Are you ready? It's the story no one likes to tell, but which must be told, the story for which I will sacrifice all my dignity to provide you with entertainment at my expense. The story about digestive issues and having tubes stuck up your butt. Welcome to the hydro-colonic blog.

(Pretty pictures will be inserted at regular intervals to offset the horrors within)

I'll start at the beginning before we get to the rear end. So, as much as I'd like you all to think I'm an awesome and cool and healthy young man, we're all adults here, so let me just tell you, I've been having some serious gas lately. Like, intense, gurgling, high-pressure gas. A guy from Puget Sound Energy actually came to my house yesterday and tried to install a meter on my ass. That's how bad things are. I had to fend him off with a pair of Channel Locks.

Now, I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of Fart King. I never fart. I'm a guy who likes the feeling of a clean body, and bodily functions kinda gross the hell out of me, so I've never been one to just pass the gas, even as a kid. The pressure builds and builds, and right at the crucial moment, it…redirects. Somewhere. I don't know where it goes. Back from whence it came, I suppose. Or maybe Narnia? Anyway, so, this terrible gas I speak of isn't noticeable to anyone but me. It just rumbles and churns in my guts like grenades going off in a sealed blast chamber. It's about exactly as unpleasant as it sounds.

It has occurred to me that this might have something to do with me eating a bowl of black beans and rice for each and every meal…But I felt like there were deeper mysteries at work.

So, this brings us to the Tummy Temple. Over the years, I have been hearing a lot about the wonders of hydro-colonic therapy. Basically, having your colon pressure-washed like a mossy driveway. It supposedly cleans out years, even decades, of icky buildup in your intestines, (undigested food, Legos, etc) clearing the pipes and making your whole body function better. People have been swearing by it. So I figure, since my guts are currently producing enough greenhouse gasses to fuel an entire Al Gore documentary, now is a good time to try this thing out.

A friend of mine has recently had a colonic at a place called the Tummy Temple, so I give them a call. I make an appointment and am told my therapist will be Logan. Shortly after, I have to reschedule my appointment, and I'm told that my procedure will now be performed by "Heidi". Ultimately, I decide that being anally violated by a woman named Heidi is preferable to being violated by a man named Logan, and I breathe a small (very small) sigh of relief.

Tummy Temple sends me to their website to go over some details. I'm slightly concerned, as their website appears to have been designed by a 16 year old girl on Geocities in 1996. Do I really want someone with no web-design sense sticking anything in my anus? But, I grit my teeth and soldier on.

The day finally comes, and I drive to the address listed. I step into the building, which turns out to be a hair salon, and they tell me the Tummy Temple is "out back". I walk around the side of the building and find the door, hidden behind some shrubberies. I go inside.

After checking in and meeting Heidi, who is, thank God, older and not especially attractive, I'm told to go use the bathroom and come back when I'm ready. I go into the bathroom, and the first thing I notice is a bowl next to the sink, on top of which is a large knife. There is no explanation for this knife, and I realize it may be the first time I've ever seen a large knife placed in a bathroom like a toiletry item.

On my way out, I notice a sign next to the door featuring advice about how to deal with your imminent procedure. The last item on the list reads like this:

"After the therapy, drink lots of water, and take time to rest, relax, and give your body a chance to recuperate. This goes for any strong emotions you may experience as well."

Oh God.

I go into the procedure room, and after a description of what's going to happen, Heidi tells me to strip from the waist down, although she lets me know I can leave my socks on if I want to. I thought naked-except-for-socks was kind of a bedroom faux paus, but oh well, I leave them on. Heidi leaves the room while I get nude. I climb onto the table and pull the blanket over my naked butt. After giving me enough time to get comfortable, Heidi knocks gently, and I say "Come in!", feeling a little like a young bride on her wedding night.

Heidi enters, looks at me lying on my stomach, and says, "Oh, no, actually we need you to lie on your back. Go ahead and flip over."

What...? Why would I lay on my back? Is she going to stick the hose into my penis? Wait wait, I'm not into this, this isn't my bag…

Reluctantly, I flip over. At this point, things get rather gruesome, so I'm going to spare you a zoomed-in narration. Suffice to say, tubes are inserted, warm water is pumped into my body until I'm on the verge of bursting like a mishandled water balloon, and then the water is released back into the tube. This process is repeated several times, and I get to watch the ancient, lingering contents of my colon flooding out through a clear glass viewing window, before traveling on to finally be at rest in the great sewer system beyond. Rest in peace, angry poo spirits. Rest in peace.

So, the procedure is done. My body feels like a hot water bottle that's been blown up by the Power Team. I go to pay my bill, and am a little perplexed by the receipt with a line for "Tip". I'm supposed to tip my colonicist? I'm used to tipping for eating and drinking, for having things put in to my digestive system, but this chick put things into it and then took them right back out! Would I tip a cocktail waitress who poured me a whiskey and then siphoned it out of my stomach with an elaborate pressure tube machine? Hell no, I'm tryna get drnk.

So, that's how it all went down. This was a few days ago, and in case you're wondering, I haven't noticed any changes. The first day I felt kind of warm and good all over, but shortly thereafter the gas was back and I feel awful again. Add this to Zicam, Cold-Eze, and Magic Crystal Deodorant on the list of homeopathic remedies that do nothing.

Good day sir!


  1. Few people I know would actually go ahead and tell the world about such an experience. You are a MAN.

  2. You could go and see a doctor... I think it would have been less dramatic.

  3. Nah, I'm glad you say the colonic-ist. It's like you saw him for me, too--mmm, proxy colon cleanings.

  4. But if he had gone to see a doctor he wouldn't have such a... well... astonishing and great story to tell us. :-)

    The pictures made me laugh SO hard.

    Great, great stories! After reading the story about the zombie sometimes I catch myself wondering why human love can't be that simple. And, just so you know, I've already recommended your blog to some of my students (I'm an English teacher in Brasil). Know that it won't make you rich, but well, we never know! What if one of my students get rich and decides to sponsor you? Huh huh?

  5. Wow. You turned a description of something horrid into something hysterically funny. That's talent.

    I can't imagine getting something like this done, particularly voluntarily.

    I found out that my... rumblings... were due to a failing gallbladder. Now I'm just waiting for it to fail enough so they can pull it out. In the meantime, the diet is as low-fat as I can make it without going insane.