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Haribo Gummi Candy Gold-Bears, 5-Pound Bag
Haribo Gummy Gold Bears Candy is soft, chewy and translucent. And they are bursting with beary yummy flavor. There is nothing quite as whimsically delicious as gummy bears, a candy popular the world over for its sprightly personality and fruity taste. Squeeze them, line them up and make them dance, or just plain eat them. Haribo Gold-Bears are a mixed delight of white/pineapple, green/strawberry, yellow/lemon, orange/orange, and red/raspberry gummy bears.
One 5-pound bag containing approximately 985 pieces
Naturally flavored with balanced sweetness
Mouth watering, colorful candy
Flavors are pineapple (white), strawberry (green), lemon (yellow), orange (orange), and raspberry (red)
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Average Customer Review:
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
4909 of 5250 found the following review helpful:
I have seen the face of God.Oct 22, 2014
By Douglas Pope
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!
446 of 477 found the following review helpful:
Five StarsNov 16, 2015
By allen greenlund
I'm absolutely convinced the reviews are better than the product.
2327 of 2553 found the following review helpful:
See you in hell, Haribo Sugar-Free Gummi BearsJun 05, 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.
814 of 913 found the following review helpful:
Quarantine.Oct 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.
135 of 150 found the following review helpful:
A swamp in the swampFeb 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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