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So let me set the story here...I was set to board an Amtrak train to New York City from Philadelphia for a business excursion. I had recently been gifted a wonderful 5 lb bag of Sugar Free Haribo Gummi Bears from an aunt and figured to myself....what a wonderful snack to take along to keep me full on the train until I hit the city. I packed a zip lock bag full and began snacking on the taxi ride to the train station. Those little sugar free bears were very tasty going down, they definitely hit the spot.
I boarded the train and found a seat next to a woman dressed in business attire. She was also going to NYC for a meeting and we struck up small talk about our fields of expertise. I must say she truly was a wonderful acquaintance on the trip and who's to say I eventually wouldn't be able to work myself up to the task of asking her to grab dinner later that night! We continued to talk about everything and anything, really hitting it off. That is until about 25 minutes into our journey when I felt a small rumble roll across my stomach. It was nothing too painful, but definitely felt like the start of what could be considered a very uncomfortable experience. My stomach then continued to rumble and gurgle like a dying whale calling out to it's mother. I began to sweat heavily and my new traveling companion asked me if I was feeling okay because I started to turn pale. I tried to play it off best I could and excused myself.
I went to the front of the car where the bathroom was and immediately I could feel the gummi bears taking their revenge...trying to escape out of me with the vengeance of a 1000 roman chariots coming out of my star fish. The seat was disgusting with all the urine and such so I figured a quick squat would do the trick. Before I could even assume the position the GATES OF HELL were opened and I violently sprayed the souls of dozens of sugarless gummi bears all over the toilet. It just kept coming, over and over like some sick version of the movie Groundhog Day (also available on Amazon). I was horrified because it had covered every inch of the train toilet. I cleaned myself up and did the best I could to clean up the mess, but it was so bad. The odor itself reminded me roadkill that had been left to muster in the hot sun. I figured I had spent about 30 minutes in the bathroom and was embarrassed so I would tell my fellow traveler that I had been on a business call.
As soon as I returned to my seat, the growling of my stomach again roared like the mighty Aslan. By this point my new friend was seemingly grossed out and wanted nothing to do with me. Well good thing, because repeat, repeat, repeat. I once again hit the bathroom and by the time I had exercised all those gummi demons from me the first four rows of seats by the bathroom were now vacant. My star fish was raw now from all the wiping. I'm pretty sure I had feces on my pants.
I disembarked the train at Penn Station and went to my business meeting...reeking of poopoo and hand dispenser soap I used from the train to clean up. The meeting consisted of me sitting in a chair while others continuously made the comment, "Does anyone smell that" or "Is there something dead in the vents." Anyhow, I lost my job and the woman from the train would not answer my calls.
Case in point...if you buy these gummi bears, be prepared for the worst. I suggest if you absolutely have to try them then take about a week of vacation, go to Sam's club and buy a 90 pack case of toilet paper and install a television in your bathroom. Good luck.
WARNING: This is a story of extreme success. Your results may vary.
My overbearing oaf of a boss loves snacks. He rarely takes a lunch, as it would interfere with his love of micromanagement. I can't tell you how many times he's buzzed me on the intercom with his mouth overflowing with crackers, jerky or whatever is within reach of his fat arms, all the while screaming at me from a mouth splattering food particles all over his desk and computer like a rain bird connected to a fire hose. The tech guys hate him too, simply for the fact that they have to keep replacing his crusted over keyboards nearly on a monthly basis.
Shortly before the holidays, I was told that my bonus was going to be reduced by over 90% this year due to the company not being able to hit an arbitrary goal, which happened to be set by my confounding boss in October. My friend Omar in accounting told me that we actually did quite well this year, and my boss was taking a much larger than normal bonus this year. Greeeaaaaat.
While looking for cheap Christmas gifts for various staff members in my office, amongst the tubs of popcorn, I found these Gummy Bears of death. I so wanted to give them to my boss, but I could not risk him finding these reviews and tracing his loss of an intestine to me. Then I overheard him screaming over the phone at a contractor to having his new swimming pool and spa completed before the New Year, so he could have the deduction for this year's taxes. That's when I came up with:
HOLIDAY POPCORN OF DEATH:
4 qts. popcorn
1 1/2 c. sugar
1/2 c. white karo
1 c. butter
2 tbsp. vanilla
1 bag colored marshmallows
4 c. Killer Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears
Boil sugar, Karo and butter to big bubble stage, add vanilla, and then add Killer Gummy Bears until they melt. Pour over popped corn. Mix.
IMPORTANT: DO NOT TOUCH THIS MIXTURE WITH YOUR BARE HANDS. WEAR PUNCTURE PROOF LATEX GLOVES.
Add the popcorn to a washed holiday popcorn tin with all labels removed, seal with cellophane tape along the edge (this gives it the impression of being factory sealed) add a nice bow and card. Then eat the marshmallows while you laugh and think about all of the havoc you are going to cause.
A couple of days before Christmas, I distributed my popcorn gifts, and gave my boss his special batch, and went back to my office. I walked by his office several times in eager anticipation, and around lunch time I heard his characteristic open mouth crunching, and I saw that the popcorn lid was off. GO TIME!
After the last employee left for lunch, I placed an OUT OF ORDER sign on the executive washroom near my office, and waited for the magic to happen. It didn't take long, maybe 15-20 minutes or so, when I heard a frantic try at the washroom door, and then heard my boss yell "SHIGUMMM!" as he hit the door. I peeked out my door to see him doubled over, and shuffling like a speared penguin whose life depended on holding his butt cheeks together. Popcorn particles were on the front of his shirt and in the corners of his grimaced mouth. Droplets of sweat had started rolling off his bald pate, and appeared to be mixing with his tears of pain.
His only option was to make his way to the employee restroom down the hall, but it required the use of a code that he never used. After years of smirking after using the executive washroom, I thought to myself "Who's laughing now b%$*?"
He shuffled his way to my office shouting my name (probably to get the code) but I had hidden myself under my desk. "Unbelievable!" was the only thing he could say when I heard what sounded like a live cat being dropped in a bubbling stew pot while shooting a tommy gun. I looked under my desk to see soiled trousers drop on the floor of my office, as he defiled my shredder bin.
I started to feel bad for him and stood up, but was immediately knocked back down by a putrefied stench of an exploding blue whale that had laid in the sun for weeks. My gag reflex was vaporized and I spun yarn like Linda Blair and Pazuzu's love child. Most of it covered my boss's pants and legs, as he bore down like a power squatter moments before prolapsing. His eyes were open, but he couldn't see anything but pain.
The next thing I can remember was standing in my own driveway, completely out of breath. I had run almost four miles home without even thinking. I had left my keys, my car and had lost a shoe on the way. A half hour later I was back to a scene of police cars and paramedics. A firefighter was comforting Arlene, our receptionist who was sobbing uncontrollably. I wandered around in disbelief, everyone was in shock. I wasn't sure if I had killed my boss by liquefying his insides with the power combo of roughage and intestine liquefying gummies. I snapped out of it when Omar started shaking me saying: "Dude, you were in there, weren't you?" I nodded my head and he screamed "I found one! I found one! Hazmat!"
I was whisked around the corner by two guys in space suits and was put in a quarantine tent for observation. When they saw I had no symptoms they explained that my boss had been put in quarantine for suspicion of being infected with the H5N1 virus, or Avian Influenza (bird flu) . After lunch, Arlene had come back and had immediately fainted from the smell that had permiated every square inch of the office. Omar found her shortly thereafter and spotted my boss trying to fashion a suit out of stapled copy paper and called 911 after dragging her out. He would be in quarantine for no less than 45 days, and they need to remediate the office, or possibly burn the building to the ground.
Everyone in the office received three months off with pay, and the company was forced to settle with us in an amount that was about 10 times my normal bonus. They did find out that my boss did not have bird flu, but the higher ups fired him anyway for painting the office with his innards. By the time they let us back in, the offices were completely remodeled, and I received a lateral promotion which didn't increase my pay any, but I finally got the keys to the executive washroom. Thanks Haribo!
