I began taking the "Colonix" herbal colon cleaning program on a Monday morning, praying I wouldn't crap my pants at work. Here's what happened."It's impossible to make an herbal fiber blend taste very good and effective at the same time."You know you're in for a treat when the directions start with a line like this. Nervously, I scooped a spoonful of powdered herbs into a glass of water, stirring vigorously. The powder congealed into a clumpy mess, which I was barely able to choke down.
- from the Colonix instruction manual
Imagine running your tongue along the musky scrotal sac of a male goat, and then, where you expected to find an anus, you found a kosher pickle wrapped in a slice of old pizza: that's what this stuff tastes like.
I chased the concoction with a handful of herbal capsules, and plenty of water. The key to herbal cleansing, apparently, is 8-10 glasses of water a day. I quickly learned that the hardest part of the program is drinking all that water. I don't like water: don't like the taste, the smell, or the way it makes you pee. I don't trust it. Anything that clear must be hiding something.
Fortunately, I found a simple way to drink 8-10 glasses of water: just make sure the water is contained in beer.
Water mixed with barley and hops.
I'm sorry to report that nothing happened during my first day on the program, besides me getting soul-crushingly drunk. I produced a single poo, which was small, hard, and quite brown, like a Hispanic midget.
"Although no particular diet is needed for the Colonix Program to work, eating healthy foods is always a good idea."
- from the Colonix instruction manual
Screw that advice. The way I figured it: more crap in one hole meant more crap out the other. Over the next week, I gorged myself on egg rolls at an enormous Chinese buffet. I ate the equivalent of a full-grown pig in barbecue, chased by an entire can of clam chowder. I went Kobayashi on a plate of porkchops smothered in french-fried donuts.
By day five, I was finally seeing results. My daily deposits became hearty and copious, like chocolate soft-serve. Encouraged by my newfound powers, I continued to eat more and more badly, knowing that I would be promptly cleansed by my high-powered fiber supplements. It was like having raucous parties at your house every night, because your cleaning service will show up the next morning to usher unwanted guests out the back door.
Over the Fourth of July holiday weekend, I have to admit that I went a little nuts. To honor our country, I ate red meat, white meat, and blue meat (I think the blue meat was penguin). I drank vodka by the bottle and wine by the box. I realized I was out of control when I found myself slugging down this can of iced gravy:
The next morning, I stared down in the toilet bowl and uttered that famous phrase: "Hey, I don't remember eating corn." You see, the Colonix was really working! It was cleansing my body of undigested corn that had been sitting in my colon for years!
I told my wife the exciting news. She was like, "You had corn three days ago. You were just too wasted to remember it."
"Oh yeah," I said dejectedly. "I do remember eating corn."
This was disappointing. I mean, was the Colonix really doing anything at all? Sure, I was taking Mexican-sized dumps, but I had just stuffed an entire Taco Bell franchise into my gaping maw. I really wanted to put my colon cleansing program to the test.
Then I had a brilliant idea: I would swallow a coin and see how long it took to go through.
