I have something of an iron stomach. I could dig out a three month old half-eaten double cheeseburger from under the seat of my car, use a chisel to break that rock into bite sized pieces, and then wash those down with milk that’s about four days past the expiration date and never look back on this with any digestive discomfort or questioning of my life choices.

But these… these candies… were made in a special place in Hell. The arrive nicely packaged and pretty and pastel and for people like me who are trying to curb the sugar in their lives, they seem like perfectly wonderful little ventures into Wonka’s factory. It is a lie. A deception of the highest and most sinister kind. You eat one, two, and before long a handful…

And then it happens… A little innocent toot here, a whistler there, and then, cramps to rival that final scene from Braveheart where they disemboweled Mr. Wallace while he fought every moment not to let out a scream of agony. But you will. You will moan, you will twist and contort into unnatural positions that will make you consider whether or not you have a future in a sideshow. And before long, you’ll know that you can wait no longer. The rest of your night is best spent cautiously perched upon your porcelain throne because you never know if that forty-seven second fart rippling the water below you will end with a violent outburst that borders on being classified by the the UN as a war crime. You’ll get no rest, because you’ll be afraid to sleep.

And then you’ll wake up the next day, confused, unsure if it was really these pretty little candies that did it to you. You’ll review the entire previous day’s menu and think, “Maybe it was that Chinese stir fry?” or “Maybe those chicken nuggets I sneaked when nobody was looking were a little bit off?” So you’ll do it again on day two, just to be sure. And then it will start again, one inconsequential little toot, and you’ll know, these things need to either go straight into the trash or into the candy dish at work that sits on the desk of that prick you just can’t stand working for.