Funny Stuff

Horribly Misinformed!

Come with me now, if you will dear readers, we shall part the mists of time and travel back to the year 2012.

I spoke to my GP, a gentleman that shall remain nameless, about assistance with losing my vast gut.

“I’ll prescribe you this,” he told me. “Try it for three months and we’ll have a look at the results.”

I duly procured the prescription and opened the paper bag to reveal an innocuous white box with the name of the product emblazoned on the side; Xenical.

For those of you familiar with this product, I’m sure you have a reasonably good idea where this is heading. If you’ve never encountered this little miracle drug, read on.

The common side effects list itself makes for a pleasant read and should be taken as a warning.

Oily evacuation, steatorrhea, frequent bowel movements, bowel urgency, oily rectal leakage, and flatulence with discharge.

Take a second to read that again.

Horrid face

Photo courtesy of Gratisography.

For anyone not familiar with the term steatorrhea, like me, it means “the excretion of abnormal quantities of fat with the faeces” Mmm…nice.

As mind violatingly horrific as the list is, especially with the vivid images it conjures, the reality of using Xenecal is somehow…worse.

Following the dosage instructions, I downed a pair of the little blue torpedoes with my meal and sat back, relaxing in the happy knowledge I could trust modern medicine to cure me of all my ills.

Foolish, foolish man.

At the time I was in the process of renovating an are of the house, readying it for my eldest daughter to have somewhere to stay while she attended university for the first year.

So, headphones on and listening to my favourtite tunes at the time, I journeyed upstairs to continue with my labours.

Singing along to whatever I was listening to and smiling as the project was going much better than I expected, I felt a small twinge in my lower abdomen. A mild cramping, nothing more, so I continued.

As the day wore on, the cramping got slightly more severe, but I manfully soldiered on. After all, abdominal pain was yet another of the delightful side effects mentioned in the helpful little pamphlet the company had provided with my medication.

I fully recall the smile falling from my face, the muscles drooping to form a sad emoticon of despair.

After an hour, the bowel urgency had well and truly kicked in and I wisely decided to pay a visit to the lavatory.

Luckily I made it (That time)

A picture paints a thousand words, as they say, but there was no way I was about to take a picture of the substance that exploded from me that day.

Fueled by pressurised gas, the bright rust-coloured greasy mess lanced from my body like a laser bolt from a Star-Wars blaster. Accompanied by some low-frequency grumbling sounds, along with the occasional mouse-like squeal, the overall effect was harrowing to say the least.

I was left, panting and mentally scarred. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

Okay, fair enough, that’s over with. I can get back to work now.

Or so I thought.

No sooner had my buttocks levitated from the seat than the whole ordeal was repeated.

When I finally managed to leave the bathroom, dusk had fallen. Stars had begun to twinkle their cheery light down from billions of miles away and I felt weak.

You may think that’s the worst of it but it isn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a toilet cry but that particular day featured a number of firsts.

The orange residue left on my porcelain was impossible to remove! Bleach, acid, hacksaw. I tried it all to get rid of the stuff and where it had been forcibly ejected from me under pressure, there was a generous coating.

Still not the worst.

Think back to the list of side-effects from earlier and consider the phrases: flatulence with discharge and oily rectal discharge.

Flatulence with discharge! This is basically scientific terminology for a shart. And shart I did. Frequently and powerfully to the detriment of my clothing.

I lost count of the many, many pairs of boxer shorts I ended up discarding due to the contents.

Trousers too!

Oily rectal discharge. I won’t even go into that.

Suffice it to say, Xenical is not the drug for me. In fact I would suggest, if you’re human, NEVER use this product.

You won’t, “get used to the side-effects,” as I was misinformed. There will be no, “calming down of the effects,” either.

The makers of Xenical say their product inhibits the absorption of fats in the intestine and that might be true.

But it’s the abject terror of using your underwear as a toilet that makes you lose weight. You cease eating all together, become a recluse and consider the benefits of adult nappies.

No, patient readers, Xenical is the work of evil men.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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