Underneath my yellow skin

The Best Part of Waking Up Is NOT Folgers In My Ass

Ed. Note: Astute  POOG readers will realize that I haven’t tackled goop nonsense in quite some time. The reason is twofold. One is because I watched an interview with Gwyneth Paltrow (the things I do for POOG!), and she talked about how watching her father waste away from cancer started her on the path to all this woo-hoo business. It made me feel sympathetic for her (more like sorry), which makes it difficult to satirize her nonsense. The second is because of the Harvey Weinstein bullshit and the fact that she was one of his victims. You can probably imagine how I feel about that, so I laid off Gwyneth. However, three members of the POOG Patrol have sent me articles about the same issue through three different mediums (Julie in email, Kel on Facebook, and @infinitewords14 on Twitter), and once I read it, I knew I had to answer the bat (shit crazy) signal, so here we go! 

We’re a country who loves our coffee. Many of us couldn’t imagine getting through the day without a cup of joe or three. Starbucks is practically a national institution, and we worship at the altar of Caramel Cocoa Cluster Frappuccino Blended Coffee. Grande, Venti, or Trenta, it doesn’t matter. We just want to mainline it as quickly and painlessly as we can. We need that boost to get through the day, and what better way to ingest the coffee than to literally shove it up your ass as an enema?

You read that right. I can see your double-take in horror, much the same as mine when I read the article after Julie first sent it to me. Surely, it had to be The Onion. This had to be satire! I’d heard of coffee enemas before, but I’d always pooh-poohed them because who would be silly enough to squirt boiling hot coffee up their assholes? Sadly, in researching for this post, I learned that there are many people who earnestly believe that this is the ideal way to remove the toxins* from the body. It’s a very complicated formula, so follow along very carefully if you will.

  1. Inject a coffee enema
  2. ???
  3. PROFIT!!!

I hope you were able to follow along with my very scientific explanation, but in case not, here is a graph in which the X-Axis is coffee squirted up your ass and the Y-Axis is the time it takes for the coffee to kick into effect.

My own personal anti-goop doctor, Dr. Jen Gunter, is on it, of course. I saw her battling with someone on Twitter, a coffee enema enthusiast,** who was waxing poetic about how coffee enemas helped him with his headaches and how they were used in war zones to relieve chronic pain (um, right), and I wanted to tweet to him in all caps:


::unlock capslock::

It’s far cheaper, too. The ‘Implant O-Rama’–by the way, really? That’s the name you want to go with? Well, OK, then–is $135. My bottle of Excedrin Migraine is probably less than ten bucks. I pop two of them when I feel a migraine coming on, and I’m right as rain in an hour or less. Caffeine does wonders for headaches, but it doesn’t mean you have to take it in enema form. And, if you feel you have to go that route, just boil your damn coffee, fill a syringe with it, and shoot it up your ass. No, I’m obviously not advocating this solution, but it’ll save you a bundle and is probably as safe as using the more expensive contraption.

For fuck’s sake.

Look. If I’m going to shell out $135 for something involving my ass, it better end with a happy finish if you know what I mean, and I’m sure you do.

Twerk it like your life depends on it, girl!

Now, I am not a doctor (how I wish this was a legal issue because then I could write IANAL, which is juvenile of me, but so be it), nor do I play one on TV, so as usual, I leave the medical aspect to Dr. Gunter. I would like to highlight the issues with irrigating your colon (ew):

There are serious risks to colonics such as bowel perforation, damaging the intestinal bacteria, abdominal pain, vomiting, electrolyte abnormalities and renal failure. There are also reports of serious infections, air embolisms, colitis, and rectal perforation. If you go to a spa and the equipment is not sterilised, infections can be transmitted via the tubing.

That sounds like a fun time, doesn’t it? Added bonus if the coffee you’re using for your enema is too hot. Mmmmm, the smell of a burnt rectum; there’s nothing quite like it. It’s like the smell of burnt coffee beans times ten, or so I’ve been told.

I haven’t consulted Auntie Cherry Blossom in ages, but now I feel it’s time. This is right up her alley, and I drive to Starbucks to get her a goddamn Venti Green Tea Crème Frappuccino Blended Coffee–shit. That might not be the best offering to bring her in this situation. I take a quick left turn and go to McDonald’s to buy her a Big Mac and large fries instead. They smell so good (I SWEAR THEY PUT CRACK IN THEIR BIG MACS), I order the same for myself. I bring them home, then set up my crystal ball and cough violently as I light the jasmine incense sticks. I think longingly of my own Big Mac, but business must come before (an incredibly guilty) pleasure.

I start playing Johann Sebastian Bach’s Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht (Be still, stop chattering), BWV 211, also known as The Coffee Cantata. Hey, I gotta get my kicks where I can find them, right?

I make sure my Taiwanese ghost-to-English translation app is working, and I wait. For what seems like eons, I wait.

Goddamn I hate Taiwanese time. It was the bane of my existence when I was a kid, and it’s made me twitchy ever since. I watch Alan Rickman doing the tango at midnight in a petrol station before watching him speak quietly but forcefully to the same woman (Sharleen Spiteri, lead singer of the group, Texas) fifteen years later. “Ssssstay down.” Yes, sir!

Me when asked about my love for Alan Rickman. Still?

Fifteen minutes later, a figure emerges from the mist. It is Auntie Cherry Blossom, and she is scowling at me.

Auntie Cherry Blossom: I know what that song is, and I know why you chose it.

Me (innocently): It’s just Bach. I thought we could do with a bit of classical–

Auntie Cherry Blossom: Don’t be impertinent with me, young lady! Ever since you started bringing your little problems to me, I’ve been keeping up on the goop.

Me: Ah, so you know–

Auntie Cherry Blossom: And why has it been so long since you last called? You only keep in touch when that Gwyneth girl loses her mind!

::instinctual Taiwanese guilt at being yelled at by an elder kicks in::

Me: Yes, well….

::scrambles desperately for an excuse to change the subject::

Me (again): Big Mac? Fries?

I hand them over and watch as Auntie Cherry Blossom gobbles them down. She barely pauses to take a breath, and it seems as if she’s finished in less time than it would take for me to say, “coffee enema devotee” (which is another phrase I never wanted to write). Once she’s done, she burps to show her appreciation.

Auntie Cherry Blossom: Ah, that hits the spot. You know, I haven’t been able to drink coffee since reading about the reason I assume you’re here. I haven’t touched eggs since the jade egg fiasco, either. It’s your fault!

Me: I’m not the one squirting coffee up my a–nether regions, Auntie!

Auntie Cherry Blossom: You can say ass. I’ve heard the word before. I’ve even said the word before. I told your uncle on our wedding night that my ass is a one-way street. I was willing to put a finger in his–

Me: Auntie! I don’t want to hear this. I do not need to know about your sex life!

Auntie Cherry Blossom (with an amused chuckle): That’s funny coming from someone who writes about sex so frankly.

Me (blushing): Anyway. What do you think of the whole coffee enema thing?

Auntie Cherry Blossom: It is as P. T. Barnum said. There is a sucker born every minute.

Me: Actually, P. T. Barnum never said that.

Auntie Cherry Blossom: Perfect! Oh, the delicious irony.

She picks up her empty fry container and looks at it wistfully. After a few seconds, she turns it upside down and shakes it mournfully. With great reluctance, I hand over my own container, and she eagerly dives in. I watch in alarm as my supply of french fries rapidly diminish.

Me (a little grumpily): So, you wouldn’t give a coffee enema a try?

Auntie Cherry Blossom (pausing in her thievery of my fries): No way! The idea gives me the jitters–and not the jitters you get from drinking three Venti Green Tea Crème Frappuccino Blended Coffee in a row, not that I know it from experience, of course.

She finishes my fries and tosses the container aside as well. She looks at her Android, then at me.

Auntie Cherry Blossom: Gotta go. I was supposed to have coffee with a friend of mine, but as you can imagine, I’ve changed it tea. Drip your coffee in your mouth, not in the other end. Later!

In a poof, she’s gone. I thank the ancestors for their time before glumly eating my Big Mac. It’s tasty, of course, but it’s not the same without the side order (LARGE) of fries. It’s still damn tasty, though, because, well, duh, CRACK.

I gave up coffee several months ago because it’s like the river–it runs right through me. So, yes, it’s working as an enema, even when it’s applied to the other end instead of the ass. Hey! Maybe I can market it as an oral enema, which is actually what it is (as it’s a diuretic). I don’t know how I’ll make money off of it, but I already have the slogan: Squirt it in your mouth, then squirt it out of your ass! I’ll work on it.





*There is no such thing. This is not up for debate.

**A phrase I never ever thought I’d write.

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