I want to live forever. My superiority in nearly every facet of life feels like a mistake committed by nature and I would be a fool to trade that in. Plus, without me around to regularly remind the world of my achievements, I worry that humanity will forget my name, my contributions to society, my land speed records.
I've given so much.
Fortunately, we live in an age of hyper-health awareness where the potential for immortality is within striking distance. Science has concluded that as long as we are willing to adhere to a strict lifestyle of moderation, healthy eating and constant exercise, then longevity inevitably follows. "But, science," we collectively ask, "what if that sounds hard?" Enter the pseudo-science of cleansing, offering immediate absolution for lifetimes of indulgence. Cleanses promise everything from curing disease to eternal youth in exchange for a week of misery and incessant pooping. None of it has been medically proven but hope and fear are powerful allies and have no patience for wimps like logic. Last week, I ran a field test on five of the most popular cleanses. I did it both in pursuit of my own permanence and because I was contracted for a two-page spread in the spring issue of Guns and Ammo. What makes my study particularly compelling, however, is that I gradually added all five cleanses into a staggered, week-long, no holds barred purification I call:
And now, I gift it to you.
What sounds suspiciously like a synonym for the Final Solution is actually a diet surprisingly diverse in the color of its ingredients. The Master Cleanse consists of lemon juice, water, cayenne pepper and maple syrup and tastes exactly as awful as you would expect it to. You are permitted to drink twelve glasses of the spicy, thick lemonade a day but I allowed myself more to start since I technically threw up the first batch. I can't stress enough how terrible it is. You may have to constantly remind yourself that immortality is on the line.
Everything that's beautiful is difficult.
Oil pulling by name alone, may sound like something at which you could show tremendous proficiency. I thought so too. The actual cleanse, however, is more underwhelming in practice; it involves swishing vegetable oil around in your mouth for twenty minutes every morning. Pollutants, as it turns out, love oil more than anything and swim out of your teeth and gums to get to it. Now, you may be apprehensive about the prospect of dragging every awful thing up through your face before expelling it because that seems like the one area you'd want to quarantine. Still, it will ultimately be worth it.
Here's a neat detox I found online. It involves drinking straight oil to remove gallstones. It also calls for fruit pectin which you'll get from lemon juice in the Master Cleanse. So take that, toxins.
"I'm inside you! I'm inside you!"