Status: Yellow
Weight: 167.8 ( -3.3)
Mood: Hungry Horny Horrified
Few times in a man's life he finds himself running around the house, repeatedly gagging and pleading to anyone on his block, "Forget it, I want a dirty colon! I want a dirty colon!!"
Try drinking a quart of warm sea-salt water and you'll know exactly what I mean. One day into this ridiculous stunt The Master Cleanser and I'm shocked.
I'm surprised that I've dropped three pounds in 24 hours. Surprised that I'm really not that hungry. Surprised that I have enough energy to go work out. And stunned that not eating is the easiest part.
The hardest? Washing my colon.
Drinking the 60 oz. of "lemonade" is easy, even enjoyable. It's ingesting the Smooth Move laxative at night and the quart of sea-salt water first thing every morning that makes this process unbearable, perhaps unattainable.
Seriously, gimme scurvy, rickets, anything but sea-salt water. It's designed to flush and cleanse my colon, but at this point I'd rather go all Ben Stiller in Tropic Thunder and just yank my intestines through a bullet wound for a nice hand wrinse.
The laxative tastes like ... oops, hold that thought ...
... you stood in a muddy, littered gutter during a flood and then rang out your shoes into a cup. Compared to the sea-salt concoction, it's a cup of delicious, fresh-squeezed orange juice.
First of all, I don't like salt. Secondly, a quart of anything (well, almost anything) is overwhelming in a five-minute chugging. This morning I stood at my sink and repeatedly gagged/coughed/cried. Funny? You try drinking half the Gulf of Mexico and see how you like it. My situation was so hopeless that I realized I was trying to drink 32 oz. of briny evil with somehow having the liquid avoid my tongue, roof of my mouth and my throat. I'm sure I looked like Tiger Woods using all his body language to coax in a twisting, turning putt, but I was too busy trying not to throw up to notice.
If, God willing, I make it out of this alive and ever again sit down to a basket of chips or French Fries, I hereby promise to break your arm if you reach over to add salt. - Richie Whitt
