It has been two weeks since my last confession. I suffer from heartburn due to impulsivity and weak character. I can’t blame some disease for the acid in my throat. I wash down hot pseudo-meat with enamel-dissolving soda every day. I sin against my body with every bite of Slim Jim.

It’s hard to say anything bad about a tablet that can rescue you from hell like a benevolent divine hand. Without Tums antacids, I would have to give up all of the food that keeps me warm.

When my throat feels like it’s trying to vomit a sword and I chew on the granulated sugary little rock, it’s the closest I can possibly come to a religious experience. The tiny particles in the Tums tablet deliver me from evil with the stealth of a ninja messiah.

I led most of my life thinking Tums couldn’t possibly top itself. It’s already a pill that instantly cures a debilitating illness — while being chewable. I admit now that I was wrong.

A few years ago, Tums made a new kind of tablet called Tums Smoothies.

It was sweeter and fruitier than the regular kind, and it wasn’t chalky at all. It melted on the tongue, and slid down the gullet to fight the demon of heartburn, the Balrog of the digestive system.

When this happened, I knew nothing would ever be this good again. The goddess of antacids, Tumetha, smiled and wagged her finger from above for underestimating her powers.

Thusly, she sent a new angel to Earth dressed in white. His name was Tums Smoothies Peppermint.

He wasn’t just delicious. He wasn’t just smooth. He didn’t just instantly douse my fire. He didn’t just tingle and cool my tongue. He did all of these things while also freshening my breath.

No matter how badly I eat, no matter how badly I stray from the path of good dieting, Tumetha always forgives me. If humanity ever comes up with an instant cure for a hangover, I’m sure it will be invented by Tums.

Praise be to ye, Tumetha. We are all but mere worms.

Rating: A+