13 Discontinued Snacks We're Glad Are Gone Forever

Snacks of a bygone era evoke a particular type of nostalgia. They remind us of simpler times when life was easy-breezy, the world was our oyster, and our palates weren't yet refined. Alongside homemade waterslides on the driveway and staying out past curfew to catch fireflies, our childhoods were defined by neon-colored, disturbingly sweet treats. We tend to look back on these nearly forgotten foods of yesteryear with fondness, when truthfully, if they were to come back, we'd be repulsed.

Not every snack has earned a place in nostalgic food-heaven alongside French Toast Crunch and Altoids Sours (both of which seem to have made a comeback). Some old snacks found themselves in a different place, a kind of sugary netherworld — the junk food realm of eternal damnation, if you will. Maybe we just had really bad taste back then, or maybe our favorite junk food companies were getting a little too creative, using us '80s, '90s, and '00s kids as sugar-hungry guinea pigs.

No matter the reasons behind ever making these abominations, let's take a look at some of these infamous moments in processed-food history. In this list, we'll uncover the worst of the worst snacks that we think are the least likely to make a comeback, while thanking our lucky stars for the much more refined treats we've been blessed with today.

The 2010s was a decade rife with limited-edition Oreo flavors, from blueberry pie to fruity crisp and even strawberry shortcake. But among these completely innocuous flavors was one black sheep — a fish out of water, if you will: Swedish Fish Oreos. The cookie part of the Swedish Fish Oreo stayed the same, a classic, not-quite-dark but richer-than-milk-chocolate flavor that we all know and love. The Swedish Fish essence came in the creamy middle, giving the Oreo a menacing black and red aesthetic.

One of the worst parts of this nefarious cookie was its aroma. The iconic creamy scent of Oreos was replaced by an aggressive chocolate and artificial cherry-like smell that would make you consider tossing it directly in the trash before your first bite. But if you were brave enough to go in for a taste, you'd find that — not to anyone's surprise — chocolate and the mystery flavor of Swedish Fish (apparently, it's lingonberry, who knew?) do not mesh well together. The Swedish Fish creme tasted exactly like the little red, chewy swimmers that we've all been known to devour by the pack. But, combined with chocolate, we were left with an unpalatably medicinal flavor that was hard to swallow. 

We think Oreo should stick with its tried-and-true cookie and leave the flavor experimenting in the past. After all, why fix what's not broken?

The thing that makes Skittles so desirable is the confectionary rainbow in each bag. Tossing back an entire handful delivers a sugary, mixed-fruit sensation that's the candy equivalent of a bowl of fruit salad. Sure, you're bound to have a favorite flavor, but you'd never want a whole bag of just one Skittle color. Talk about flavor fatigue. But in 2021, Skittles unveiled a bag of its famous semi-soft candies in just one flavor, and of all the flavors it could have picked, it chose lime.

In 2013, Skittles swapped the flavor of its green candy from lime to green apple, and pandemonium ensued. Candy fans were outraged, so Skittles sought to appeal to the masses by going on an "apology tour." It brought back the revered lime-flavored candy in its famous rainbow mix and kicked green apple to the curb.

Maybe it was a bit of malicious compliance and sarcasm that gave Skittles the gall to create a bag of entirely one fan-favorite flavor, or maybe the folks at Skittles really thought it was what the people wanted. But no one asked for a candy that's not quite sour enough to be considered a sour candy, but not sweet and mild enough to be a quality flavor on its own. So, chances are no one will be getting their hands on a bag of All Lime Skittles ever again — and no one is complaining.

2003 saw the release of Hershey's Swoops, and 2006 marked its swift but imminent demise. Swoops were thin chocolate pieces that were the exact size and shape of Pringles. The chocolates came in a pack of six and varied in flavor — the Reese's version had a swirl of peanut butter, while the York Peppermint Patty flavor had a swirl of mint, and so on. And before you ask, yes, the commercial for Swoops did in fact replace the "whoomp" in "(Whoomp!) There It Is" by Tag Team with "Swoops" to create a very catchy, era-appropriate marketing campaign.

One of the biggest customer grievances toward Swoops was its shocking price-to-candy ratio. They cost more per pack than a chocolate bar at the time (about $1.79 per 18 Swoops). Meanwhile, biting into a flimsy slice of chocolate wasn't nearly as satisfying as taking a bite from a dense, chunky chocolate bar, leaving many unsatisfied and yearning for a more substantial candy. 

If that wasn't bad enough, the tiny slices tended to melt quickly. So, if you left them in your car for even a few minutes in the summer heat, you were forced to grab a spoon and slurp up chocolate soup to get your candy fix.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with a garden-variety Twinkie, in all its spongy, creamy glory. But once neon colors start getting involved, things get a little dicey. Both 2004 and 2010 marked the release of the unholy abomination that was ogre-green Twinkies. The green Hostess treats acted as a promotional release for "Shrek 2" and "Shrek Forever After," but we don't imagine that they helped sell any movie tickets.

Don't worry, these green Twinkies weren't wasabi-flavored. The special (we're using that term loosely) Twinkies had the same flavor as the standard variety of the beloved snack cake, but with a hefty dose of swampy food coloring in the Twinkie's mysterious, creamy filling. Although there wasn't anything wrong with their flavor, the controversy around the Shrek-themed treats arose in the 2010s. During this time, parents were becoming more mindful of advertising campaigns targeting their children, especially those promoting junk food. So maybe there was nothing technically wrong with the cakes themselves, but visually —and perhaps morally — they were despicable. Better out than in, we always say.

The story of Lay's WOW! chips is one of hope, despair, and frequent trips to the bathroom. The chips made their debut in 1998, during the early days of America's obsession with fat-free foods and dieting. Coincidentally, their release also came at the height of the nation's fixation with junk food, creating a perfect storm that would have violent gastrointestinal consequences.

Fat-free Lay's WOW! Chips captured the attention of fad dieters, despite containing a questionable food additive. The poor potatoes that would become WOW! Chips were cooked in Olestra — a calorie-free and fat-free oil substitute — instead of regular cooking oil. This would all be well and good, if it weren't for Olestra's tendency to cause severe bowel issues in unsuspecting victims.

Olestra, colloquially known as Olean, worked by moving at lightning speed through the digestive tract. It moved so quickly that the body couldn't absorb fat and calories, but it also came with the obvious side effects of something designed to fast-track digestion. Fortunately, the world is now well aware of the abdominal cramps and bloating, which can turn into more dire symptoms as the quantity of WOW! Chips consumed increases. We're glad that they've been flushed from store shelves.

The Nestlé Magic Ball was essentially America's version of Kinder Surprise Eggs. Launched in the mid-'90s and subsequently discontinued in 1997, Magic Balls were a candy-toy hybrid that featured a plastic figurine encased in a tomb of thin milk chocolate. The idea was that kids could eat away at the candy to reveal a hidden Disney or Pokémon toy inside, but parents had their concerns. They weren't worried about the inevitable plastic taste in the chocolate (although that flavor likely haunts the taste buds of '90s kids nationwide). Rather, the sweet treat's safety was called into question.

Parents clapped back at Nestlé, claiming that the toy encased in their children's candy was an obvious choking hazard. Although the chocolate company denied any potential hazard, they still pulled Magic Balls from store shelves and replaced them with Wonder Balls. Wonder Balls were similarly unappetizing, but didn't include any non-edible materials. In lieu of toys, they housed tiny, chalky candies in fun character shapes inside the chocolate ball. But the Wonder Ball was also discontinued not long after the change was made, probably due to the egregious flavor combination of Necco Wafer-like candy and chocolate.

Jell-O dominated in mid-century American kitchens, and not just for dessert. Celery-flavored Jell-O is perhaps the defining feature of a period in America's history when everyone seemed to be living a collective culinary fever dream. The world's favorite jiggly, edible concoction served as a freakish appetizer or casual snack during the infamous dinner parties of the 1960s and '70s.

The world of vintage snacks was marked by Jell-O infused with savory ingredients, from chunks of vegetables to olives and even canned tuna. But celery Jell-O was the cream of the savory gelatin crop. Back in the day it was formed into molds and filled with anything from vegetables to even meat or fish, then left to solidify into ornate shapes for a funky, colorful Jell-O salad. This was a complete misnomer, since there was nothing salad-like about this dish other than the veggies it tended to contain and the copious amounts of mayonnaise that often adorned celery-flavored Jell-O molds.

Nowadays, celery Jell-O is no more, and the same goes for the inappropriately-named dish that sparked its creation in the first place. The mid-'70s saw a major decline in the popularity of savory Jell-O — we can't imagine why.

Fruit Roll-Ups are some of the most iconic '90s and '00s snacks — a school lunch just wasn't complete without one. They've been a snack-time staple since the '80s, but by the '90s, General Mills was looking to get funky with its signature fruit-inspired product. Like a lot of kids' snacks at the time, Fruit Roll-Ups Peel 'n Build combined snack time and playtime — a distinct effort from food companies that we're glad has been left in the past.

Unlike regular Fruit Roll-Ups — flat fruit-flavored treats that almost everyone formed into a ball before eating to achieve maximum sugary satisfaction — Peel 'n Build Fruit Roll-Ups included cut-out shapes in the thin sheet of sugar. Kids were encouraged to create fruity, sticky masterpieces from the shapes, like toppings for a candy pizza slice. You can probably see where this is going.

Known far and wide for their stickiness, Fruit Roll-Ups were the last thing you'd want grubby-fingered kids to play with before treating themselves to this bacteria-riddled nightmare snack. General Mills brought them back briefly in 2020, but it looks like they were abruptly sent back to the unhygienic underworld where they belong.

Yogos stand out on this list because, unlike the other dastardly food products of the past featured here, they were highly regarded. The treats were sweet, creamy, bite-sized nuggets of joy in flavors like Crazy Berries, Berry-Berry Banana, and Strawberry Slam, all of which were ubiquitous in 2000s-era after-school snack rotations. The reason they were discontinued wasn't because they tasted gross — in fact, it was quite the opposite.

Yogos were marketed to both kids and adults when they hit store shelves in 2005. They were advertised as being "yogurty-covered fruit flavored snacks." Note how the word "yogurty" is used, as opposed to "yogurt." There was no actual yogurt in Yogos, although the implicated presence of the dairy product synonymous with health and dieting gave consumers impression that they were a healthy snack choice. Au contraire — Yogos actually contained an alarming 15 grams of sugar in one measly serving and were made up of primarily sugar and corn syrup (not dairy and fruit, like folks were led to believe). The bad press from their startling sugar content prompted Kellogg's to discontinue Yogos during the early days of a more health-conscious America.

Hubba Bubba's chewing gum is so iconic that it's hard to associate the brand with anything other than the pink, elastic morsels that kids crave and dentists deplore. But at one point, the company launched Squeeze Pops, which at first sound like they could be a fun treat similar to a lollipop. However, that assumption couldn't be farther from the truth — which is exactly why these abominations were eventually discontinued.

Hubba Bubba Squeeze Pops were plastic tubes filled with an overly sweet, molasses-like gel that kids would squeeze into their mouths for the sugar rush of a lifetime. The vibrantly colored tubes of radioactive-looking goop were made of corn syrup, preservatives, artificial flavor, and food dye. Yummy. Yes, there were different flavors, but their sickening sweetness never left room for any of the actual flavors to shine. They all just tasted like a syrupy mouthful of sweetened ooze. Plus, all it took was one chaotic squeeze of the tube for that syrupy mess to run onto your clothing or some household linen, creating a permanent glowing stain. Needless to say, we hope these gloppy tubes of candy never hit store shelves again.

Most Pop-Tarts flavors are excellent. Strawberry is the tried-and-true classic, s'mores is a gooey, creamy delight, and brown sugar cinnamon offers up an elevated, adult treat. Even most of the funkier flavors — like hot fudge sundae and confetti cupcake — are winners. But the soda-inspired toaster pastries of 2016 were the biggest Pop-Tarts failures to date.

Kellogg's release of A&W Root Beer- and Orange Crush-flavored Pop-Tarts marked a dark day for sugary breakfast lovers. Pop-Tarts fans waited in eager anticipation for their release, only to be met with a slew of questions, such as, "Why did I expect a soda-flavored pastry to be good?" The unorthodox take on the beloved toaster pastries wound up tasting true to their namesake, but it probably would have been better if they hadn't.

Imagine leaving a root beer or orange soda out all day until it becomes flat, and then soaking a piece of thin, stale bread in the liquid. That was the disaster that was soda-flavored Pop-Tarts. Since Pop-Tarts are meant to be enjoyed as a breakfast treat, and soda certainly isn't for breakfast, we can't imagine where the idea for this collaboration came from. But at least there's no way we'll ever have to face it again.

When you're craving a sweet, nostalgic treat but are trying to be mindful of your sugar intake, sugar-free candies should be your best friend. All the sweetness with none of the actual sugar seems like an obvious win for your sweet tooth, unless your snack of choice is Sugar-Free Haribo Gummy Bears.

These now-discontinued little bears seemed innocent enough, but they were harboring a dastardly secret. They included maltitol, a calorie-free sugar alcohol that just so happens to double as a mild laxative. This wouldn't be a problem for those who can eat just two or three gummy bears at a time, but we all know that these candies are begging to be devoured by the fistful.

Haribo's Sugar-Free Gummy Bears went down in infamy thanks to a viral 2015 Amazon review. In the review, an unsuspecting soul who fell prey to the bears while taking an important exam details their brutal, bowel-disrupting encounter. The negative media attention caused Haribo to pull its digestively upsetting bears from store shelves, before they could do any more colon damage to the innocent candy lovers who would never suspect something so adorable could be so cruel.

There are two distinct types of walnuts: English walnuts and black walnuts. You probably already guessed this, but the walnuts that we sprinkle into oatmeal and stuff into cookies are English walnuts. Black walnuts have a much earthier, more intense flavor profile, which doesn't sound like it would be delicious in ice cream. But the folks at Häagen-Dazs thought otherwise when they unveiled a black walnut flavor in 2005.

Maybe it was assumed that the sweet, milky ice cream would sweeten up the dirt-flavored nuts (I know that's rude, but we call them like we see them) to create a perfectly balanced treat. But the ice cream flavor proved to be incredibly underwhelming, leaving dessert fans yearning for something sweeter.

Häagen-Dazs never came out and explicitly stated that the black walnut ice cream was discontinued due to low customer demand, but it's safe to assume that the earthy taste really didn't do it for most ice cream lovers. The dessert's weirdly savory flavor coupled with the high cost of black walnuts were likely the culprits behind its demise, and ultimately, we're glad that Häagen-Dazs chose to make room for something a little less topsoil-tasting.