That concludes my all-natural taste test. Since you made it all the way through without losing your lunch, I have a crazy story to tell you about the making of this ZUG prank.

To get the all-natural products I'd need for this prank, I went to Bread and Circus, our local health food chain. During college, I worked at Bread and Circus (now owned by Whole Foods Market), and it was unquestionably the best company I've ever worked for. Employees have the chance to participate in stock options, profit-sharing, and charitable activities, benefits seldom found in the retail grocery business. That's why, for the past five years, Fortune Magazine has named Whole Foods Market one of the 100 Best Companies To Work For In America.

What I liked best about the company was its list of Core Values, which were not just words, but a philosophy that all "team members" (not employees) were expected to carry out. It sounds corny, but when you see your co-workers passionately living up to a standard of excellence, it inspires you to do the same. For instance, when I worked there, one of the core values read, "We will provided the highest level of customer service in the world." Not "that we can," or "possible," but "in the world."

So there I was, shopping Bread and Circus for wacky all-natural products. I had an armful of shampoos and insect repellents, and I took them over to the personal care section, where a young woman asked me if I needed help. "I have an unusual question," I said. "I run a comedy site, and I'm going to eat these products next week, then write a food column where I critique the taste of each one. I need to know, is there anything here that will kill me?"

The woman was amused by my question. She "got it." She announced over the store P.A., "I need a team member to the Nutrition department for a humorous question." Momentarily, two other women arrived: a middle-aged black woman and a younger, frazzled-looking white woman. I explained my situation again. "Will I die if I eat any of these things?" I asked.

The tired-looking woman sighed. "I can't believe this," she said. "Do you understand that I am busy? I don't have time for this. I've got customers out there!" Now, it was 2:05 pm on a weekday, so she must have been referring to the maddening 2:05 rush. "This is ridiculous," she said, and turned to walk away.

"I just wanted to know if I will die," I said, weakly.

As she was walking away, she muttered, "I don't give a shit if you die."

I just stood there, staring quizzically at the other two women, who were probably more shocked than I was. "Hmm," I finally said. "So Bread and Circus doesn't give a shit if I die. That will make an excellent introduction to my article."

The two remaining associates snapped into action. If you want to get killer customer service, just get an employee to tell you she doesn't give a shit if you die, because these two women were ready to do anything. "Sir," said the black woman, "just because it's all-natural doesn't mean it's edible. Strychnine is all-natural. We just can't be held responsible if you choose to eat any of these products."

"That was a very professional way of explaining it," I said, "much better than saying you don't give a shit if I die."

The conversation went back and forth like that for some time, with me working in the "I don't give a shit if you die" comment at every opportunity. In the back of my mind, I was frantically trying to remember the names of the Whole Foods Market executive team. Oh, it would have been beautiful to just pull a name out of my head: "I'm sure CEO John Mackey would be interested to hear that the company doesn't give a shit if I die." Why couldn't I have one of those Trivial Pursuit brains that remembers every meaningless detail? I probably did at one time, before I started eating the shampoo.

On the way out, the original associate grabbed me by the arm. "Sir," she said, "you understand that there are a lot of people who work at this store. If you write about this one incident, it will reflect poorly on everyone."

"That is true," I said, and turned to leave.

"Sir," she pleaded.

"You have been very helpful," I looked at her nametag, "Karin. And that will be noted." And with that I walked away.

If you enjoyed The All-Natural Prank, you might also enjoy Olé Olestra!, in which John Hargrave sees if mass quantities of Olestra really causes "anal leakage."