The Great Intestinal Inquisition: A Hollywood Health Hullabaloo, Part Deux
The Great Intestinal Inquisition: A Hollywood Health Hullabaloo, Part Deux
The scene was a sun-drenched patio in the Hollywood Hills, the kind where infinity pools met infinite egos and the kale smoothies were always, inexplicably, room temperature. Lady Gaga, resplendent in a hat constructed entirely from antique colanders, was once again armed with a book. This time, it was a dog-eared copy of The Microbiome Miracle: Your Gut, Your Glory.
“Ladies,” Gaga began, her voice carrying the solemnity of a TED Talk given at a séance. “Today, we must discuss intestinal nutrient absorption. It is the silent symphony of sustenance. The covert operation of consumption. The—”
“Wait,” interrupted Margot Robbie, who was attempting to teach herself macramé from a YouTube tutorial and had somehow tangled her own hair into the plant hanger. “Intestinal Nutrient Absorption? Is that the new dance craze? Like the Macarena, but for your colon? Because I remember doing something called the ‘Intestine Shuffle’ at a bar mitzvah in 1997, and I was very good at it.”
Catherine Zeta-Jones, reclining on a chaise lounge in a caftan embroidered with the entire periodic table, set down her Earl Grey tea with a clink of righteous certainty. “No, no, no, Margot. You’re thinking of the ‘Macarena.’ Intestinal Nutrient Absorption is clearly a Welsh children’s television programme from the 1970s. I remember it vividly. It featured a friendly dragon named Blodwen who taught children about the importance of chewing. The theme song went: Absorb the nutrients, one and all, through the intestinal wall! It was cancelled after three episodes for being ‘too educational.’ My cousin Ieuan was devastated.”
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Before Gaga could correct this egregious historical fabrication, a familiar voice drifted from behind a strategically placed monstera plant. It was Rihanna, draped across a daybed in a robe made of what appeared to be recycled cashmere and pure attitude.
“Intestinal Nutrient Absorption,” Rihanna said, lowering her sunglasses with the gravity of a judge delivering a verdict. “That was our manager. The one after Gerard Emptying-Rate. He was worse. He insisted we call him ‘I.N.A.’ for short. Said it stood for ‘Innovative Negotiating Acumen.’ He once tried to book me a residency at a water treatment plant in Fresno. Said it was ‘industrial chic.'”
Margot gasped, nearly strangling herself with her own macramé. “Oh my God! Him! The one who convinced me that a fragrance called ‘Eau de Sewer’ was the next big thing! He said it was ‘gritty’ and ‘authentic’! I smelled like a disappointed plumber for six months!”
“He was a menace,” Rihanna confirmed, nodding slowly. “I’m surprised you’re reading a book about him, Gaga. I wouldn’t want to revisit that chapter of my life. The man tried to sell my Grammy after-party sponsorship to a company that made artisanal toothpicks.”
Gaga’s left eye twitched in a way that was either a medical emergency or a very avant-garde performance art piece. “He was not your manager! It’s a biological process! The small intestine! Villi! Microvilli! The absorption of amino acids, fatty acids, vitamins, and minerals! It’s how your body actually uses the food you eat!”
Zeta-Jones was undeterred, her conviction as unshakeable as a Welsh mountain. “A dragon! I’m telling you! Blodwen was green with purple spots, and she had a sidekick called Ianto the Intestine. He was a puppet. Very progressive for its time. The BBC archives are a disgrace for losing the master tapes.”
Margot, meanwhile, had abandoned her macramé entirely and was now furiously Googling on her phone. “Okay, so this ‘intestinal nutrient absorption’ thing… you’re saying it affects weight loss? Because if I can absorb nutrients faster, does that mean I can eat more croissants? Is there a croissant-absorption speed-run?”
Rihanna, ever the mogul, was already sketching a business plan on a napkin with a diamond-encrusted pen. “Nutrient absorption… I could launch a supplement line. ‘Absorb by Fenty.’ The slogan: ‘Get every last drop.’ We could sell specially designed spoons that maximize absorption. ‘The Intestine Spoon.’ It’s got a ring to it.”
Gaga, feeling her sanity depart her body like a particularly stubborn piece of undigested fibre, made one final, desperate plea. “It’s not a dance! It’s not a TV show! It’s not a manager! It’s about the surface area of your small intestine! It’s about eating fibre! It’s about gut bacteria! It’s about—”
“I knew it!” Zeta-Jones interrupted triumphantly. “It’s about the dragon! Blodwen always said, ‘Fibre is your friend!’ It was a very influential programme. I’m going to pitch a reboot to Netflix. ‘Blodwen’s Bowel Adventures.’ It’s got legs. Metaphorical legs. Not actual legs. She’s a dragon.”
“His legs were definitely metaphorical,” Rihanna muttered darkly. “The man couldn’t even walk to the bank without getting lost. He once tried to convince me that a tandem bicycle tour was a viable mode of transport for a world tour. ‘It’s intimate, RiRi,’ he said. ‘You and the fans, pedalling together.'”
Margot, meanwhile, had ordered a croissant the size of her head and was staring at it with scientific intensity. “So, if I chew this exactly forty-seven times, will I absorb more butter? Is there an app for this? I feel like there should be an app for this.”
“That’s… not… how it… works…” Gaga whispered, her voice barely audible over Zeta-Jones, who was now humming a dirge-like tune that she claimed was the original Blodwen theme song, and Rihanna, who was on a call with her lawyer about trademarking ‘The Intestine Spoon.’
Lady Gaga closed her book. The intestinal nutrient absorption, a marvel of evolutionary engineering, was now a 1970s Welsh puppet show, a defunct con-artist manager, and a questionable croissant-eating strategy, all before her second cup of chamomile tea. She took a long, deep breath. The conversation had, in its own way, been fully absorbed of all meaning. And yet, as Rihanna’s napkin business plan gathered steam and Zeta-Jones began choreographing a dragon-themed dance involving elaborate hand gestures, Gaga couldn’t help but think that this was, perhaps, the most Hollywood understanding of human biology she had ever encountered. The villi, as it were, had left the building.
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