Not long ago in this column, I discussed devices advertised on TV claiming to give you rock-hard abs. I stated that anyone who was stupid enough to throw away good money on some piece of dooky ought to have his credit cards impounded and then be slapped upside the head repeatedly with a large rotting cuttlefish. I may not have used those words exactly, but it was sort of implied.
So when my workout buddy Jerry told me he had purchased the Slendertone Flex, I had mixed emotions. On the one hand, it proves that he finds some TV pitchman with a multimillion-dollar advertising budget more persuasive than me. What is up with that? On the other hand, a device that gives you a series of electrical shocks for 20 minutes, right in the breadbasket, is what we in the humorous health column business call pure comedy gold.
The principle is sound enough. Doctors stimulate patients' muscles with electricity for many reasons, including keeping bed-bound muscles from atrophying and re-educating muscles after a major injury. In fact, a study by doctors Howard, Howard and Fine noted, "Hey, Moe! Where do I put these electo-whosathingies? Ngyahh ngyah ngyah!"
According to Mr. Slick TV pitchman and, I suppose, the fine folks at Slendertone, you simply attach the Flex belt around your waist, turn it on for 20 minutes a day and it sends electrical pulses into your abdominal muscles, forcing them to contract repeatedly. In just four to eight weeks, you'll have, you guessed it, "ROCK HARD ABS!"
They're smart enough to note that without regular diet and exercise, you won't lose weight. They also note that the device is approved by the Food and Drug Administration, meaning, I suppose, that someone considered eating it. No, actually what it means is that the FDA covers some weird categories, much like a lot of Catholic saints. For instance, St. Maynard, the patron saint of cattle diseases, debt incurred from bad investments and curds. There's a whole other guy who deals with the whey.
The FDA hasn't updated its FAQ Web page on this particular subject in four years, but by gum, the Flex is the only one it has listed. The site also notes that people using non-FDA-approved tummy zappers have suffered shocks (duh), burns, skin irritation and interference with pacemakers. Let's pause here and consider that last one for a moment.
Perhaps somehow in those cases, it got strapped onto the consumer's head and it zapped out his last grain of common sense.
The sad thing is it doesn't matter how good it may turn out to be, I will never stop mocking it. It could be a miracle cure for cancer, Alzheimer's disease and the heartbreak of psoriasis. I could end up being that slick TV pitchman. I would still stand before those cameras and say, "Try it out folks. It's safer than hooking your nipples up to a car battery and almost as fun!"
In the interest of science, Jerry assures me he will use the crazy thing at least 20 minutes a day.
I'll let you all know how it works out in four to eight weeks.
F. Andrew Taylor is a Las Vegas freelance writer. His column appears twice monthly. Contact him at fandrewt@cox.net.
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