The Great Gut Microbe Meltdown: A Hollywood Health Hullabaloo, Part Three
The Great Gut Microbe Meltdown: A Hollywood Health Hullabaloo, Part Three
The setting was a private members’ club in Mayfair, the kind where the leather chairs were older than most democracies and the bartender could make a negroni that tasted like a religious experience. Lady Gaga, dressed in a gown constructed entirely from fermented kombucha SCOBYs, was clutching a book titled The Gut Garden: Cultivating Your Inner Eden.
“Ladies,” Gaga announced, her voice carrying the weight of someone about to deliver a sermon. “Today, we must address the most pressing issue of our time. Gut microbial diversity. It is the rainforest of your intestines. The coral reef of your colon. The—”
Catherine Zeta-Jones, who had been quietly sipping a sherry and staring into the middle distance, suddenly burst into tears. Great, heaving, Welsh sobs that echoed off the mahogany panelling.
“It’s beautiful,” she wailed, clutching a monogrammed handkerchief. “What it’s saying is… ‘Why can’t we all just get along?’ It’s a message of peace! Of unity! Of microbes holding hands across the intestinal divide! It’s the West Side Story of the digestive system!”
Margot Robbie, who had been attempting to construct a miniature Eiffel Tower from cocktail stirrers, looked up in confusion. “Wait, what? Gut Microbial Diversity? Is that the new Institute for Higher Learning in Zurich? Because I heard they need a good scrub. Apparently, the Dean was caught in a scandal involving a goat and a very confused accountant.”
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Rihanna, draped across a velvet chaise in a gown made entirely of vintage Fenty samples stitched together, lowered her sunglasses with the precision of a sniper. “No, Margot. Gut Microbial Diversity. That was our manager. The one after Intestinal Nutrient Absorption. The one after Gerard Emptying-Rate. He insisted we call him ‘G.M.D.’ for short. Said it stood for ‘Global Marketing Dynamo.’ He once tried to sell my lingerie line to a monastery. Said the monks were ‘an untapped market.'”
Margot gasped, nearly impaling herself on a cocktail stirrer. “Oh my God! Him! The one who convinced me that a perfume called ‘Eau de Compost’ was the future of luxury fragrance! He said it was ‘earthy’ and ‘organic’! I smelled like a farmer’s market for an entire press tour!”
“He was a disaster,” Rihanna confirmed, nodding solemnly. “I’m surprised you’re reading a book about him, Gaga. The man tried to convince me that a hot air balloon tour was a viable mode of transport for a stadium tour. ‘It’s whimsical, RiRi,’ he said. ‘You and the fans, floating together.'”
Gaga’s right eye developed a pronounced twitch. “He was not your manager! It’s a biological ecosystem! Trillions of bacteria! Fungi! Viruses! Archaea! Living in harmonious symbiosis! It affects your metabolism! Your immune system! Your mood!”
Zeta-Jones, still dabbing her eyes, looked up with newfound conviction. “That’s exactly what the musical is about! ‘Microbial Diversity: A Love Story.’ Act One: The Bacteria Ballet. Act Two: The Fungus Fugue. Act Three: The Archaea Aria. It ends with a rousing chorus of ‘We Are Family’ sung by the entire intestinal tract. I’m going to pitch it to Andrew Lloyd Webber. He owes me a favour.”
Margot, meanwhile, had abandoned her Eiffel Tower and was now furiously Googling. “Okay, so this ‘gut microbial diversity’ thing… you’re saying it affects weight loss? Because if I can diversify my microbes, does that mean I can eat more cheese? Is there a cheese-diversity correlation? Because I feel like there should be a cheese-diversity correlation.”
Rihanna, ever the mogul, was already sketching a business plan on a napkin with a diamond-encrusted pen. “Gut microbial diversity… I could launch a probiotic line. ‘Diverse by Fenty.’ The slogan: ‘Get cultured.’ We could sell specially designed yoghurts. ‘The Microbe Mousse.’ It’s got a ring to it.”
https://sites.google.com/view/sehr-schnell-abnehmen/der-große-hormon-streit
Gaga, feeling her sanity depart her body like a particularly ambitious bacterium, made one final, desperate plea. “It’s not a musical! It’s not an institute! It’s not a manager! It’s about eating fibre! Fermented foods! Avoiding unnecessary antibiotics! It’s about—”
“I knew it!” Zeta-Jones interrupted triumphantly. “It’s about togetherness! Blodwen the Dragon always said, ‘Diversity is strength!’ It was a very influential programme. I’m going to pitch a reboot to Netflix. ‘Blodwen’s Microbial Adventures.’ It’s got legs. Metaphorical legs. Not actual legs. She’s a dragon. And now she has microbes. It’s very synergistic.”
https://sites.google.com/view/sehr-schnell-abnehmen/schlaf-und-tagesrhythmus
“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 rickshaw tour was a viable mode of transport for a world tour. ‘It’s authentic, RiRi,’ he said. ‘You and the fans, pulling together.'”
Margot, meanwhile, had ordered a cheese board the size of a small country and was staring at it with scientific intensity. “So, if I eat this entire camembert, will my microbes become more diverse? 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 Microbe Mousse.’
But Rihanna wasn’t finished. She stood up, her eyes gleaming with the light of a thousand questionable business ventures. “Actually, forget the yoghurt. I’m thinking bigger. Much bigger. I’m going to make a movie. A blockbuster. I’ll star in it. I’ll be a plumber. But not just any plumber. A plumber who is also a bird expert. Because the microbes… they’re like birds, right? Diverse. Colourful. Sometimes they fly away. I’ll fix people’s pipes and then I’ll diagnose their gut microbes by examining the local bird population. It’s called ‘The Gut Whisperer.’ The tagline: ‘She unclogs more than pipes.’ It’s going to be huge.”
Margot clapped her hands together. “Oh! Can I play the cheese? I feel like I’d be a very good cheese.”
Zeta-Jones, still dabbing her eyes, looked up. “And I’ll write the Welsh children’s TV show adaptation! ‘Blodwen and the Bird-Plumber’s Microbes.’ It’s a crossover event!”
Lady Gaga closed her book. The gut microbial diversity, a marvel of evolutionary biology, was now a weepy Welsh musical, a defunct con-artist manager, a cheese-eating strategy, and a movie about a plumber-bird-expert, all before her third cup of chamomile tea. She took a long, deep breath. The conversation had, in its own way, been fully diversified of all meaning. And yet, as Rihanna’s napkin business plan gathered steam and Zeta-Jones began choreographing a microbe-themed dance involving elaborate hand gestures and a plumber’s wrench, Gaga couldn’t help but think that this was, perhaps, the most Hollywood understanding of human biology she had ever encountered. The microbes, as it were, had left the building.
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