Tópico: Produtos curiosos à venda na Amazon

[Dr. Manhattan]

Precisando de uma pitada de minério de urânio para dar aquele gostinho especial à sua sopa?
Suas centrífugas estão paradas por falta de urânio para ser enriquecido?
Pensando em uma surpresa para o aniversário de sua sogra?

Seus problemas acabaram!!

Compre minério de urânio pela amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000796XXM/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

Não se esqueçam de ler os comentários dos clientes:

I purchased this product because I wanted to make a 5 megaton bomb to impress my neighbors at our fourth of July barbecue. Unfortunately, when all was said and done, I was embarrassed when the yield was less than 500 kt. No birds on fire, no boiling rivers, nothing.

I want my money back!

...

I purchased this uranium ore several week ago, and nowhere on the package did it say anything about not using it as a f flavor enhancer, like salt or paprika, and I'm starting to feel a little funny. Has anyone else had this experience? I'm not sure whether or not I ought to go to the doctor.

...

My wife and I purchased this product for the expressed purpose of breeding an atomic superman. After a daily regimen of ingesting a tablespoon of this powder mixed with green tea along with her prenatal vitamins, my wife developed serious morning sickness and perished during childbirth.

After clawing his way out of my wife's dead body, young Yog-Sothoth was promptly hacked to death by a scalpel-happy OB/GYN. That's HMO care for you!

Please avoid this product if you, like us, are seeking to defy God's natural order by creating a demonic superhuman demigod.

...

Você gostaria de conhecer intimamente a obra de Wagner? Então leia:
"Penetrando o anel de Wagner"

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/customer-reviews/0306804379/sr=8-1/qid=1205532258/ref=cm_rev_sort?customer-reviews.sort_by=-OverallRating&x=15&y=10&s=books&colid=&coliid

O comentário abaixo explica tudo:

As implied by the title, this collection probes deeply into Wagner's vast Ring piece. Accusations of anti-semitism make Wagner's Ring a sensitive area today, but it continues to offer pleasure to many. This is a masterful work of musical scholarship that deserves a place on any sturdy shelf. No doubt it will influence appreciation of Wagner's Ring for many years to come. Among the highlights is the revealing chapter on the many characters than Wagner has managed to cram into his Ring- from fearsome giants Fafner and Fasolt to dwarf-brothers Alberich and Mime. Also covered are the brass instruments that Wagner designed specifically for insertion within the Ring. There will always be those who are opposed to musical analysis (just the same as there will always be those who resort to juvenile humour, regarding the title). They may suggest that Wagner's Ring is 'violated' with excessive force of scholarship. For this reviewer, however, Wagner's Ring remains quite intact and is indeed tightened by the exploration. In short, this stimulating venture in and out of Wagner's Ring has resulted in a seminal, fluid output.

Você está encontrando dificuldades para usar o Word?
Não conhece, nem quer conhecer LaTeX?
Não tema! Seus trabalhos podem ser concluidos utilizando a mais avançada tecnologia:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bic-Cristal-Clear-Barrel-837360/dp/B000SHSJP8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=electronics&qid=1214339685&sr=8-1

Precisando trocar seu cabo ethernet? Cansado dos velhos cabos baratos?
Não tema! Você pode usar os novos cabos Denon. Por apenas US$ 500,00 eles lhe dão o mesmo desempenho, por muito mais!
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000I1X6PM/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

Vejam o que dizem os consumidores:

This amazing product significantly improved my transfer speeds, so much so that my packets now arrive at their destination before they're sent. In fact, I haven't even typed this review yet.

...

I was particularly interested in the anti-aging properties of this item, so with a quick loop around my neck, I was able to confirm that this cable can indeed slow time as we know it. Unfortunately I have been cursed to live out eternity in the nightmares of others. Tonight, I will be haunting the spirit of Noel Lee of Monster Cable, for getting us all into this mess. He is going to dream that he has awakened to a world where "Monster" is used in the names of all businesses and commercial products. Well, I guess my fate isn't so bad after all. Merry Christmas Mr. Lee! Next up; Amar Bose.

...

I had a choice - get this cable or pay for my gran's life-saving operation.

I opted for the cable, and I'm so glad I did. It's made no difference whatsoever to my hi-fi equipment, but now my grandmother is dead. And I couldn't stand her.

Thanks Denon!

*Ok, agora eu TENHO  que voltar ao trabalho...

[Dr. Manhattan]

E mais!

Quem não gostaria de ter um detector de OVNIs? A ciência moderna não vai nos deixar na mão:
http://www.amazon.com/Images-SI-Inc-UFO-02-Detector/dp/B000FVUKKO/ref=cm_cr_pr_mention_t

Enquanto os aliens não chegam, não esqueça de ter consigo uma amostra de solo de Roswell!
http://www.amazon.com/Images-SI-Inc-RS-01-Roswell/dp/B000U5R4CM/ref=pd_sbs_misc_14

E já que os alienígenas estão chegando, temos mais motivos para comprar nosso próprio tanque!
http://www.amazon.com/JL421-Badonkadonk-Land-Cruiser-Tank/dp/B00067F1CE/ref=cm_cr_pr_mention_t

[Dr. Manhattan]

Ok, agora só pra finalizar:

http://www.amazon.com/American-Science-Surplus-11071-EINSTEIN/dp/B0006FU9DW/ref=pd_sim_dbs_e_32

[Tupac]

ahh o bonequinho do Einstein é da hora vai

putz eu achei que ja tinha visto todas as bizarrices humanas kkkkkkkk

"...eu queria fazer uma bomba de 5 megaton pra impressionar meus vizinhos..."
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

[Dbohr]

Precisando de uma pitada de minério de urânio para dar aquele gostinho especial à sua sopa?
Suas centrífugas estão paradas por falta de urânio para ser enriquecido?
Pensando em uma surpresa para o aniversário de sua sogra?

Seus problemas acabaram!!

Compre minério de urânio pela amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000796XXM/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

 

Eu não tenho palavras...

A não ser que eu TENHO que incluir esse item na minha próxima encomenda!!

[FxF]

Só 29 dólares o urânio??

[Fabi]

Sabe o que é muito mais legal que essas coisas?
Um aspirador de pó robo que eu ví no submarino...
http://www.submarino.com.br/homeappliances_productdetails.asp?Query=ProductPage&ProdTypeId=34&ProdId=21234451&ST=SE
Que coisa mais legal... já pensou? ligar o bichinho e ele ir aspirando a casa sozinho? e ele volta pra base...sozinho...isso é muito legal...

[Oceanos]

Caro pra caramba... Dá pra fazer um desses com uns 20 dólares...

[Wolfischer]

29 dólares por um potinho de minério de urânio, com uma atividade de 205 cpm.
Nunca rendeu tanto vender uma terrinha.

[Felius]

29 dólares por um potinho de minério de urânio, com uma atividade de 205 cpm.
Nunca rendeu tanto vender uma terrinha.

Traduz pra nos leigos...

[Dbohr]

Significa que se você meter um detector no potinho de Urânio vai contar cerca de 205 decaimentos por minuto. Uma atividade bem baixa, até. Mas nem por isso você vai andar com isso para lá e para cá no seu bolso!

[Týr]

Deve ser urânio paraguaio

[Dbohr]

Nada que não dê para enriquecer com uns milhares de potinhos desse e aquela centrífuga secreta da Marinha

[Luis Dantas]

Minério de urânio contém urânio.  Não necessariamente muito.

Agora, pagar de seis a nove libras (uns vinte reais, creio) por uma Bic Cristal...

[Worf]

Pena que a amazon só despacha livros para o Brasil.
Pelo menos foi o que o site me disse quando tentei importar uma caneta.

Nada que o ebay não resolva:
http://search.ebay.com/search/search.dll?from=R40&_trksid=m37&satitle=uranium+ore&category0=

[Moro]

List Price:   $145,000.00
Price:   $86,999.99
You Save:   $58,000.01 (40%)

The Zenith Men's Defy Xtreme Tourbillon Titanium Chronograph Watch or Z.M.D.X.T.B.T.C.M. as I like to call it, is by far the most awesome watch. Chuck Norris riding into the Super Bowl on the back of Godzilla and round house kicking the crowd is no where near as awesome as this priceless poon magnet. When I was just moments from sending my $100k to some needy neo-hippie help group, I stumbled onto this gem. It was like the heavens opened and Jesus himself appeared with this same watch on. I mean how can you not follow Jesus when he's rocking a watch of this caliber. So I asked "What would Jesus do?" Jesus pimp smacked me and said "Forget those hippies, buy the watch!

After I kicked my wife out with our 3 kids and sold our house, I am now hitting up the mall in my Geo Metro picking up chics left and right. The Zenith Xtreme Tourbillion Titanium changed my life forever. I never thought I'd get into all the best clubs in Portland until I bought this piece of work. Thank you Zenith for creating a lifestyle I never thought was possible! BUY IT!!!

when i first looked at the price of this product i thought ridiculous 85 thousand dollars for a watch what kinda idiot would buy that. but then i noticed it was marked down from 145 thousand dollars now i was intrigued i quickly checked other sites on which this was available and the costs ranged from 140-200 thousand dollars.i realized then that if i did not buy that watch then that i might be losing 60k! i of course bought it immediately.

[Salazar]

Essa ultima é hilariante.
E infelizmente eu conheço pessoas com esse mesmo pensamento. 

[Moro]

Uranium Ore

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000796XXM/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

I purchased this product 4.47 Billion Years ago and when I opened it today, it was half empty.

I bought this to power a home-made submarine that I use to look for prehistoric-era life forms in land-locked lakes around my home town in Alaska. At first I wasn't sure if this item would (or could) arrive via mail, but I was glad to see it showed up with no problems. Well, almost no problems.

Oratory ingestion is not recommended. I decided to eat some of my Uranium last week and experienced some unwanted side-effects. I now go by the name General Zorg AND YOU SHALL BOW DOWN TO ME AND MY MUTANT POWERS!!!

I had tried DMT before and saw things couldn't explain... I decided to try this product and I am glad I did because it helped me to understand more clearly the things I saw while on DMT. I saw and talked to god... and it explained to me all the mysteries of the universe we have all been wondering. I'd give this more than five stars if I could. Thanks Amazon for a wonderful product and quick shipping. I'll be ordering more.

 
Moderação poderia juntar os tópicos?

../forum/topic=16686.0.html#msg335252

[Moro]

Cabo: US$ 999

Transmission of music data at rates faster than the speed of light seemed convenient, until I realized I was hearing the music before I actually wanted to play it. Apparently Denon forgot how accustomed most of us are to unidirectional time and the general laws of physics. I tried to get used to this effect but hearing songs play before I even realized I was in the mood for them just really screwed up my preconceptions of choice and free will. I'm still having a major existential hangover.

Would not purchase again.

[Moro]

Cabo US 8450.00

We live underground. We speak with our hands. We wear the earplugs all our lives.

PLEASE! You must listen! We cannot maintain the link for long... I will type as fast as I can.

DO NOT USE THE CABLES!

We were fools, fools to develop such a thing! Sound was never meant to be this clear, this pure, this... accurate. For a few short days, we marveled. Then the... whispers... began.

Were they Aramaic? Hyperborean? Some even more ancient tongue, first spoken by elder races under the red light of dying suns far from here? We do not know, but somehow, slowly... we began to UNDERSTAND.

No, no, please! I don't want to remember! YOU WILL NOT MAKE ME REMEMBER! I saw brave men claw their own eyes out... oh, god, the screaming... the mobs of feral children feasting on corpses, the shadows MOVING, the fires burning in the air! The CHANTING!

WHY CAN'T I FORGET THE WORDS???

We live underground. We speak with our hands. We wear the earplugs all our lives.

Do not use the cables!

[Gaúcho]

[Unknown]

Haribo Gummy Candy, Sugarless Gummy Bears, 5-Pound Bag



A descrição:

One 5-pound bag containing approximately 1080 pieces
Fat-free and sugar-free; sweetened with Lycasin
Five real fruit flavors
Jewel-like sparkling clear colors
An international favorite
This product is a sugarless/sugarfree item with ingredients that can cause intestinal distress if eaten in excess

Os comentários:

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 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.

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.

I'm pretty sure Andrea (I'll call her) agreed to have dinner at my apartment only because I always spoke to her using nothing but my two-years-of-high-school German. Her English was perfect. Probably better than mine. But the fact that I could only ask her directions to the Autobahn or inquire about the health of her non-existent Tante Amelia, seemed to make me appealing to her in a sweet and non-threatening way.
My intentions, however, were considerably less child-like. Which is why the shopping that night was done at one of those upscale groceries with an international flair. Moules Marinieres is as much of a panty-peeler as anything I can cook, and isn't that hard to pull off. But still, I was busy tracking the recipe in my head when I found myself in the sweets aisle. And that, to my great chagrin, is why I didn't immediately notice the difference between Haribo Normal Gummi Bears (which are designed for human enjoyment) and Haribo Sugarless Gummi Bears (which are designed for use in maximum security prisons as a way to punish uncooperative inmates).
I shan't make that mistake again. (notice you can't spell SHAN'T without SHAT.)
Prior to Andrea's arrival, I sat in my living room, creating a playlist of make-out music and nervously binging on the Gummi Bears I had placed in a decorative bowl because I am fancy.
The doorbell rang, and within minutes we were standing in the kitchen, drinking beers and both of us probably worrying that we were about to exhaust my ability to communicate in her native tongue. But soon that would be the least of my worries. In the middle of trying to ask Andrea if she likes to dance to young people's music, I felt a flutter in my midsection, accompanied by a guttural pronouncement so loud it threatened to drown out my own voice.
Maybe it was because I was mentally refreshing my language lessons, but it suddenly struck me how much pre-diarrheal grumblings sound like German words.
"ENTSCHULDIGUNG!" was the next thing uttered by my rapidly clenching stomach. Appropriately, Andrea looked up in response.
"Sind Sie Kaffee machen?" she asked.
Am I making coffee?
I thought I must have mistranslated her at first, then finally I realized that yes, the loud, ominous gurgling coming from my gut could easily be mistaken for the percolating of some bachelor's crappy coffeemaker.
It's remarkable how quickly one knows that one is about to have a traumatic pottymaking experience. Maybe that's the body's way of buying you the precious seconds you need. I was already calculating the number of steps to the bathroom, speculating on whether I would have time to lift the lid to the toilet, when my own voice cried out loudly in my head.
She's going to hear EVERYTHING!
Thanks to an acoustical idiosyncrasy in my building, the hallway outside the bathroom works as an amplifier pointed straight at my living room-slash-kitchen. So that somehow even the gentlest tinkle sounds like I'm pouring lemonade out of a bucket.
With only half an idea of what I was doing, I grabbed Andrea's hand and pulled her roughly down onto my sofa. I must have looked like a madman as I booted up my iTunes playlist, plugged in the gigantic new headphones I had just bought to keep me looking young and hip, and clamped them down over her ears. (the sweat forming on my brow and upper lip couldn't have helped.) In response to her nervous expression, I kept shouting "You'll love this! You'll love this!"
I spun her around so that she was looking out the window. My "plan" was that she'd be so distracted by the modest 4th floor view, that it would allow me to pull my pants off while I sprinted down the hall, silently singing the praises of the noise-reducing quality of my new headphones. (this story will be reprinted in its entirety as a 5 star review on the Sony Beats Audio Amazon page.)
As I slammed the bathroom door shut, already half naked, it occurred to me that I had not been shouting "You'll love this!" at Andrea. I don't even know how to say that in German. In my desperation I had been saying "Ich Leibe Dich!" Repeatedly professing my love for her in a shaky and frantic voice. But maybe that was a good thing, because as I threw myself at the toilet, I figured the best I could hope for is that she would be so creeped-out that she would sneak out of the apartment, blissfully unaware of the carnage taking place in the next room.
What can I say about the ensuing white-knuckle bowel movement that hasn't been expressed in other reviews on this page? I'm pretty sure I haven't seen the adjective "Kafkaesque" used anywhere else.
By the end of Act One of this private little torture-porn movie, I was confessing to every unsolved crime in history. Praying I would stumble upon the one that would satisfy my invisible captors.
Quickly I realized that I had more than Andrea's sense of sound to worry about. Were she to get even the faintest whiff of the weapons-grade sluice that my anus was angrily shouting into the porcelain, I would have to change my name and move to another city.
And so I flushed. And flushed. And flushed and flushed.
And then I flushed and nothing happened.
I have never looked down into a broken toilet with more horror in my entire life. And I once stopped up George Clooney's crapper! (a true story for another time.)
I reached for the plunger, but my hand froze and my heart seized when I saw it on the floor, broken in two and covered in what looked like teeth marks. Apparently I had used the wooden handle to keep from biting my tongue off and had chewed clean through it. When did that happen? It seems my mind had already started the process of repressing this entire event.
Amid the feverish, fruitless dance I did across my tiny bathroom floor, it dawned on me that it had been more than a minute since my last soul-wrenching anal tantrum. Dear Lord, is it over? I asked, quite possibly aloud.
I may have been light-headed and delusional, but I began to imagine a non-ignominious resolution to this ordeal. I just needed to get her the hell out of here. If Andrea hadn't fled the building, vomiting in terror, then I supposed I could pull up my trousers and make a cavalier exit. As long as I could get her off premises and as far away from this post-apocalyptic commode as humanly possible. Assuming that the Diarrhistas had retreated to the hills temporarily, maybe I could even whisk Andrea away to a candlelight dinner at Bernardo's. How impulsive!
My first few steps back toward the living room were tentative. And not just because my sphincter felt raw and tattered. It was a slow approach to the Moment of Truth, especially when I saw her figure still planted on my sofa. I knew any look on Andrea's face other than her mouth agape would constitute a miraculous victory. And when she smiled at me, the wash of relief that engulfed me was more glorious than any throes of ecstasy I might have wished for at the beginning of the night.
And then I saw it.
The decorative bowl sitting in her lap. Down to just the last few sugarless Gummi bears.
"Du hast Haribo!" she said to me. Accompanied by a satisfied smile. A big, beaming Hansel and Gretel smile, that slightly turned down in one corner at the sound we both suddenly heard. A low rumble from deep within her GI tract that sounded like Gefahrrrrr.
The German word for Danger.
Her eyes shot past mine and refocused on the bathroom door just down the hall behind me.

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.

Same story as all of the above only here is MY ending.
.....and I was never asked to send snacks to my daughter's class again.

Next time I am scheduled for a colonoscopy, I plan to eat sugar free gummi bears instead of drinking that nasty magnesium citrate. The bears are delicious and the cleansing effect is the same!

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!

In the 32 years I have existed on this planet I have never once thought to myself that I may want to read up on any type of sugar-free candy prior to consuming. I have also never found any candy that should by law, be required to come with a warning label that is at LEAST 10 times larger then it's bag!
I purchased this rainbow colored bag of Damn bears at a local grocery store while on my lunch break. Nothing could possibly lead me to believe that this purchase would ever have any lasting impact on my life aside from maybe a few minutes of delicious enjoyment that could possibly lead to me purchasing these again. Now I must admit the bags were on clearance but since it was just after the holiday season I assumed the lowered price a due to overstock. As they tell you NEVER ASSUME!
Seeing as I am a patrol officer I am required to not only be inside my vehicle for 90% of my shift, but I am expected to be 100% aware of my surroundings throughout my drive. I also choose my snacks based on cleanliness and convenience seeing as I share my vehicle with another officer and have little time to consume a proper meal.
I am a firm believer that if divine intervention were a real thing, that upon the rustle of the bag's plastic as I began to open them , a bolt of lighting would have shot through the windshield or at least the open passenger's side window; stopping me before I opened the bag and consumed even one bear. Honestly I'd later that day come to realize that I'd of gladly given up an entire limb to have avoided eaten them.
None the less the bag was opened, a delightfully fruity aroma filled the car. As I began to eat them I was popping them in one at a time and their deliciousness increased the delivery to roughly four at a time. Before I had even made it out of the store's parking lot I had eaten a quarter of the bag.
I begin my afternoon rounds which consists of ereal gate communities that have maximum speed limits of 20mph and have as of yet ever required more then me talking to the residents and once I helped captured a dog who was evading its owner. Slowly I drive though my first two communities. All the while enjoying the gummi bears. Once I got to the last of the gates I realized that half the bag was gone and decided that I should stop. Even considered that my children would enjoy them upon my return home. I begin to punch in the four digit code to open the gate... "4, 7"..... suddenly my stomach makes a noise that could only be described as an elephant with a trumpet playing into a megaphone..... then a shift of my insides that hit harder then anything I'd ever felt even during the two times I had GIVEN BIRTH.... WHEN SOMETHING WAS LITERALLY SHIFTING INSIDE OF ME!
I did not punch in the last two digits. All I could do.... all that my instincts and training had taught me to do.... I threw on my lights and sirens and put my car in reverse as I was already beginning to accelerate with my foot. I swear I nearly exceeded 30mph in reverse just to make it to the main road immediately. I had 2.7miles to make it to the nearest public restroom. Lights and sirens on I traveled at 80mph as I heaved through traffic and pulled into that ENMARK Station nearby. When I went running from my car and into the station I took no notice of the fully packed pumping area or the 15 or so people inside. I was too busy trying to squeeze my butt cheeks together and still maintain running.
Fast forward through what I will call the S***-POCALYPSE and a good 40minutes of my life I will never forget, I am faced with walking through the crowd of people that had collected due to my very fast and dramatic entrance. Apparently the assumption was there was a criminal type in the bathroom who I was arresting. Since I went in and came out alone I could not justify that rumor. I instead stated everything was ok with the words "false alarm" and didn't think of how cruelly ridiculous that must of sounded till I was back in my patrol car and saw that I had missed 3 calls and it was now 10minutes after my shifts end.
Another fast forward I immediately went home and searched the internet for some means of communication that I could find to contact and seriously scream at the makers of these hellish bears. That took me three hours due to several other bathroom trips. And upon searching was brought to AMAZON where I began to read all the other horrible stories these bears have caused for others.
I made it my solemn oath to never again buy clearance candy until I thoroughly investigated it on the internet. And to only then purchase it from Amazon after I had read all other reviews carefully.
I learned a valuable life lesson that day.... and my coworker did as well the next day since he ate the leftover bag of bears I had accidentally left in the patrol car after my shift.

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