So here's how it went down.

My teenage sons crowd around with innocent curiosity as I take the mammoth 5-pound bag out of the cardboard box, the box with the beguiling Amazon smile on the side. That knowing, wicked Cheshire grin. Within seconds the bag is neatly cut open. An oddly hypnotic aroma wafts out.

It begins.

We all sample one or two of the pleasantly rubbery candies, but find ourselves exchanging the same puzzled expression: that flavor---not really cola...vaguely medicinal, yet not offensive. Hmm. Further testing is required.

We all sit down. Sampling continues now in earnest---they're so small! Where's the harm?---and we agree that you need to eat quite a few to identify the flavor with any accuracy. Not a name brand cola, to be sure...one of those "store brands," after it's gone flat. We notice that after the first 50 or so, the flavor seems to change somewhat, perhaps because all our teeth are now caked with adherent masses of gummy residue. Our mood is high, so testing continues.

General consensus is reached after the first pound or two that the bottles in the middle of the mass are softer and more fragrant than the stuff from the top of the bag. The bag is passed around, sniffing ensues. Great effort is expended seeing how far a bottle can be stretched, while held between the front teeth, until it breaks.

The unmistakable signs of hyperglycemia ---exhilaration, rapid speech, a cola-like aroma on the breath---go somewhat unnoticed as we burrow deeper into the jiggly wad of gummies. Dinner is postponed along with homework. A telephone call from my ex-wife goes unanswered. The scientific process cannot be interrupted. Would Fermi have taken time out from inventing the x-ray deathgun to take a call from his ex-wife? Please.

The fun almost stops when a bottle goes up a nostril ---kids!--- but everything is soon back on track when we discover that moistened bottles can be stuck to the forehead for minutes at a time. Soon my sons' faces bristle with the things. A joke is made about "edible lesions". Hilarity ensues. Photos are taken. Outside it grows dark while leaves blow about, unraked. The scratching of a pet at the door stopped some time ago.

Bottles are eaten ten at a time now. Cola-stained spittle dribbles down a chin. No time to wipe. Got to keep chewing. They are SO VERY SMALL.

Suddenly the bag is empty.

Empty. The room goes quiet. The box is re-examined, but no stray gummies are found. The box with the grin. That damn, mocking grin. I have to explain to the children why I only ordered one 5-pound bag. We all feel somewhat sick. We are all trembling now.

Parents, sometimes single dads cannot be trusted to make good judgments about their kids' eating habits. Living with the stress of alimony can pervert that part of the mind which regulates dietary choices, or common sense.

I hope this will serve as a valuable object lesson for you all.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=1911915&forum_id=4#20448275)