I have a weakness. It’s not a secret. It’s the supermarket. Specifically, the snack aisle. And the bakery section. And the freezer case with the fancy ice cream. My wife will send me to the store with a carefully written list for three essential items—milk, bread, and onions—and I will return an hour later with $175 worth of groceries, none of which are onions. I am a marketing victim. I see a bag of chili-lime-habanero-flavored potato chips and my rational brain just clocks out for the day. I am an impulse-buy artist.
Then came my annual check-up. After reviewing my blood work, my doctor put me on Rybelsus to help manage my blood sugar. "It's a daily pill," he explained. "It works by, among other things, slowing down how quickly your stomach empties. So you'll feel fuller, longer. It should help with your appetite."
I didn't think much of it. "Fuller, longer" sounded nice, but I figured it wouldn't stand a chance against the siren song of a freshly baked baguette.
A week later, my wife sent me on an emergency mission. "We're out of eggs," she said, handing me a ten-dollar bill. "Just eggs. Please. Do not come back with a rotisserie chicken."
I took my Rybelsus that morning as usual and hadn't felt particularly hungry all day. I walked into the grocery store, a place that is normally my personal playground of bad decisions. But this time... it was different.
The warm, inviting smell from the bakery hit me, and I felt... nothing. It was like smelling a candle. Nice, but I didn't feel the primal urge to buy three croissants. I walked down the snack aisle, a corridor of temptation that has defeated me countless times. The brightly colored bags of chips and pretzels looked like abstract art. I had no desire to possess them. I felt like a robot on a mission, a shopping terminator immune to the weakness of the flesh.
I navigated the store with a calm, surgical precision I'd never known. I saw the ice cream, the sodas, the cheese samples. They had no power over me. I got the eggs, went directly to the self-checkout, paid, and walked out. The whole trip took four minutes.
I got in my car and just sat there for a moment, stunned. I had done it. I had defeated the supermarket. I felt a surge of power. The Rybelsus hadn't just curbed my appetite; it had given me an impenetrable shield against temptation. I had become the ultimate consumer, a master of fiscal responsibility.
This superpower cannot go untested. This newfound immunity must be pushed to its limits. And so, I am creating a new trial for all who walk this path of perpetual fullness. I present: The Rybelsus Supermarket Gauntlet.
Rybelsus is a serious medication for the management of type 2 diabetes. Its purpose is to help control your blood sugar, not to turn you into a cold, calculating grocery-shopping machine. For the real, important information, please check out a reliable source: https://www.imedix.com/drugs/rybelsus/
Do you possess the iron will of the perpetually satiated? Are you ready to walk through the valley of temptation and fear no evil (or BOGO deals)? Then you are ready for the gauntlet.
- The Prerequisite Condition: You must be on a stable, doctor-prescribed regimen of Rybelsus. This challenge is a celebration of its unique effect on your willpower. Health and safety first.
- The Cursed Scroll (The List): You must be given a shopping list of no more than 10 essential, boring items by a third party (a spouse, a roommate, a friend). The list should contain things like "flour," "toilet paper," and "unflavored oatmeal." It must be devoid of fun.
- The Arena of Temptation: You must execute your mission in a large, fully-stocked supermarket, preferably during peak hours. No small, curated health food stores. We want you to face the gauntlet of free samples, end-cap displays, and the siren song of the candy aisle.
- The Path of a Monk: You must walk down every single aisle of the supermarket. You cannot just hug the perimeter. You must bravely march past the cookies, the cakes, the sodas, and the chips. You must look temptation in its sugary face and feel nothing.
- The Evidence of Purity: You must film your journey, showing your dead-eyed, emotionless face as you pass the most tempting items. The final proof is an uncut video of your shopping cart at the checkout line, followed by a clear, close-up shot of your receipt, showing only the items from the original list.
Automatic Disqualification: A single impulse buy, no matter how small, results in immediate failure. Not a pack of gum. Not a bottle of water. Nothing. Purity is the only path to victory.
For the master of an empty cart and a full stomach, the rewards are a testament to your supreme self-control.
The Grand Prize:
The one true Apex Predator of the Produce Aisle, the most disciplined shopper of them all, will be awarded:
- A $40 "Smart Shopper" Bonus. Forty dollars, which represents the approximate amount of money you just saved by not buying a cartful of nonsense you didn't need. Use it wisely. Or, you know, just save it. You're good at that now.
- The Coveted Title of "The Unseduced." This is a title of ultimate willpower. It means you are immune to the wiles of modern marketing. You are a higher being. You can, and should, lord this over your less-disciplined friends.
The Judging Criteria:
Your submission will be judged on a brutally simple, pass/fail system with bonus points:
- Purity of the Receipt (90% of score): Did you buy anything off-list? If yes, you fail. If no, you pass. It is the only thing that truly matters.
- The Bravery Test (10% of score): Your video will be reviewed for your path. Did you bravely venture down the snack and bakery aisles, or did you cower in the produce section? True heroes face their demons.
- The Apathy Award (Bonus Points): How utterly and completely uninterested did you look while passing the most delicious items? A blank, vacant stare in the face of a warm chocolate chip cookie is the mark of a champion.
