Jerry was tired and realized that the holiday had left him feeling a little weak and down. This must be the billionth strain of Covid he had experienced since new year almost exactly a year ago.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a glass jar that looked like something from of a science lab except its thick, bubbling, brown and chunky contents looked more like he was going to make a batch of sourdough brownies with nuts. It was his personalized gut biome, and it was the only reason he had made it, nearly, to his 142nd birthday.
142 years. It didn't feel like it, he thought, as he opened the jar and carefully inserted a long, clean utensil down just far enough to grab a smidgeon of the foaming, brown yeast matter near the bottom.
He loved the smell. It was pungent but somehow refreshing and clean. He took out the jar back and closed the door while still carefully examining the nearly invisible spec on the end of the skinny rod.
It had only been 60 years since scientists had discovered the hidden secrets of what his old friend had called, the golden shit. If someone had wanted to hide the secrets of health and longevity, this had been a pretty damn good place to do it, he thought.
He took the utensil and began carefully pressing it into his bellybutton paying attention to the neat little folds of skin he could easily navigate with the long, skinny tool.
The effect was almost immediate. Even if it wasn't, scientifically speaking, immediate, Jerry could sense the bacteria entering his body through the sensitive skin deep inside his bellybutton, a place no loofah would ever reach.
-John Ross Wilson