I Am Large, I Contain Multitudes and I Don't Like It.

Mostly TV ads just get on my nerves, but sometimes you find out something important.

Chevy showed me how to pull big, railroad cars up a mountain with my four-door SUV. Jack LaLane showed how old and saggy looks even when you work out too much. But now the probiotic, blue-state yogurt and clotted milk people are telling me secrets about who I really am—it’s like finding religion, or seeing your best friend’s mama naked when you are nine, or finding out, when you visit your Aunt Ethel in the country, that smelly, grass-eater cows squirt milk from downstairs. The world just looks different and you give up milk forever.

I used to think I was me. Now the yogurt people tell me I was all wrong-- I am more than me. In fact, more of me is not me, than is me. For every cell that says Chuck Kerns in its DNA, 1000 microbes, without papers or proper clearance, climbed the fence and live in my heartland. Well slightly lower, but you get the idea.

At first I was not sure whether to welcome them or build a fence. Now I know.

Those yogurt guys are smuggling in microbes, even charging you extra to carry them home in your car trunk. You are an accomplice and give billions sanctuary down there in your personal basement.

OK, I hear these microbe guys do work hard--dirty work--and don’t get much pay, just leftovers. It’s dangerous--if they don’t hang on tight, they get flushed. But they are taking away jobs from full Chuck Kerns DNA cells. If I could get a couple neurons or liver cells to go down and work a double shift I would, but the liver cells like to stay near their own types. And neurons think they know everything.

My problem is there are just so many microbes. A few would be fine. But they breed like rabbits in a sex club. Microbes say they don’t want to take over, but who knows. I am just one big, fat, happy colon to those guys. If things keep going this way, one day I may not be Chuck Kerns anymore. I will be a big, tall bunch of microbes named Bifidobacterium or something even longer and hyphenated too.

Now I am formally calling on those Minutemen who sit on the borders to go patrol our dairy shelves too. We need a fence in the milk case running from non-fat coffee-mate to smelly blue cheese. Microbes can’t climb high so a short wall is just fine. But those microbes slip thru damn-near invisible holes so it’s got to be tough, like us, when we can’t digest anything stronger than soggy biscuits and Wonder bread after cleaning out our system of those symbiotic alien-cell types.

We are fighting for purity in our colons today and cleaner pipes tomorrow. Remember that when you go down to Safeway and fill up your cart. Those yogurt guys will back off soon and start putting good old artificial, all-American, bacteria-free gooplets back on the shelves soon, if you act right now.

Fight On.