Ben: This weekend I was in a play that involved roughly 20 minutes of galavanting around a stage in my underwear. Always eager to suffer for my art, I thought, “Hey, why not do one of them nifty juice cleanses to prepare? I like juice. I like cleanliness. I can combine these and get swole to epic proportions for the show.”

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Andrew: ...

Ben: What was that, Andrew? Oh, it was nothing, because you’re a sock puppet.

Yes, Andrew has abandoned me this week for an HMC conference, which I assume stands for Horrible Missing Co-writer or something like that. Without the Kathie Lee to my Regis, I was forced to turn to the internet to learn about cleansing. Apparently you’re supposed to “pre-cleanse,” in which you incrementally cut down on solid foods, to prevent horrible side effects. You’re also supposed to order special juices online so you don’t die from malnutrition. This all sounded like a racket to me. I settled on drinking only the finest of nectars all week: HUDS apple juice.

Andrew: …

Ben: Haha! Good one, sock puppet Andrew. That statement is funny, because it’s true. According to nutritional facts obtained online, HUDS apple juice contains 120 calories per serving, which is actually way more than I expected. All I would have to do was drink three-and-a-half servings a meal, and it’d be like normal. I started off strong on Tuesday, chaining down juice after juice before breakfast. At about this moment I realized a major flaw in my plan: I actually hate apple juice. As a child, I worked as a waiter at sleepaway camp, and thus engaged in the age old waiter-dishboy rivalry. I defeated a dishboy in a pickle juice shot-drinking competition (the first to puke lost), and won myself an ice cream sandwich. Ever since, I have developed an aversion to all acidic liquids. I decided to switch to

Vitamin Water (also 120 calories) for the remainder of the cleanse and soldiered on.

Andrew: …

Ben: Yes, it did get worse, Andrew. I started to flag halfway through my first class, when I had to visit the bathroom on three separate occasions. It became a true nightmare when, upon returning to the d-hall for my next “meal,” I found myself face-to-face with chicken pesto ciabatta sandwich day.

Andrew: …

Ben: Andrew… I don’t… I don’t think we can publish that. Wow.

Andrew: …

Ben: You apologize to our faithful readers this instant!

Andrew: …

Ben: Jesus, that’s better. Thank you. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the cleanse, or as it shall go down in the annals of our time, #cleanseit2k16. The next morning I made the snap decision that yes, coffee was a juice. Bean juice. The day saw me sail clear through lunch, food free, which was aided by the lack of edible options served that day. By dinner time, I felt the cleanse coursing through me. The juice was inside of me, a part of me, beating in time with my heart. Or maybe that was just the hunger delirium setting in. My director saw

me eyeing the other actors, whom I believe I had been considering grilling and putting on a nice toasted sesame bun with some caramelized onions and mustard (just a random example), and force-fed me a few cupcakes until I returned to sanity.

Andrew: …

Ben: Like you did much better. You weren’t even here!

Andrew: …

Ben: Don’t call me that! Only my mother gets to call me that!

Andrew: …

Ben: Oh that’s the last straw. Where’d I put that apple juice? Get over here!

Sounds of a struggle.

Ben: Drink it!

Loud bang. Yelping.

Ben: Alright. Fine. You win.

Andrew: …

Ben: I hate apple juice.

Andrew: …

Ben: No, sorry, I don’t want any trouble.

Slurping.

Ben: Ugh, god. Moral of the story: Juice is a beverage, not a meal. Tune in next week for my steak cleanse.