This is a book about the virtues of bran. The sunny side of life, the new way of living - that means regular, satisfying bowel movements.

You wouldn't like to end up like HER, would you? Look at her! Gaze upon the desolate face of constipation!
And don't think that fame and fortune insulate one from the problems of balky bowels:

Even F. Scott Fitzgerald gets the hinder-binder blues from time to time. You can just hear him mutter: jazz age, my ass.

The next page is rather sophomoric and crude. You can skip it by clicking HERE. Or don't.