Satan’s Diarrhea Hate Bears made by Haribo

Recently I was sent a link of Amazon customer reviews for Haribo Gummi Bears Sugar Free 5lb.  It is a bulk of hilarious reviews of what sugar free products can do to the human body. Apparently the sugar substitute gives people the greatest enema of their lives.  It is a sad day when you cannot trust your bowels. The United States could save a fortune using these little devil bears in the healthcare system. English teachers could adopt these reviews as apart of the new common core and kids would be able to describe the shitty education given to them.

“I am sending a bag of these to every member of Congress to show my deepest gratitude. “

1. Unfortunately, I was unaware of these reviews before consuming Satan’s little death bears. After reading that these little jewels were made in Austria, I imagine a rouge Nazi chemical weapons scientist escaped to Austria after the war and set up shop making unsuspecting masses suffer for their defeat.

2. The result is a burning, stinging Diarrhea that lasts for a minimum of an hour. The burning isn’t quenched by water, milk or anything you will try. It is only alleviated by time. That time is usually a couple of days. It hurt to sit and it hurt to stand. The only comfort was to not do anything. I tried to shower and the burning just turned into painful stinging.

3. These are very tasty. Depending on how many you eat will measure the pain you go through and the duration. If I eat 30, I will be painting the porcelain for hours. I will toot all through the night and all through the next day with lots of abdominal pain. I keep my buddies cracked up at the constant and violent tooting through. You just need to make sure that for the first 6 hours after you eat them, they are probably not toots. I actually had to change my underwear twice in 30 minutes.

4.  My well-meaning roommate picked up a bag of these for me, knowing that I’m trying to lose weight. I opened them and munched on a few, then decided to put on my one-piece bathing suit and go for a swim in my building’s pool.

5. I don’t know what everyone is complaining about, these little sugarless wonders were exactly what I needed! No longer do I need to spend a day fasting and drinking laxatives in preparation for a colonoscopy, just don’t eat the red ones!

6.  My relief was short lived as within 10 minutes by body began to spew forth a substance that made the pea soup vomit from The Exorcist forth look like sweet honey and nectar. The agony I endured as I released this stream of piping hot rainbow-colored lava made me wish that Kathy Bates would kidnap me and break my ankles with a sledgehammer to somehow distract me from the pain. I heard they are remaking the movie “Misery” and only using these innocuous looking intestine-destroying demon bears.

7.  The hell you say, Sherlock! Let’s be truthful: Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears do not cause “digestive upset.” They bring on colonic hurricanes, complete with gale-force flatulence and shattering eliminations that seem to come out of nowhere and are (mostly) liquid. I’ve taken citrate magnesium before, and had less explosive bouts of diarrhea than those brought on by Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears. They should give these out in place of enemas in hospitals, and then drape the patients in enclosed tarps.

8. Then came the, uh, flatulence. Heavens to Murgatroyd, the sounds, like trumpets 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.

9. I bought one order for the Westboro Baptist Church as a donation because we all know how much God hates irregularity.

10.  As soon as we hit the ER doors I was off like a Kenyan on methamphetamine for the bathroom. I tried to use a hallway bathroom, but it was occupied. My only other option was the bathroom right outside the nurses station. I mean, it was RIGHT outside the nurses station. The door was a mere five feet from their desks. All those pretty, young, nurses. With no other option, I ran back, trying to keep my cheeks clinched. Little staccato bursts of sulfuric farts punctuated each yard as I raced for the finish line hoping that I could keep my chocolate starfish clenched tight enough to stem the tide.

11.  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%$*?”

12. Be sure to also buy a tub of Oxyclean with this to get the blood and diarrhea stains out of your underwear, clothes, furniture, pets, loved ones, ceiling fans.

13. I was glued to the toilet seat. Streams of fire burst from my colon. When I wasn’t experiencing Satan’s fury exploding from my rear, i was laying in the fetal position on my bathroom floor, sobbing and asking for forgiveness. I’m a 280 pound man. I. Was. Sobbing.

14. I nearly shat myself inside-out. Pretty sure I crapped out a kidney, or my spleen.. I definitely heard the distinctive “ching” of that penny I swallowed back in ’82…..I can now fit back into the jeans I wore in high school… so not all bad, I suppose.

15.  I type this as I sit in the smallest room in the house, the wallpaper theme of lighthouses and seagulls mocking me. The tiny carved soaps, for display only, and the towels reserved exclusively for guests, mere set decoration on the stage of my parting. I am at peace; I am ready to go. Had I read the reviews, I may not be in this predicament, but this is no time for regret. Like the Spartans at Thermopylae, though the battle was valiant, the ultimate result was determined before the first arrow was loosed. I shall resign myself to my fate.

16. I’m bit of a ‘fart’ connoisseur, and enjoy my own brew, like any other guy, but this was beyond my own tolerance, I can only imagine what the people in the surrounding cubicles were thinking.

17. I wasn’t surprised that the hell-bears caused me to have massive diarrhea, everyone warned me. I wanted to see if I could just eat them slowly and build up a tolerance to them. My plan was to eat 1 bear now, then tomorrow do 2 bears, then the next day 3 bears, and so on adding one bear each day in an attempt to build up my tolerance slowly without having to spend the day in the bathroom. Day 10 came which means it was the day to eat 10 bears, I chose my colors carefully, it was difficult to limit myself, so I was excited to be able to eat 10, because they taste great and I’ve had no reaction thus far.

What I didn’t know is that the bears are not stupid. The first 9 days’ worth of bears got in there and realized they didn’t have the bear-power that was needed to launch an effective assault. So they waited, waited for reinforcement. I feel now like they are very patient bears and would have waited until the bitter end for backup. Well, day 10 brought them a healthy batch of 10 new recruits, which means that since day 1 I now have 55 bears in my stomach, which I guess is sufficient for them to finally launch the attack. The attack started with a few pop shots to the gut, not big deal. I figured tomorrow I’ll go back to 5 bears and slow down my approach to immunity. My new goal meant very little to the bears that were already committed to the mass scale invasion that so many others have spoken about.

18. The cramping started about an hour later, and soon enough I was as bloated as a balloon in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. When the rumbling started I sprinted down the hallway and made it to the bathroom just in time for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to stampede from my backside, laying waste to my home’s septic system AND my will to live. After three hours of pelvis-shaking misery, I was spongy, weak, and amazed that I had any bones left. I cursed Haribo with the little strength I could muster.

19. The smell, oh sweet baby Jesus, could be used for removing barnacles from nuclear submarines.

20. Shame on everyone who handled these bears before they made it to me. Shame on Amazon for making theses available for purchase. Shame on the guy in the warehouse who packaged this for shipment. Shame on the UPS guy for bringing this to my door. You all knew. I know you knew, and you knew I’d know. And you still let me do this to myself. Shame on you!

21. Also if your making rummy bears (soaking gummy bears in rum/vodka) remember alcohol is a diuertic (makes you pee) these bears are a laxative (makes you poo). so drink lots of water or else you may just shrivel up and dehydrate like a dried prune.

22. But I, O Lord, cry to you; from the porcelain throne my prayer comes before you. O Lord, why do you cast my intestines to distress? Why do you hide the toilet paper from me? Afflicted and close to death from my butt up,
I suffer hemorrhoids; I am helpless.

23. There is no time frame for the symptoms and there is no warning, but the window to intestinal genocide seems to be 6-24 hours. You go from minding your own business to the most painful intestinal cramps and flatus this side of a bowel obstruction or appendicitis. You will be glued to the toilet (both figuratively and literally) for hours trying to purge your system.

24. I saw the product reviews and told some coworkers, so we bought a bag (because who doesn’t want to spend the workday on the toilet AND get paid, right??). Brought them in yesterday morning and a bunch of the guys immediately downed a handful each. Within half an hour they were in the bathroom. Best moment of the day was when one of them (who had been in the bathroom for half an hour by that point) texted one of the others. “If you think it’s a fart….it’s NOT.” hahhaaaaaa

25.  15 days ago today, I was a different person: naive, carefree, releasing a fart here and there without a thought given. But on that day, it changed. 5 hours after my cup of sugar-free gummy bears, a grim reminder of my own mortality arrived in the form of shards of gummy mixed with bubbling diarrhea. I remember it all so clearly. The laughter first, because farts are funny, then the concern. The pain. The fear. The panic driving home, crying, praying I’d make it in time. Would this last fart truly be a shart? Was this it? Was it time? No. I had made it. Sobbing. Everything falling out, spraying out in a foul torrent. Laughter. Then tears and shame.

26.  In summary, I did the Navy proud in attempting to do what others could not. I failed. As a loyal citizen, and test subject of some evil German plot, to take over the world via Gummy Bears in the intestinal tract, I do offer this one humble learning to those in power in the government. There is no need for any type of enhanced interrogation of any enemy combatants as a non-descript but fundamentally evil company has created a “food item” that would have anyone confessing to anything in 2 hours or less and thus save the taxpayers countless millions.

27. One note regarding the package. It may be appropriate to label this product with “Abandon hope all ye who open this.” Perhaps Dante had these gummy bears in mind.

28. When does the s***ting stop? I can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry for anything bad I’ve ever done in my life.

29. I can sense that the worst part is over. But its not stopping, nor can I physically stop it at this point, I am leaking..it’s horrible. I call out “does anyone have a diaper?” hoping that some gentleman was changing a baby. Nothing. No one said a word. I know people are in there, I can see the toes of shoes pointed in my direction under the stall.. “DOES ANYONE HAVE A DIAPER!?!” I am screaming, my son is now crying, he thinks he is witnessing the death of his father. I can’t even assure him that I will make it.

30. “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.