Blame it on the Juice

Seems everywhere I turn people are ridding their bodies of harmful, impacted fecal matter. Aren't you glad I didn't go with a photo of that?

They're juicing. Foregoing any solid food in favor of vitamin-enhanced, mineral-fortified, soupy-textured juices. I'm sure you've run into one of these evangelists or overheard one at the gym, because they can't seem to stop talking about their juice.


"I feel so much more energetic."


"It's like I'm getting in touch with my inner core."


"You should see the size and color of my poops...."


OK, slow down there Grasshopper.

Save the new-agey pep talks for someone less acquainted with the natural functions of the digestive system. You see while I agree we all have many unwanted poisons and toxins, we also happen to have kidneys and the liver, organs which effectively "detoxify" the body.

No juice concocted by some hemp-wearing, hookah-smoking hippie in Topanga Canyon is going to do a better job, in a week no less, than the human body, which has evolved over the course of millions of years.

Besides, I get enough fasting experience once a year during the oh-so-joyful holiday of Yom Kippur. I don't ingest any food or any drink for close to 26 hours with the hope that all my sins will be absolved by a giant Sky Judge that I don't even believe exists.

That's enough digestive flights of fancy for this non-believer. So I won't be juicing anytime soon. Not while there are still T-Bone steaks on the shelves at the supermarket. And pregnant burritos still being served at El Nopal.

And as far as that waste matter impacted against the sides of my intestinal walls, my feeling is, out-of-sight, out-of-mind.