We had colonics yesterday. Can you say, “Life-changing epiphany”? Wow. From now on it’s a living foods diet, oxygen supplements, and Hatha yoga daily. The best thing about a colonic is…

Just kidding! Fuck living foods and yoga. Colonics are fun though.
We had to go to a super fancy Upper East Side salon. It was one of those two-story haircutting, massage, and aromatherapy castles where rich, bored housewives try and think of new shit to put in their hair to make it healthier. The large gay man behind the reception desk told us to go to the men’s dressing room and change, which means that after we got into our big, puffy, white ladyrobes we had to come back down through the entire salon to get back to the waiting area. New levels of shame.
After a brief and very tense wait (it felt like sitting in the dentist’s office), a rail-thin Teutonic woman poked her head out from the back of the salon and beckoned us in.
Here is how a colonic goes…
First, you take your robe off and put it on backwards so your ass is hanging out. Then you get up onto a massage table that has a diaper-pad thing taped to the general area over which your sphincter will soon be hovering. You lay on your side facing away from your German colonic-giver and she says, “This will feel a little funny.” Then she shoves a greased-up hose into your rectum. It doesn’t hurt at all. It is very fucking weird (weird times infinity) but it doesn’t hurt. Next, you have to shift back over so that you are on your back. That part is kind of scary because it feels like if you slip and put too much weight on the hose that’s protruding from your a-hole, you’ll force it way further up there, thus anally raping yourself and puncturing your colon or prostate or whatever it is that sits right inside the back door.
Once you’re on your back, your German lady will start gently massaging your stomach and your right leg. Then she will turn on the water. You kind of expect to get slammed up the ass with a jet like a southern cop would spray from a firehose onto a civil rights activist in the ’60s, but at first you won’t feel a thing. That’s because you are SLOWLY filling up with water. The pressure grows and, all of a sudden, you have to take the biggest shit of your life. Or at least it feels that way. Right when you are about to shriek, “Get this fucking hose out of me!!” she releases the water and what feels like 20 pints of waste whooooooshes out of you all at once. The feeling of relief is fucking immense.
There is a little machine against the wall that controls the water flow and gets rid of the waste. It has a window where you can watch what just came out of you shoot by at the speed of light. The first load looked like black milk with chunks of candy bar in it. It was… pretty gross. And pretty amazing. Unfortunately, the little shit-window is brightly back-lit and it was neigh-on impossible to get a photo with actual feces in the frame. Oh well.
It goes on like that for a while: water in until you feel like the fat guy at the end of Monty Python’s Meaning of Life, then *click* and a ton of shit blasts out. At this point you will be thinking, “I got this. Colonics are a cinch.”
But wait. The water has not yet reached the point of your colon that you will come to call the “hidden shelter of everything that is bad.” All the toxins, sad memories, wrong decisions, and regrettable indiscretions from your whole life prior to your colonic live there. These things do not want to get flushed out of you. So they fight. You start to sweat, dig your fingernails into your palms, and curse under your breath. The weirdest part is that this is the portion of the colonic where one of us (OK, it was me) started to get a hard-on. I don’t know what it was about the combo of a German lady rubbing my stomach, warm water being pumped up my ass, and the demons of my past flying around the room like those things that come and get you when you die in that movie Ghost, but there it was: incipient boner. I was actually glad for it, because concentrating on making it go back down took my mind off the LSD-freakout levels of anxiety I was undergoing.
Then the bad stuff passed, just like that. Once that happens, you are nearing the end. The little shit-window looks like water with just an eyedropper of Guinness in it. A few more flushes in and out, then she just pops the hose out of your ass with zero pomp and circumstance. You get ushered into the next room, where there is a toilet, and you’re told to sit on it. Your German lady says, “Some people now will expel not so much. Others will have a larger bowel movement.” What really happens is you feel like you’re taking the most fulfilling shit in history, but then when you proudly spring up and look into the bowl, there is nothing there but brown water. Weird.
That’s about it. Go upstairs, change into your clothes, and take a breath mint from the little jar on the counter. You have now had your first colonic. You feel light as air and totally high. You don’t ever want to eat a cheeseburger again. You are now officially a fan of colonics. All hail butt blasting!