I've jumped the shark. Bring on the poop jokes.
It started the other night. My husband has been ordering this stuff more or less since we met, and I'd never really asked any questions. Because c'mon. What's to be said about something called Colon Blow? (It turns out, there's a whole blog post worth!) But when the postman delivered his latest order two nights ago, Husband casually challenged me to participate. You see, I often complain about something I call an Alien Gas Bubble. This is, essentially, a fart that will not come out.
(My god. I really just typed that on the Internet. Wait! Where are you going?!)
Anyway, he was all, "Wife, you kind of smell bad on occasion. Just imagine not having any more Alien Babies ever again. We could do it together."
The romance angle hooked me instantly and I grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Without futher ado, I was now participating in this ridiculous Colon Blow nonsense. Willingly. Because, you can try anything once, right? Plus, "you realize I'll have to put this on the Internet then, right Husband? Here," I said, handing him the camera, "get a picture of me drinking this shit. But make me look hot to make up for the fact that this is going to be a post about poop."
He complied, and then suggested he take a picture of my ass to document the culprit in the situation. I was all, "Dude, there is no way I'm going to put a picture of my ass on the frickin' Inter----"
"Wait, that's an impressive shot of my ass. I hope you're okay with this going on the Internet."
And so it began. Now, what I didn't realize is that this was a 24 hour process and involved drinking what seemed like GALLONS of 20 grain WATER along with popping some pills. OH. AND FASTING. Let me just tell you up front. I did not fast for 24 hours. I would have never survived The Hunger Games, dudes.
That night, I had some broth with onions. *shudder* I went to bed hungry, but I just pretended I was a supermodel and it wasn't so bad. But by the next morning, around 10am, I was so ravenous that my children were beginning to appear as little dancing chickens and the cats were suddenly made of chocolate. Then Husband walked into the room and I darted into the kitchen as if to suggest, NO I WAS NOT GOING TO EAT THE CHILDREN, HOW DARE YOU SIR. I ate half a thing of yogurt, which did nothing, but by the time I went back to finish it off, it'd been eaten by my eldest child. He'll be eaten first during the Apocalypse.
By the end of that day, after I'd finished my last glass of YUCK, I was back to full-blown eating and was feeling underwhelmed about the whole process. My colon? Did not feel blown. And I'd gagged down that liquid burlap for nothing?! Sonofabitch, man. Soon, I recieved a text from my sister-in-law who'd been watching my Twitter stream.
Her: So, how's your colon?
Me: I'm not impressed by this whole procedure.
Her: I looked that stuff up online and it looks terrifying.
Me: Not even mildly.
Her: Did you see the pictures of the poop?
Her: YOU MUST SEE THE PICTURES OF THE POOP.
So, I looked up the pictures of the poop. My god. What...have...I...done?! I suddenly wanted to duct tape my ass cheeks together to prevent the coming of...of...whatever that was.
Me: Okay, I saw the poop. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive you.
Her: So that's not what happened to you?
Me: Certainly not. But I'll update you about my excrement in the morning.
This morning? It got serious, guys. I should've gone with the duct tape, I think.
And this? This is where this post must come to an end for everyone's sake. However, before I sign off, I must say that I'm left feeling convinced that this STUFF that you ingest creates something wicked, rather than rids you of it. That's my unsolicited review. And, no, I did not take pictures. That's really all I'm going to say about the matter. That, and the fact that I'm never ever going to do this again.
Unless you Triple Dog Dare me.