Haribo sugar free gummy bears - The Megathread

[Mr Man]

This is the thread for all your favorite haribo sugar free gummy bear stories. These infamous edible torture devices are know to cause explosive flaming butt sludge, extreme cramps, and nauseating flatulence. Post reviews or stories of these.





http://www.amazon.com/Haribo-Gummi-Bears-Sugar-Free/product-reviews/B000EVQWKC

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!

[Ad Bot]

[Lizzy]

Oh man...words cannot express what happened to me after eating these. The Gummi Bear "Cleanse". If you are someone that can tolerate the sugar substitute, enjoy. If you are like the dozens of people that tried my order, RUN!

First of all, for taste I would rate these a 5. So good. Soft, true-to-taste fruit flavors like the sugar variety...I was a happy camper.

BUT (or should I say BUTT), not long after eating about 20 of these all hell broke loose. I had a gastrointestinal experience like nothing I've ever imagined. Cramps, sweating, bloating beyond my worst nightmare. I've had food poisoning from some bad shellfish and that was almost like a skip in the park compared to what was going on inside me.

Then came the, uh, flatulence. Heavens to Murgatroyd, the sounds, like Annoying Orangeets calling the demons back to Hell...the stench, like 1,000 rotten corpses vomited. I couldn't stand to stay in one room for fear of succumbing to my own odors.

But wait; there's more. What came out of me felt like someone tried to funnel Niagara Falls through a coffee straw. I swear my sphincters were screaming. It felt like my delicate starfish was a gaping maw projectile vomiting a torrential flood of toxic waste. 100% liquid. Flammable liquid. NAPALM. It was actually a bit humorous (for a nanosecond)as it was just beyond anything I could imagine possible.

AND IT WENT ON FOR HOURS.

I felt violated when it was over, which I think might have been sometime in the early morning of the next day. There was stuff coming out of me that I ate at my wedding in 2005.

I had FIVE POUNDS of these innocent-looking delicious-tasting HELLBEARS so I told a friend about what happened to me, thinking it HAD to be some type of sensitivity I had to the sugar substitute, and in spite of my warnings and graphic descriptions, she decided to take her chances and take them off my hands.

Silly woman. All of the same for her, and a phone call from her while on the toilet (because you kinda end up living in the bathroom for a spell) telling me she really wished she would have listened. I think she was crying.

Her sister was skeptical and suspected that we were exaggerating. She took them to work, since there was still 99% of a 5 pound bag left. She works for a construction company, where there are builders, roofers, house painters, landscapers, etc. Lots of people who generally have limited access to toilets on a given day. I can't imagine where all of those poor men (and women) pooped that day. I keep envisioning men on roofs, crossing their legs and trying to decide if they can make it down the ladder, or if they should just jump.

If you order these, best of luck to you. And please, don't post a video review during the aftershocks.

PS: When I ordered these, the warnings and disclaimers and legalese were NOT posted. I'm not a moron. Also, not sure why so many people assume I'm a man. I am a woman. We poop too. Of course, our poop sparkles and smells like a walk in a meadow of wildflowers. Thanks for all the great comments. I've been enjoying reading them and so glad that the horror show I experienced from snacking on these has at least made some people smile.

Before a company goes public, the highest level executives embark on a multi-city tour with their investment bankers to drum up support for the upcoming IPO. This trip is called a roadshow and since the group will typically visit dozens of cities on a tight schedule, a private jet is the preferred means of transportation. During a roadshow, it's not unusual to visit two or three cities in a single day so work starts at the crack of dawn. That doesn't mean the group goes to bed early. Every night, the bankers treat their clients to a wild nights, complete with complimentary Gummy Bears and coffee. No matter how hard the group parties the night before, the private jet will lift them off to their next destination very early the next morning.

Just for a minute, pretend you're an investment banker traveling with some very important clients on one of these roadshows. Now imagine that you spent the previous night "dropping Yogi" way beyond your limit only to be startled out of bed by a piercing 6:30 am wake up call. In an attempt to get your head and body feeling remotely human again, you scarf down some more warm Gummy Bears and at least two glasses of coffee at the hotel's breakfast buffet before jumping on the shuttle to the private airport. Within a few minutes of arriving at the airport, your entire group is seated and the plane begins to taxi down the runway. At this point you might feel a bit of relief as the morning's blur subsides. All you have to do is sit back and relax for the one hour flight to the next city.

There's just one problem. In your rush to get out of the hotel, down to breakfast and onto the plane you forgot to do one very crucial thing. Go to the bathroom. And I'm not talking about peeing. You have a stomach full of last nights multi-colored death bears and coffee churning around your lower intestine at 30,000 feet. But that's not the worst part. True horror sets in when you realize you're not on a spacious 20 person G5 with couches, beds, lay-z boys and a fully tucked away private bathroom. No, on this day you are traveling on a six-person puddle jumper sitting shoulder to shoulder with your clients and co-workers. But wait, somehow the story gets even worse…

Just over halfway through the flight, all the coffee in my stomach feels like it's percolating its way down into my lower intestine. I hunker down and try and focus on other things. What feels like an hour, but probably isn't more than twenty minutes, passes. We then enter what turns out to be pretty violent turbulence. With each bounce, I have to fight my body, trying not to poop my pants. "Thirty minutes to landing, maybe forty five" I try and tell myself, each jostle a gamble I can't afford to lose. I signal to [the flight attendant] and she heads toward me.

"Excuse me, where is the bathroom, because I don't see a door?" I ask while still devoting considerable energy to fighting off what starts to feel like someone shook a seltzer bottle and shoved it up my butt. She looks at me, bemused, and says, "Well, we don't really have one per se." She continues, "Technically, we have one, but it's really just for emergencies. Don't worry, we're landing shortly anyway."

"I'm pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency," I manage to mutter through my grimace. I can see the fear in her face as she points nervously to the back seat. The turbulence outside is matched only by the cyclone that is ravaging my bowels. She points to the back of the plane and says, "There. The toilet is there." For a brief instant, relief passes over my face. She continues, "If you pull away the leather cushion from that seat, it's under there. There's a small privacy screen that pulls up around it, but that's it." At this point, I was committed. She had just lit the dynamite and the mine shaft was set to blow.

I turn to look where she is pointing and I get the urge to cry. I do cry, but my face is so tightly clenched it makes no difference. The "toilet" seat is occupied by the CFO, i.e. our freaking client. Our freaking female freaking client!

Up to this point, nobody has observed my struggle or my exchange with the flight attendant. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." That's all I can say as I limp toward her like Quasimodo impersonating a penguin, and begin my explanation. Of course, as soon as my competitors see me talking to the CFO, they all perk up to find out what the hell I'm doing.

Given my jovial nature and fun-loving attitude thus far on the roadshow, almost everybody thinks I'm joking. She, however, knows right away that I am anything but and jumps up, moving quickly to where I had been sitting. I now had to remove the seat top – no easy task when you can barely stand upright, are getting tossed around like a hoodrat at a block party, and are fighting against a gastrointestinal Mt. Vesuvius.

I manage to peel back the leather seat top to find a rather luxurious looking commode, with a nice cherry or walnut frame. It had obviously never been used, ever. Why this moment of clarity came to me, I do not know. Perhaps it was the realization that I was going to take this toilet's virginity with a fury and savagery that was an abomination to its delicate craftsmanship and quality. I imagined some poor Italian carpenter weeping over the violently soiled remains of his once beautiful creation. The lament lasted only a second as I was quickly back to concentrating on the tiny muscle that stood between me and molten hot lava.

I reach down and pull up the privacy screens, with only seconds to spare before I erupt. It's an alka-seltzer bomb, nothing but air and liquid spraying out in all directions – a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. The pressure is now reversed. I feel like I'm going to have a stroke, I push so hard to end the relief, the tormented sublime relief.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." My apologies do nothing to drown out the heinous noises that seem to carry on and reverberate throughout the small cabin indefinitely. If that's not bad enough, I have one more major problem. The privacy screen stops right around shoulder level. I am sitting there, a disembodied head, in the back of the plane, on a bucking bronco for a toilet, all while looking my colleagues, competitors, and clients directly in the eyes. "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!" briefly comes to mind.

I literally could reach out with my left hand and rest it on the shoulder of the person adjacent to me. It was virtually impossible for him, or any of the others, and by others I mean high profile business partners and clients, to avert their eyes. They squirm and try not to look, inclined to do their best to carry on and pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that they weren't sharing a stall with some guy dropping his intestines out. Releasing smelly, sweaty, shame at 100 feet per second.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry" is all the ashamed disembodied head can say…over and over again. Not that it mattered.

First off, I need to preface this review by saying that Haribo Sugar Free Gummies are delicious, and that many of the Haribo products remain a dear childhood memory. For that reason alone I have not reached out to the Better Business Bureau. My psychiatrist told me from now on to stay positive, lest I have another horrible flashback of the events that occurred two months ago. That being said, this product both saved my life, as well as put it in unnecessary jeopardy.

I had ordered a 5-pound bag on Amazon as sort of an impulsive buy, but never really got around to eating them until a buddy and me headed out for a wreck dive in the Caribbean. Being the overweight glutton that I am, I chose not to share with my long time friend, the dive master, or the other people on board the boat. I snacked on about 20 or 30 (my memory is a bit foggy), but enough to tide me over for the trip. I suited up, routinely walked off the railings, and began my 25m (75 foot) descent.

It was around 30 feet that my stomach gave a peculiar lurch, and I really didn't think much of it. We continued our leisurely path to the bottom, the water's hue fading to a darker blue while our air bubbles playfully danced to the sunny surface.

A horrible, gut-wrenching blast of feces and gas escaped me around 55-feet. I chuckled to myself, checking my dive watch and then looking back at my friend and a few inexperienced divers a little above me. Between us was a cloud of brown. A little embarrassed, I still smiled at the humor of the situation, even though it was going to be disgusting when I got back on the boat. I had no idea what was to come.

By the time we reached the bottom, I had given off two more clouds, but something was nightmarishly different. It could have been the crushing pressure of the depth, or, from what I've read from other posts, a similar rejection of the gummies, either way I had lost control of my sphincter muscles and did not stop loosing my bowels. I started to panic and grow dizzy, but hand signaling to my friend or the dive team was impossible- I was completely surrounded by the hazy brown cumulonimbus excrement extended who knows how far out. I did not know which way was up.

My diving suit felt like it was filled not with water, but with rich warm feces that combatted the November- cold waters of a deep-sea dive. Through the chunks, I had trouble viewing my dive computer, and had no idea how much oxygen was left in my tank. My shaking hands lost the flashlight, and I could only grunt in fear and shame. How long was I down there for? 10 minutes? An hour? I lost track of time, felt detached from humanity. I damned those treacherous snacks, and in my panic inflated my BC too much, rising to the surface at a dangerous rate.

I remember reaching the surface. Blowing the whistle, and seeing the concerned faces of those on board the diving boat. Flashes of light from both the noon sun and the medical flashlight. Blackness. My buddy's distressed and humorless face. Blackness again. I only became fully conscious in the decompression chamber when I heard the familiar voices of my parents and brother, as well as the distant sound of saliva dripping from my mouth.

At the beginning of this story, I mentioned that Haribo might have played a role in saving my life. Weeks after my harrowing ascent, and after shutting myself off from the world, I attempted to lead a normal life again with those close to me. I decided to get in touch with my diving friend who bore witness to that fateful day. At the time, I could not meet his eyes, but he told me everything that he saw- the first brown insult that emanated from my body and passed around him like a ghost, me looking back and smiling, and the increasing radius of my own liquefied excrement; what I did not notice was the 13-foot hammerhead circling me. The rest of the team had seen it making its way towards me, but I was then enshrouded in the cloud, unable to see them signaling the danger yards ahead of me. When the shark had reached the cloud, it had "shuddered" and seemed to throw up the contents of its stomach before making a hasty retreat. My friend's haunted face showed that he too could use some therapy after what happened that day. We are still friends, but do not talk as much as we used to. I lost 85 pounds and break out in sweat when I pass the candy isle at Publix. I am what you would call "a survivor".

[Nonnel]

Amazon comments on unnecessarily large things are great.

[Mr Man]

bump

[Skig]

Wow

[WALK2222]

I once made the terrible mistake of buying these during camp last year, obviously I had the whole pack within about 10 minutes.

This, of course, happened to be the worst idea I had ever conceived.  I ended up in the bathroom for over 45 minutes, trying my absolute hardest not to throw up.  Upon returning, I had to tell my counselors that I had not realized lunch had ended in order to save myself from incoming embarrasment.

tldr; Do not ever eat an entire pack of these in one sitting, it will be the worst decision you ever make.

[#Ravencroft]

Are these stories true because I've never had a problem eating these. Either way, that's some funny stuff.

[Mr. Hurricane]

Five pounds synthetic laxative.

[Satan From Wreck-It-Ralph]

Are these stories true because I've never had a problem eating these. Either way, that's some funny stuff.

^
maybe I've been lucky, but I've had no problems with Haribo gummy bears other than me not liking them.

[Otis Da HousKat]

Are these stories true because I've never had a problem eating these. Either way, that's some funny stuff.

^
maybe I've been lucky, but I've had no problems with Haribo gummy bears other than me not liking them.

The sweetener used in the sugar-free variety of many gummy candies can cause severe diarrhea, among other gastrointestinal oddities, if you consume a large amount within a certain time frame, and you know everyone shovels delicious gummy candy into their mouths.

[Tayasaurus]

http://www.amazon.com/Avoid-Huge-Ships-John-Trimmer/dp/0870334336

By Noel D. Hill on February 20, 2011
Format: Paperback
As the father of two teenagers, I found this book invaluable. I'm sure other parents here can empathize when I say I shudder at the thought of the increasing presence of huge ships in the lives my children. I certainly remember the strain I caused so long ago for my own parents when I began experimenting with huge ships. The long inter-continental voyages that kept my mom and dad up all night with worry. Don't even get me started on the international protocols when transporting perishable cargo. To think, I was even younger than my kids are now! huge ships are everywhere and it doesn't help that the tv and movies make huge ships seem glamorous and cool. This book helped me really approach the subject of huge ships with my kids in an honest and non judgmental way. Because of the insights this book provided, I can sleep a little better and cope with the reality that I can't always be there to protect my kids from huge ships, especially as they become adults. I'm confident that my teens, when confronted by a huge ship, are much better prepared to make wiser decisions than I did. At the very least my children certainly know that they can always come to me if they have any concerns, questions or just need my support when it comes to the topic of huge ships.

By Citizenfitz on December 21, 2010
Format: Paperback
I bought How to Avoid Huge Ships as a companion to Captain Trimmer's other excellent titles: How to Avoid a Train, and How to Avoid the Empire State Building. These books are fast paced, well written and the hard won knowledge found in them is as inspirational as it is informational. After reading them I haven't been hit by anything bigger than a diesel bus. Thanks captain!

By Roger on August 21, 2013
Format: Paperback
When on my jet ski in the Chesapeake bay this summer I was confronted by a huge ship moving up the channel. You can imagine my horror when I realized I had only 1 hour and 45 minutes or so before the lumbering behemoth was sure to pass through my area. With no place to hide and only a water jet propelled small craft beneath me for transport, I quickly withdrew my Kindle Fire from the storage compartment beneath my seat and preceded to read the book How To Avoid Huge Ships. One hour later and with only 45 minutes to spare, I implemented the expert advice provided by the author and turned my jet ski in the opposite direction of the huge ship to avoid certain disaster.

This book really is one of the best huge ship avoidance references I've come across, not just for the effective methods it teaches as to avoiding huge ships, but also for exploding some of the huge ship avoidance myths that many of us take for granted.

For example:
- Do not charge the huge ship at full speed in an attempt to scare it off. This may work with coyotes, but it is less effective with huge ships.
- Similarly, do not roll your boat over and play dead. Unless the huge ship is captained by a grizzly bear, this will not work.
- Do not attempt to go under the huge ship. This is typically not successful.
- Do not attempt to jump over the huge ship.

Captain Trimmer presents a rather novel technique for avoiding huge ships - move your boat out of the path of the huge ship. I know what you're thinking, this goes against conventional wisdom, but Trimmer presents significant empirical evidence to support his theory. Indeed, over the long run, moving out of the way will dramatically decrease the number of huge ship collisions you will have to endure in your daily life.

[Dreams_Of_Cheese]

i once ate a 2~ pound bag of sugar gummy bears and shat literal liquid
no heat or pain, just a loud smelly splash

[WALK2222]

You honestly don't even need to buy laxatives,
these are cheaper and far more powerful

[Bacon Pancakes]

tldr; Do not ever eat an entire pack of these in one sitting, it will be the worst decision you ever make.

Ah 2012 Germany school trip...

[Dreams_Of_Cheese]

You honestly don't even need to buy laxatives,
these are cheaper and far more powerful

I actually do this now
it actually works and theres no awkward checkout glances