“Our fans love SKITTLES® not just for its delicious fruity flavors, but for the irreverence and sense of humor for which the brand is known.”

That quote comes from Skittles’ Senior Brand Manager Rebecca Duke, and while I won’t place all the blame on her for every awful Skittles commercial I’ve seen in the last ten years, her statement does make it seem like she was complicit. Examples of their irreverence and sense of humor include but are not limited to:

• Pretending their candy is a communicable disease
• Showing an adult man with an umbilical cord coming out of his stomach who can taste the flavors of the Skittles his mother is eating (she is seated on the couch next to him and the other end of the cord disappears between her legs)
• The absolutely haunted man who is cursed to have everything he touches turn to Skittles (this one is actually great)
• Using torture methods to get a rainbow to give up its Skittles
• Hiring Steven Tyler, the worst crime of all

Skittles doesn’t seem too into making specific flavor-themed commercials, so it’s unlikely you’ll be seeing a bunch of decomposing corpses humping until they all cum in an explosion of gore-themed candies. Irreverent!

The premise: All the Skittles look the same, most are “normal” flavored, but some taste like rotten zombie. It’s similar to the Harry Potter beans, if one must insist on such a comparison, as did every single person to whom I explained Zombie Skittles.

The difference, of course, is that you’re playing Russian roulette instead of knowing which candy will be gross. Here we come upon the fundamental problem with Zombie Skittles: you’ve already got one foot in the grave. There’s no way to enjoy these candies, because you’re constantly dreading getting a rotten one.

As for the zombie taste, I’m happy to report that it isn’t that bad. Jones Bacon Soda tasted way more zombie-like than this. There’s no taste of decomposing flesh; instead, it’s an odd savory flavor that will catch your attention immediately, but probably won’t cause you to spit it out.

It’s not really meat-like in flavor, just a generic sort of anti-candy “blech”. I was able to power through it and the taste faded quickly afterwards with no lingering. I could say worse of other foods I’ve tried.

Here’s the thing about Zombie Skittles: they’re not for me, and they’re not for you, either. They’re for friends, enemies, co-workers, and Trick or Treaters. Nobody (except psychopaths) is gonna sit down and eat beyond one zombie-flavored Skittle. (I got one on my fourth try.)

Nobody’s here for the non-zombie flavors, either They’re just what you’d expect, anyways, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they’re all retreads with new names, but I’m too lazy to look it up.

These aren’t meant to be fun for one; they’re meant to be used as drinking game devices and playground dares; used to torture and also delight the children that ring your door on October 31^st. They’re fun! Halloween is fun!

Speaking of fun, I tried to make a cool zombie claw out of Skittles, but it didn’t work so I just freehanded a skull. I like him and his little crooked smile. My gentle skelly boy.

Zombie Skittles

• Score: 4 out of 5 candy-cumming zombies
• Price: $2.28
• Size: 10.72 oz. bag
• Purchased at: walmart.com
• Nutritional Quirk: I’d love to know how the zombie flavor was decided upon. It’s such an uncommon, hard-to-place taste, and the process getting there seems fascinating.