What happens when you drink 10 oz of Magnesium Citrate?
I’m glad you asked. Buckle up.
12:05 p.m. — It begins. You down the 10-ounce bottle like it’s a lukewarm PBR at a college tailgate. The label says “cherry flavored,” but it tastes like someone described cherry to a chemist who’s never eaten fruit. Regret sets in instantly.
12:06 p.m. — You grab a handful of chips for moral support. They’ll be liquified before they clear your throat, but who cares? Life still feels okay right now. Remember this peace. You’re about to enter the darkest chapter of your gastrointestinal history.
12:37 p.m. — The rumbling starts. There’s movement in the depths. You’ve got five pounds of impacted regret in your colon, and you just drank the “human-safe” version of Drano. You think it’s go time. It’s not. You get one sad little snake turd — a warm-up act.
That’s the last semi-solid you’ll see for the next 24 hours.
12:57 p.m. — The situation escalates. Your stomach is in full revolt. You have 0.3 seconds to make it to the toilet. Running is risky business — one wrong step and you’ll paint the walls. You pray for sphincter strength like never before as you waddle at Mach 3, pants half down, whispering, “Please, God, not like this.”
12:58 p.m. — Impact.
You sit, and the gates of hell open.
The explosion is biblical. It hits the back of the bowl with such violent force it ricochets like a sprinkler system.
You ask yourself, Is that blood?
No — false alarm. Just the ghost of a cherry pie you ate in 2004. The smell is unspeakable. The acoustics? Terrifying. The neighbors think you’re performing an exorcism.
1:06 p.m. – 8:30 p.m. — Time becomes meaningless. You’ve evacuated everything you’ve ever eaten, plus a few ancestral meals for good measure. Your colon feels like it’s been sandblasted with lava. The burn is real. You’re sweating. Crying. Contemplating life. You meet Jesus briefly, but He sends you back — says your mission’s not over yet.
8:37 p.m. — You’re empty. Broken. Reborn.
Your butthole? A war veteran.
Your spirit? In recovery.
You’ll never be the same, but you will survive.
Tomorrow, you’ll rise from the ashes, slip into your last clean pair of underwear, and waddle into Walmart like a survivor of gastrointestinal warfare — to buy a new toilet brush and reclaim your dignity.
You’ve earned it.
Feeling thankful. 💩🙏
Before you tell a disabled person it’s their family’s responsibility to care for them… remember that not everyone has family.
What’s more, disabled people are far more likely to be trapped in abusive relationships.
Better social supports would help them break free.
@Brandon_Beaber Please review Terry Wahls' work especially the gut and oral microbiome and MS and help us understand what is likely real and what could be magical thinking
People think that when you become disabled, support magically appears
That once it’s official you will have your basic needs met
People fight for years to get the bare minimum in benefits
Caregivers are impossible to find
If you’re not rich or very lucky… you’re on your own
@POTUS Please fix Boston.Please, I beg you. This has been going on for decades. Please sir help us.
Wu administration releases plan to tackle drug issues, crime at Mass and Cass https://t.co/fJh1DJA1tw
Donald J. Trump Truth Social 08.10.25 11:03 AM EST
We’re having a News Conference tomorrow in the White House. I’m going to make our Capital safer and more beautiful than it ever was before. The Homeless have to move out, IMMEDIATELY. We will give you places to stay, but FAR from the Capital. The Criminals, you don’t have to move out. We’re going to put you in jail where you belong. It’s all going to happen very fast, just like the Border. We went from millions pouring in, to ZERO in the last few months. This will be easier — Be prepared! There will be no “MR. NICE GUY.” We want our Capital BACK. Thank you for your attention to this matter!