the car and threw my bags in the trunk, hitting the gas a little harder than usual in my haste to make it to the Long Term Parking Lot as soon as possible. Luckily traffic was light on the 401 and I made it to the airport in record time, but knew that my chances of making the flight were still at risk if I didn't use my time wisely.

I hadn't eaten since lunch, and I was feeling a bit hungry, my stomach rumbling loudly in protestation, which caused me to look around at the other travellers rushing past me in the busy terminal, mortified that my bodily noises might be heard by others. I briskly checked my watch and decided that I had enough time to grab a quick snack before going through the baggage check and security, and would get something more substantial once I was checked through security. I spotted a vending machine nestled in a relatively low-traffic corner of the terminal and rushed over, already pulling out my credit-card and mentally assessing what I had a craving for so as to save time interacting with the machine. My eyes scanned the colourful array of confection quickly, coming to rest on a tantalizing, rainbow-coloured bag of gummy bears with the simple white and red logo "Haribo" emblazoned across the bag in what appeared to be a slightly tweaked Helvetica Rounded font.

Now I'd to pause here in the story for a moment to underscore the importance of making proper choices. I was hungry. When you're hungry, you should eat FOOD. FOOD is defined as "a nutritious substance that people consume to maintain life", this is what food is. These days, the definition of the word 'food' has been bastardized and the meaning has been broadened to include veritably any material that can be digested, or rather, chewed and swallowed without causing death or severe illness. "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" are NOT food. They aren't even from this planet. I imagine their origins being conceived in a boardroom in hell by a top team of Creative Pain Administers, with senior level Demons rubbing their hands together in ghoulish delight as Hell's Chief Chemist slowly lifts the veil on their new creation.

The point here being, I made a very, very, very poor choice. I pushed the button and the vending machine ejected the brightly coloured bag into my awaiting hands. I had always liked gummy bears - they were bright but rather innocuous, they weren't overly sweet so as to become cloying and - of course - each candy came in the visage of a rather happy, docile bear reminiscent of the picture one's mind's eye holds of all anthropomorphic bears from Yogi to Winnie.

The way I figured it, I was taking a bit of a holiday from life, so I could relax my fastidiously regimented daily schedule a little to allow for some frivolity. After all, I was going to be in Amsterdam come morning with 16 hours to kill before I had to be training the Dutch employees, maybe I would take a trip down to one of the Coffee Shops in the Red-Light District and really let my hair down! No, I wouldn't do that. I would see that area of the city from the bus as I went to the hotel where I would eat at the hotel restaurant and drink sparkling water. So I'd better enjoy the gummy bears, my one extravagance to commemorate my break from routine.

I joined the queue in the KLM line, which was mercifully short, most likely because all of the passengers for my flight had already been checked through as the flight was scheduled to depart in an hour. I checked my watch again, frowned, and absent-mindedly opened the bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and began to munch on them as the line slowly advanced. To be fair, they tasted fine - just like every other manufacturer's brand of the colourful candy, and they were sugar-free to boot. This is what made the whole incident that followed so baffling - if they had tasted 'off' or 'different' I most likely wouldn't have continued to shovel them into my mouth absent-mindedly while daydreaming about what I would order to eat from room-service in my hotel in Amsterdam.

As I gave the attendant my e-ticket and she weighed my bags, the first of the pains began in my stomach. I thought nothing of it at first, chalking it up to the fact that I needed something more substantial than gummy worms to tackle my hunger, but over the course of the next five-minutes the shooting pain began to come in more rapid succession. At this point, I had my boarding pass printed and rubbing my stomach a little, I proceeded to security. I briefly entertained the thought of trying to find a restroom before going through security, but at that point my discomfort was manageable and I didn't think it was get any worse, certainly not within the amount of time it would take to clear security.

I joined the line and started fishing for my passport to present to the agent checking tickets, I felt a thin sheen of sweat break out on my forehead and underarms, and my features flushed for a moment as a wave of heat washed over me. I didn't pay it much heed as going through security always caused me great anxiety and I chalked it up to pre-flight jitters. It was only as I stood face to face with the agent and handed her my passport and ticket that I had a glimpse of the agony that was about to begin. It felt like time rippled for a moment, as if my consciousness buckled so intense was the pain that fired through my bowels. I grimaced spastically and emitted a low moan, and felt myself take an involuntary step sideways. Stars shot though my head briefly and my vision blurred and then snapped back into focus. The agent was staring at me with slight consternation and asked me if I was alright. I pulled myself together, stood up straight and declared that I was fine, mortified that I had had a lapse of decorum not only in public but at the security clearance in an airport!

As I fumbled off my belt to go through the metal detector, the pain in my stomach increased and I practically had to sit on the floor to take my shoes off, terrified of what would happen if I bent at the middle to do it. It was becoming increasingly more evident to me that this wasn't just a stomach ache. No, this was something much worse. As a child I had had a bout of diarrhea after a trip to Mexico with my family, I remember the feeling of nausea that swept through me before my child self had surrendered to the gas pains and parked myself on the toilet for an hour, s***ting until I felt like I didn't have any bones left. And that was how I was feeling now, with several key differences - the pain was worse, the sense of an impending bowel movement was so formidable it gave me temporary amnesia, and it took all of my will-power, all of it, to clench my butt cheeks together to prevent my sphincter from exploding.

A sudden shock of pain racked my body, and I half wondered if I was going to give birth to a Tasmanian Devil. The crazy, fever-induced image of said cartoon animal chasing Bugs Bunny through the splashy, volcanic s***-kettle that was my stomach, caused me to illicit a short, maniacal bark of laughter as I approached the Metal detector, a wild, distant look in my eyes, sweat now beginning to poor off of my like a long-distance runner in Kenya. The security agent on the other side of the detector shot a quick glance over to her co-worker who narrowed his eyes and made a subtle movement towards his holster. My breathing became uneven as I entered the metal detector and I realized with alarm that I had taken off my socks without even registering it, and one of my shirt tails was untucked at the front. I held my breath, my eyes bulging dangerously from my head as the machine scanned me. As I shakily moved forward towards the agent for a pat down, my stomach began to illicit sounds that can only be described as otherworldly. It started off a sort-off bubbling sound heard from afar and grew in pitch and intensity at an alarming rate. My jaw dropped in shock as what I can only describe as the sound of an agonized wailing alley-cat in heat with a persistent Doppler effect added to it's voice emitted from some nether-region of my intestines. The officer's eyes widened in alarm, and she kept her eyes glued to my stomach as she thoroughly patted me down. As she reached my shins, I felt my innards suddenly expand, and plummet towards my rectum. With cat-like reflexes I squeezed my sphincter shut with what seemed like nano-seconds to spare, and I knew, I KNEW that if I didn't get the bathroom immediately I would s*** myself.

With a Herculean effort and all of the strength that I could muster, I forced my buttcheeks together knowing that one false move would open the floodgates. I began to walk like a duck, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, not even caring now what other people were seeing in front of them - a disheveled, barefoot 40-year-old business man, red-faced and bulgy-eyed, sweating profusely, shaking slightly and walking without bending his knees. With single-minded intensity I grabbed my carry-on, shoes and socks from out of the plastic tub that had passed the x-ray inspection, and without putting anything back on, I turned on my heels with the intention of finding the nearest restroom and slowly dying there one squirt at a time.

But that's not what happened.

I turned to go and found myself staring at three armed agents who stopped me and asked if I would follow them. "Why, what's the matter?" I stammered, wincing slightly as the act of speech seemed to strain the tenuous and extremely fragile truce I had negotiated between my bowels and the tempest that raged within. "I have to go the bathroom, RIGHT NOW" I pleaded. "Just follow us please", they said, leaving no room for argument. The other travellers clearing the security check stared with curiosity and revulsion at the spectacle unfolding before them, whispering amongst themselves and hurrying to pack up their belongings and get as far away from me as possible, no doubt assuming that the airport had nabbed some sort of domestic terrorist. If I hadn't been feverishly trying to hold back the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, I likely would have died of shame.

With each step I took towards the room that they ushered me into, I felt that my legs would give way. I marvelled at how strong the human will could be. Marvelled at what was essentially patching a hole in the Hoover Dam with bubblegum could actually be sustained indefinitely. Maybe I would make it through this ordeal after all. The room they brought me into was an examination room. I had pretty much stopped registering details of my environment as my consciousness closed off all but the absolutely necessary functions - breathing, ability to walk - but I snapped back to reality when I heard the snap of rubber. The slow dawning of realization poked through my agony and stoic resolve as I turned to face an agent dawning rubber gloves.

"Sir, we are going to perform a cavity search on you", a young fresh-faced agent stated in a firm but emotionless voice. His short-cropped, blond hair was immaculate and for a crazy moment I wondered if he was an actor and this was all some sort of elaborate practical joke done to amuse bored kids watching Youtube. He must have taken my tortured silence for resistance because he looked at me sharply and said "Lower your pants and underwear please, and face the desk". Panic started to grip me in it's icy grasp and the sudden adrenaline threatened to destroy my sphincters bulwarks and rend my anus in two. I inhaled sharply and with a pained gasp I doubled up my efforts to clench my cheeks together. "Sir, please", I begged deferring to this kid in an act of desperation, "I have to go to the bathroom. You can follow me into the stall if you need to but I had some bad "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and now I feel like'", but they had stopped listening and smirked at each other, two of the other agents - a tall, dark-haired female and a shorter, balding fat man - looked away from me and I could see them shaking a little as they stifled their laughs. "Sir, face the wall, put your hands on the desk and spread your cheeks" the young agent stated, a lop-sided grin on his face. "But'", I began to protest, and then a fresh shock of pain forced me to stop and lean on the table for support as an ungodly howling rose from my stomach, something between the dying moans of a Wholly Mammoth, and the sound of bubble-wrap popping underwater. I exhaled shakily and my focus began to narrow, as I rallied for the final battle. Shaking uncontrollably and sweat literally raining down onto the tabletop in from of me, I turned to face the wall and heard a meek childlike voice, pleading from somewhere in the room. "Please", it said, and then again, "Please". From somewhere within me my mind recognized that this sound had issued from me, although my consciousness had now begun to separate from my body and I held my breath and prayed to God for strength.

"He probably has some heroin or something up there that opened up", the female guard said as a part of me that hadn't escaped into the ether yet acknowledged that she was behind me to my left, "probably high as a kite, LOOK at him", she said. The shorter guard agreed with a snort, off to my right.

"Spread your cheeks" the young agent said, his voice directly behind me and lower than the other two, "and bend over".

"Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegodpleasegod", I whispered in a desperate, maniacal mantra, not even aware of my surroundings anymore. I felt like I was lost in an opium fog with half-snatched images and sounds filtering through to create a nonsensical version of reality. Another volley of pain tore through me and I involuntarily leaned forward over the desk, my focus completely narrowed now to a spot on the wall two feet in front of me, a curious imperfection in the what seemed to be white-washed stone wall. It was a dark blotch about five millimetres long and shaped like a smiling bear, a yellow dancing bear. No, a green bear. No, red. It was all the colours of the rainbow. My god, it was beautiful.

It just took something as simple as a slight breeze to trigger Armegeddon. That's all. No trumpets, no fanfare, no fire raining from the heavens, no dogs and cats living together in harmony, no finger on the button, no prophet to predict it, no nothing. As I stared at the rainbow bear smiling and dancing in front of me, my mouth agape, drooling, eyes glazed and blood-shot, face coated with a sheen of sweat, I heard the softest sound, an exhalation from the young agent behind me, and then at the same instant the warm air of his breath feather across my butt cheeks. For just a moment, maybe less, maybe a split second, even a nanosecond, I felt the presence of God there with me in that room as neurons began to misfire at a blinding rate, nerve ending bristled and muscles twitched reflexively. I stood on the brink with one foot hovering over the edge, and then without taking a step, I found myself plummeting.

With a sound like an extra large plastic ketchup bottle being run over by a Mac truck, my sphincter released. The pressure of the blast pushed me hard into the desk and the legs of the desk screeched as they scraped across the floor. My body remained rigid for a moment and I experienced a relief that can only be described as orgasmic in it's purity. My eyes rolled back in my head and my tongue lolled out of my head like a half-retarded dog and I emitted a low, sustained groan that grew in pitch as the filthy torrent pushed its way out of my body. Tremors wracked my body and I must have looked like a fish out of water with an endless stream of s*** firing out of its ass. Other sounds and sensations started to filter in now as my consciousness began to materialize once more. The muffled scream of a dungeon filled with prisoners near death radiated from my stomach, the rushing sound of litres of liquid trying to escape through an aperture too small to accommodate it all at the same time, the omnipresent sound of chunky liquid spattering against a hard surface with great force, the high-pitched screaming of a woman's voice calling out to God, another voice sobbing uncontrollably imploring to "make it stop!!!" and my own ecstatic, monotone wail.

When my ordeal had eventually run its course, I was left panting for breath and wobbly legged, half-crying, half-laughing with relief, barely lucid and feeling as if I had birthed an elephant. My colon felt like someone had poured chile sauce all over it and then sent in a colony of fire ants to eat it. Through my sobs I heard the sound of dripping, like when the sprinklers are eventually turned off after an office fire, or after a thunderstorm when the willow that overhangs a pond continues to rain down long after the sky has stopped. From behind me, the sobbing continued and I heard someone trying to speak into a walkie-talkie but nonsensical words were all that the man could speak, which sounded like the ravings of a lunatic.

With great relief, I slowly pulled myself off the table, legs trembling, my stomach eliciting one last sound, a loud prolonged gas bubbling that eerily resembled a pig orgasm. I slowly turned my head to survey the devastation and in that instant, if I had had a pencil or some other sharp object, I probably would have gouged my eyes out in revulsion. And the smell. The smell was enough to drive a man insane. It was the stench of rotting potatoes mixed with sulphur and ammonia, cooked in a broth of chicken feces and left to age for two weeks in a yeasty stew at the bottom of a French outhouse. After half a whiff of this ghoulish brine, I immediately stopped breathing through my nose but the taste was to remain in the back of my throat for months to come.

The young agent had taken the brunt of the foul witch's brew, and at first I couldn't process what I was seeing. I thought somehow the young blond kid had been spirited away and replaced by a brown Golem, or a ATV rider that had spent the better part of a day driving through every mud puddle he could find after a torrential downpour. With some degree of compartmentalization I came to understand that for some unfathomable reason this kid hadn't moved - or hadn't been able to move - through the entire fecal deluge. He had weathered the entire assault head-on like some sort of hero from Greek Mythology. I had given this poor schmuck a one-man s*** bukkake that would make a Brazillian pornographer retch with disgust, and he was still in the same position he must have been from the moment of first impact. I tried to comprehend how he must be feeling, what he must be going through psychologically, but it became evident very quickly that he had become very broken. No doubt forced so deeply within himself once the firehose has been turned on that there was little to no hope of him ever coming back from it, certainly not without extensive psychotherapy or a lobotomy. I looked beyond his quivering, catatonic crouched form to see a perfect outline of him cutout on the white wall behind him, either side filled in with a dripping, opaque layer of alternately pulpy and runny fecal stew. I noticed two quivering masses at either extremes of the room and realized they were humanoid in form, although the caterwauling that was coming from these broken creatures was just blubbering gibberish. And this was the tableau that was burnt into my mind's eye for eternity.

Needless to say, I missed my flight.

In fact the next week is a blur. I have vague recollections of an army of Hazmat clad figures looming through the brown landscape of the soiled room, the slopping sounds of rubber boats squelching in puddles of fetid detritus, uncontrollable wailing and animal-like sounds issuing from the mouths of creatures that had been traumatized beyond their capacity for being put back together, the complete loss of sensation from my waist down as I was rolled through the room on a waterproof gurney, it's wheels struggling to surf on top of the s***-soaked floor. I spent a week or so in the hospital enclosed in a well ventilated, sealed room, with suited doctor coming in on the hour to monitor my vital signs as they tried to rehydrate my body. I had apparently expelled every available drop of water from my body that was possible to sustain life without for a short period of time. All of my clothes were incinerated in the hospital's crematorium, and the soiled bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" was never recovered.

This is my story. It is inconceivable to think that this kind of product can be sold legally and be misrepresented as 'food'. I was lucky, I survived. But as for the families of the survivors, and the survivors themselves, they will forever live with the trauma of the events that took place at Pearson International Airport on that snowy day in April 2013.
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on February 26, 2016
I love Gummi Bears. They are God’s sweet nectar. What I did not know is that, like all things that are good in this world, they have an equally evil counterpart, the Haribo Sugar-Free Gummy Bears. While I understand that balance is necessary in a morally mixed world, I had no idea how much horror evil could cause, especially one with such a happy, smiling bear-like face. Now, I know. This evil counterpart is clearly one of Lucifer’s sycophants, cleverly disguised in a childlike, gelatinous form.

It all started with a trip I was taking with my 6-year old son, to the beach. We were headed to the beach at Gulf Shores, from Texas on I-10. This is extremely important (and was extremely unfortunate). I drive two-seater pickup so he had to sit in the front with me on a kids seat that raises him up about 4 inches.

Anyhow, we’re in Louisiana when we come up to signs for the Atchafalaya Bridge where I force him to pee at a local gas station. it was beyond nasty, it looked like desperate truck drivers, homeless locals and swamp rats had desecrated and abandoned the place just long enough to create a smell that would make even cockroaches throw up in their mouths a little. My son fights me but I know that we’re about to cross one of the longest bridges in the world and there’s no place to stop.

Back on the road, he says, “I’m hungry daddy” and, being the cool dad, I pull out that sweet-faced poison. I immediately start shoveling them into my mouth without looking, assuming these are my regular friends. My son has one and grimaces. He must have noticed the lack of real sugar in his favorite snack. It's a hint I should have taken. Make all the jokes you want about hindsight. I’m not laughing.

The first sign came at about 5 miles onto the bridge when I felt a seemingly small bout of flatulence coming on. This is a bit embarrasing but As fathers are wont to do, I played one of my favorite father-son games I affectionately call, “pull my finger.” It’s a surefire winner with the boy every time. At this point, I’ve eaten my way through what I now estimate to be about a pound of the malevolent little creatures and they’re about to show their true faces.

I feel a few bubbles but disregard them. The pressure is building and the time for the game is now or never. I say the magic words “pull my finger.” Looking back, they seemed to come from my lips in ultra-slow motion, like a Robin Williams imitation. As I replay it, I try to stop myself but I can’t. My right finger is already extended and the knowing smile on his face is already there. He knows (or thinks he knows) what’s coming.

So he pulls on my finger and opens the door to hell.

The timing and irony could not have been more perfect as I release a long fluttering sound and smell that quickly fills the cab. “Daddy, that was gross. Is that the swamp or you?” He asks innocently. I glance into his watering eyes and realize he is serious. It hits my nose too and have to slam on the brakes to make sure I don’t hit the cars in front of me. I can no longer see them due to my own pungent stench, which has caused me to go momentarily blind.

Meanwhile, the farting has amazingly and inexplicably continued.

It’s getting worse and he begs me to stop but I can’t. I try to tuck my cheeks under and in but nothing helps. Then, the sound turns from farting to gurgling. I pull my hand away from the attempted tuck and my hands are moist. I feel my pants filling with a soggy warmth that seems to come from nowhere. My bowels have become the bowels of hell and nothing will abate them. I have no control of my bodily functions. The air-smell becomes the solid smell and I suddenly wish for the smell of the fart, because it smells like spring-fresh roses and clean linen compared to what now fills the cab. My son is in full cry mode now. The only thing that raises his terror level to red is the fact that my intense brown leakage has filled my jeans and has overflowed onto the seat, edging its way toward him. He cringes away and I can only look on helpless as it edges its way toward him like that only 50’s Blob movie. I’m still driving as I leak but I have to stick a leftover napkin in my nostrils so my eyes won’t water and I can see. Fortunately, he’s raised up by his kid’s seat.

Then I see sweet relief up ahead. The Atchafalaya Welcome Center. I jump out and run like one of those wind-up toy soldiers that have no knees and just bobble back and forth from toe to toe. Suddenly, all of those penguin comparisons you guys made in these reviews make perfect sense. I’m guessing that the back side of my jeans look something like an unwrapped Mr. Goodbar, but this is no time for pretense. I can feel the spray flickering from my socks as the chocolate pudding (or should I say puddling) - makes its way from the bottom of my jeans. I think I see the bathroom and run toward it in my toy soldier bounce, cheeks clinched, one arm covering my nose and face, the other attempting to squeeze my cheeks even further together, all the while thinking , “Why won’t it STOP!?”

Then I stop, because I see the worst sign ever. CLOSED. The whole place is closed for some kind of maintenance. Can’t they see that I NEED MAINTENANCE? I bang on the door and realize there’s no getting in. I see my son, who I virtually forgot, watching me from a smell-safe distance. I grab some local newspaper from a nearby stand and try to wipe myself off, making it worse. I grab the whole stack and walk toward the truck as I feel the cauldron start to bubble again. I wipe off the truck as best as possible and lay down newspaper, like a humiliated puppy. My son has no choice but to sit, carefully perched criss-cross applesauce (please, no applesauce jokes. This is my life, here) on his kids’ seat so that he doesn’t touch the crime scene. We start to head back the way we came.

I start to feel it coming on again and try to take a food inventory. “How could it still be coming out? There’s wasn’t that much food. The only thing in sight 10 miles and 2 blowouts later is that nasty gas station. I have no choice. I stop the car and go, tell my son to wait outside. This won’t be pretty. At this point, he’s numb, the snot from crying has thankfully clogged his nose.

I go into the hellish ruins of a bathroom and yank my pants down. Another blowout happens before I reach the pot, spraying the wall like a blood splatter episode of Dexter. The one noticeable difference is that, buried in that spray are slightly chewed, smiling, jello-from-hell gummy bears. You can laugh but it was as if they physically crawled their way through my digestive system to escape my anal cavity after wreaking the havoc that only they could cause.

I will never eat gummy bears again. And make no mistake- they are evil.
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on January 19, 2016
I was under the impression these were the sugar free ones. I gave these to my neighbor thinking he would become fused to the toilet but instead, he keeps wanting to hang out and thinks we're friends.

we're not friends, steve. nobody likes you.
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on August 5, 2015
Can i just say that if you ever need to laugh until you cry, piss yourself, or a combination of the two, read these reviews.
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on March 31, 2016
Amazon, don't ever delete these reviews. They are the best comic relief I have had in a long time!
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on February 20, 2016
If you are constipated, I highly advise you eat a handful of these suckers. All it takes is the digestion of a few bears to unleash hours and hours of miserable, ungodly, anus burning streams of red hot, liquified diarrhea. May God be with you.
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