In what health officials are calling a breakthrough for alternative wellness, local man Greg Clitheroe has completed a five-day juice cleanse and is now experiencing what experts describe as an acute case of smugness. Eruptions of conceit have appeared noticeably across his arms and face, causing no small amount of discomfort to those around him.
When pressed for details, Clitheroe recounted his experience with great pride. “I think it started towards the end of day two,” he explained while admiring his reflection in his refrigerator door. “I felt this overwhelming sensation of purity, almost like I was better than everyone who was currently chewing food.”
The cleanse, which consisted of kale, celery, obscure roots no one can pronounce, and rare Amazonian superfruits harvested by contractually obligated monks, was supposed to expel toxins from the body. What authorities hadn’t anticipated was the coinciding eruption of raconteur-level sanctimony.
“We’ve seen this before with other cleanses,” commented Dr. Veda Spinach, lead researcher at the Institute of Wellness Irony. “Following a strict regime of liquefied foliage does not just flush the digestive system—it often swells the ego just as dramatically.”
Friends report that Clitheroe’s condition has reached the point where ordinary activities like visiting a café for black coffee result in extended soliloquies about the dangers of #AdulthoodToxins, spinach-based enlightenment, and the moral superiority of blended lifestyles. “Nobody wanted it,” remarked Jane Wu, friend and fellow sufferer of Clitheroe’s newfound affliction. “Some people are allergic to dust mites or pollen; apparently, we’re allergic to overbearing declarations of zen righteousness.”
In direct response to the societal quandary, several restaurants have begun implementing smugness-free zones, offering patrons a haven from unsolicited tales of dietary ascendency. Diners can finally concentrate on their bacon-wrapped mac and cheese without intrusion from patrons on a kale crusade.
Market analysts predict the trend of sanctimonious post-cleansing rashes will only rise as new cleanses promise ultimate health through exotic food combinations ranging from Siberian mint-infused mushroom extract to the very real air of Mount Fuji. The Institute of Wellness Irony is already advising the public on effective smugness management through deprogramming techniques, which include prolonged Netflix binges and potato chip meditations.
While Clitheroe has hopes that his condition will fade, he regards it with a mix of frustration and reverence. “Sure, my epidermis is prickling and my social calendar is thinning out,” he said, “but it’s a small price to pay for achieving what I now can only describe as the pinnacle of health abstraction.”
Local officials have called for calm, reminding residents that the best way to prevent outbreaks of smugness is simply to eat normally and not announce it to strangers at every opportunity. For now, Clitheroe continues to stroll confidently through town, his halo of arrogance shining brightly—if a bit rashly—into the community.
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