I Regret to Announce that I Cannot Stop Eating the Shaq Gummies

I have the blood sugar of a very large, very tall man.

I have tasted the nectar of America’s premier confectioner, Shaquille O’Neal, and I have been forever changed.

I first spied the “Shaq-A-Licious XL Gummies” in a Cincinnati Kroger, where I snatched them off the shelf with a Gollum’s avarice. I intended to present them as a joke-offering to my nephew, Malcolm, a sixth grader who I alternatingly love and fear. Malcolm enjoys both gummy candy and impenetrable references, but I knew he would mostly be excited about the fact the gummies were purchased in Ohio, a state Gen Alpha has colonized and turned into a meme.

As a gift tax, I insisted that Malcolm open the packet and share one with me. Then I asked for a second. Then, a third. You can see where this is going: I am no longer invited to his birthday parties. But this is a small price to pay for culinary knowledge.¹

I should be clear upfront that I am not talking about the original Shaq-A-Licious XL Gummies, which are shaped like Shaq’s head and appear to have been developed to simulate its texture.

I have gazed upon Shaq’s melted, twisted visage and known no God.

No—my objets d’ardor are his sour gummies, which may be the best I have ever consumed. They are supple, but they are also substantive—steak-like. Each gummy is approximately 7’ tall. A serving size is three. Three. The flavors are ostensibly green watermelon, mixed berry, and pineapple, but they all taste like Fruit (Unisex) and citric acid. This is not a criticism.

The flavors correspond to three alluring shapes: a four-leaf clover, a cactus, and a big rig rendered from the POV of a person about to be mowed down by it. The Shaq-A-Licious XL website informed me these represented “Shaq's legendary nicknames: Diesel, The Big Cactus and The Big Shamrock.”

I had never heard of these “legendary nicknames,” but I was sure this was a personal problem. Despite owning an Orlando Magic Starter jacket between the ages of 8 and 10, my knowledge of Shaquille O’Neal’s basketball career is embarrassingly thin.

So I marshalled the most powerful, noble tool of the Fourth Estate, and I Googled it.

I understand we’re supposed to treat Google’s AI assistant in particular (and AI-as-search-engine in general) with some skepticism, but I could not possibly improve on the “Explanation” section here.

Nor is it far off!

1. “The Big Cactus” is a nickname Shaquille O’Neal gave himself, which I had previously thought illegal.²

2. By his own admission, Shaq does “go crazy” when he sees a cactus. I do not believe that I or anyone else can restrict his movements, but I must nevertheless insist that he be barred from Saguaro National Park.

Of these nicknames, “Diesel” feels the most apt, as Shaq’s gummies have both the appearance and branding of something you can only buy at a dispensary. They feel slightly illicit—which, like most illicit things, makes them more desirable.

My opinions have not been bought and paid for by Big Cactus. The man simply knows his sweets. In hindsight, this is perhaps unsurprising. All of the interviews I have seen with Shaq lead me to believe that he is foremost a meddling, mischievous man—a Willy Wonka whose stature makes Oompa Loompas of us all.

I have eaten three bags of the Shaq-A-Licious Gummies since I learned of their existence. I “go crazy” when I see them. I show no signs of stopping.

Perhaps it is gauche of me to write about candies when there are Horrors. But they are there, outside my window, whether I acknowledge them or not. Little wolverines with their bloody faces pressed against the glass.

You do not need me to tell you about the wolverines. You see them, too! And while they chew their way through the dog door, maybe you would like to hear about the NBA’s Paul Newman and the gummies that made me laugh out loud.

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Thank you for reading this unusually prompt Haterade! This is shorter than a usual post, and if I were a large media conglomerate I would call it something like HATERADE: UNCHUGGABLE or JUICE MODE. But I am not going to differentiate it in any way because I do not know how to market things, and at this point, I refuse to learn.

If you would like to support my new Shaq-A-Licious lifestyle, you can become a paid subscriber or stuff some money in the tip jar here: Venmo | PayPal.

1. I ordered another bag for Malcolm as penance for mentioning him in a newsletter—something that lacks both aura and rizz.

2. Emboldened, I am announcing the official debut of my own nicknames: “Li’l Cob,” “Colonel Dumpy” and “Zabs.” Each corresponds to a non-Euclidean shape.