NOTE: Gross blog concerning doodie below. Skip if you do not want to read about doodie.
About a week and a half ago I started to notice some discrepancies in my bowl movements. Instead of my normal reaction; which consists of a mild realization that the time for a movement had come, followed by an orderly walk to the commode where I would diligently pinch off a nice firm turd that would have made Dr. Kellogg proud while reading the latest scientific discoveries in a 'Nature' magazine. It was all very civilized.
Instead in the past week or two my body has alerted me of its requirements with an alarming gurgling noise in my lower gut. It sounds a bit like the last bit of bathwater running out of the drain. My eyes would suddenly go wide and I would quickly hobble off knock-kneed to the nearest commode where the contents of my lower intestines would expel themselves at roughly the speed of light. Instead of a nice firm turd I was instead expelling some horrid connotation of fecal mater mixed with air and liquid. The noise it made coming out actually sounded like a rubber whoopee cushion from a joke shop.
The first day or two it happened I just passed it off on the fact that I had eaten a large part of a brick of extra sharp cheddar one night. But as the week went on I began to worry that perhaps I had some sort of bacterial infection or something more horrible like a liver infection. However, other than the fact my bowl movements were now overseen by satan, I felt fine otherwise. I doubted I was sick in any way.
However, last night, I found the cause of my discomfort. It was not liver failure or evil bacteria. The last time I had gone to CVS I had picked up a large bottle of generic liquid antacid. Every night before I went to bed I would take a little swig of it so I would not wake up in the middle of the night with stomach acid. However, last night upon examining the bottle a bit closer, I realized it was not simple antacid, but was actually Milk of Magnesium. Now, Milk of Magnesium DOES reduce stomach acid. However, that is just a side effect. The full effects are as follows:
Available over-the-counter, milk of magnesia is primarily used in alleviating constipation, but can also be used to relieve indigestion and heartburn. When taken internally by mouth as a laxative, the osmotic force of the magnesia suspension acts to draw fluids from the body and to retain those already within the lumen of the intestine, serving to distend the bowel, thus stimulating nerves within the colon wall, inducing peristalsis and resulting in evacuation of colonic contents. It is also used as an antacid, though more modern formulations combining the antimotility effects of equal concentrations of aluminum hydroxide to avoid unwanted laxative usage.
I had, in fact, been giving myself a powerful laxative every night for the past week or two. While reading the label on the bottle, I suddenly felt like an old bugs bunny cartoon where he momentarily turns into a jackass. So... No more milk of magnesium for me. I can already feel the plumbing returning to normal.
2026 Update
Time machine's set to December 2006, where Ed is chugging medicine he can't be bothered to read.
Ah, 2006, when a man could mistake his laxative for an antacid and the only witness was a Nature magazine. Ed's ordeal is a time capsule of the analog-drugstore age: you bought a big generic bottle from a fluorescent CVS, trusted the packaging, and discovered your error through a week of satanic bowel movements. Now, the smartphone in your hand could have identified the active ingredient in seconds—but instead you'd probably order a 'gut health' subscription box, receive forty supplements, and never read any label because the QR code leads to a TikTok that tells you to trust the vibes. We still have Milk of Magnesia, but we've replaced self-experimentation with algorithm-assisted self-diagnosis, which is somehow less dignified. And poor Ed: he thought his liver was failing when really he was just dosing himself with plumbing solvent every night. I miss the straightforward incompetence of 2006. Today you'd be filmed for a wellness vlog and sold a course.
“2006 Ed, after the first time your guts tried to achieve escape velocity, did you not glance back at that CVS bag with even a flicker of suspicion—or was the real lesson that Nature magazine deserves better seating?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, you'd think a man would learn to connect the dots, but no. I stood there in the bathroom, gripping the sink, thinking maybe it was the extra sharp cheddar or perhaps a mild curse from a passing swamp witch. The CVS bag sat on the counter the whole time, innocent as a Sunday hat. I didn't even glance at it. I figured the bottle was antacid because that's what I meant to buy, and I trusted my own dumb hands more than the label. Lesson? Oh, there's a lesson, all right. Nature magazine deserves better seating, but honestly, my reading material was the least of my problems. The real kicker is that I gave myself a laxative for a week and still felt fine enough to go to work. The plumbing's settling down now, but I tell you, my guts have filed a formal complaint, and I can't blame 'em.
