Evil. Plain evil. I purchased a bag of these horrid little candies. It sits in a bigger bag, along with other stocking stuffers, hiding under my bed and awaiting the quiet hours of Christmas morning, when it will make it's way to the fancy footwear hung by the TV with care.
I can't sleep. I go to bed and I KNOW it calls to me, softly but persistently. It knows I am there just as much as I know it is there, and I SWEAR I can hear it chuckle when it thinks that sound will blend with that of the television.
If you thought potato chips were bad with their crafty abilities to always make you eat more than one, you haven't met Mr. Peanut Butter Kiss.