New book finished. It is a work of fiction that uses the carnivore
way of eating as a plot driver. A very small niche indeed, consisting
of one work, this one, so far as I'm aware. It is not for the faint of
heart considering that it has a number of alarmingly frank sexual
situations in it. You have been warned. Available as a free PDF.
Ozempic is the drug of the hour. Along with the dubious cohort of other brand names for GLP-1 analogs it is the darling of the lose weight with no otherwise visible effort crowd. It does work, after a fashion, to reduce weight which in turn can provide other benefits, despite some alarming potential side-effects. The drugs suppress appetite leading to an exaggerated calorie deficit eating "regimen". A regimen which means that most people will follow some form of the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Standard American Diet. Which bears the extremely appropriate acronym SAD. In udder woids they will most likely eat, and drink, as they have been eating and drinking carbage saturated junk for decades, just less of it, a lot less.
To say that the SAD is nutritionally deficient would be a mega-exaggerated understatement. Its extreme anti-nutritional nature is in large part responsible for the increasingly obese and sick U.S. population. Losing weight while eating garbage is very far indeed from a wise strategy. Just plain stupid in fact. This Ozempic fueled weight loss will likely have little to no positive effect on our country's excremental health status. It will probably worsen it since when the GLP-1 pills are stopped, the weight rebound will be severe and rapid. Back to square one, or even before it, unless the pills are taken in virtual perpetuity. And since no long term studies of the effects of these drugs has yet been undertaken, frickety-frack knows what horrors may lie in wait for long term users.
If you are taking a GLP-1, you are the test subject. But hey don't sweat it. We can always trust big pharma to have our best interests at heart, right?
A while back I had someone ask me if I thought the whole world could be converted to eating carnivore. My answer was most certainly not, but how much of your health are you willing to sacrifice to hand-wringing about geopolitical realities? My answer is of course zero.
The "carnivore community" numbers perhaps a hundred thousand people in the U.S., and perhaps that many more world-wide. It is expanding, but slowly because we happy few, we band of brothers, are in a low-level guerilla war against not only extravagantly funded and entrenched industrial and governmental interests, but also against the very fabric of modern society itself. Our society, and virtually everything it undertakes, revolves around food. A party, a wedding, a bar mitzvah, a meeting, a friendly get-together, a sports event, a fund raiser, a birthday, etc, etc. etc. And in the vast majority of cases it is typically a panopoly of carbs and sugary sweets with optional alcohol. If perchance there is meat involved it is often drenched in sugary sauces and rubs.
So, consumption of crap food at social events is almost irrevocably embedded in our culture, and most others as well. This is just as steep a hill to climb as the equally embedded, and fatally wrong, demonization of meat consumption by duplicitous corporations, corrupt institutions, both private and governmental, gormless ignorant national media, and misguided climate activists who relentlessly flog the base calumny that eating ruminant animals is deleterious to the "earth". That ruminant animals participate in a virtually neutral "carbon cycle" is entirely ignored.
All of these factors combine to make the diffusion of the literally life-saving aspects of the carnivore diet to a wide audience an extremely hard sell. The unchecked explosion of auto-immune diseases and many other crippling conditions in our culture, entirely caused by our excremental diet, shows little sign of abating despite the determined wholesale throwing of pharmaceuticals at this massive problem. And our social food "traditions" bear considerable responsibility for our the rickety structure of our beleaguered medical system. A situation that will not be reversed by throwing ever greater mega-sums of money, and billions of pills, at it.
Much buzz these days about raw milk. Raw milk is alleged to be far far better for you than ordinary homogenized pasteurized supermarket milk. Trouble is there is no evidence, none, that raw is better in any way. The problem is that raw milk is still milk which has just as much lactose and casein as any other kind of milk, and those things are the primary bad actors metabolically speaking. It's the lactose that raises blood sugar and the milk proteins that bollix our metabolisms. Butter, being almost lactose and casein free, is on the other hand a most excellent source of beneficial animal fats.
Cow's milk is an ideal food for calves. It is not remotely ideal for adult humans, but butterfat is in fact an ideal source of fatty acids for anyone. For those who respond poorly to even a few molecules of lactose, ghee (clarified butter) is unlikely to cause issues in even most lactose intolerant. Ghee is essentially butterfat, water, and nothing else. Cheese is on the whole rather healthier than milk, the lactose having been mostly consumed by bacteria, and the casein proteins rendered less harmful by fermentati. But, it is extremely easy to eat too much of it.
I avoid milk altogether, and eat cheese only a few times a year, if that. And no I do not suffer from a calcium deficit. Eggs and meat are good sources of calcium. However, if it's milk you must drink, then don't waste your money on raw milk, or anything else raw for that matter. Rawness does not imbue anything with superior nutritional value. Drink raw milk if you want to be up-to-the-minute hip, but don't expect it to manifest magical properties. And don't even get me started on that modern abomination known as "skim" milk.
Just saw a fascinating interview with a lady named Judy Trimbur on Dave Mac's "Carb Free Life" channel. She has been an herbalist and plant food based consultant who has for forty years made a living with those consultations, plus the sale of sundry herbal and "holistic" remedies, some of which she makes herself.
A year-ish ago several of her clients, whom she hadn't seen in quite a while, came into her office and astounded her with their near miraculous recoveries from most of the auto-immune conditions plaguing them by starting to eat carnivore. Unable to deny what was in front of her face, she immediately began researching what they were doing and finally a couple of months ago she went carnivore herself. She has in a short time seen truly astonishing results which, unfortunately, contradict virtually everything she had been taught, and had taught others for decades. It is unfortunate because although this way of eating has transformed her health, it is threatening her very livelihood as an influencer and businesswoman.
But, she is stepping up to the plate by admitting she was wrong about so much for so many years and has begun counseling her charges to go on a heavily meat-based diet for almost everything that ails them. This is one gutsy lady. Overthrowing one's embedded beliefs when confronted with irrefutable countervailing evidence is not a common occurrence these days, especially when doing so threatens severe economic consequences. All hail Judy.
There is much ballyhoo, fiddle-faddle, and argle-bargle on the web-o-sphere these days about the dangers of "ultra-processed" foods. In general, I agree that most processed "foods" are merely tasty and attractively packaged metabolic poison, but there are nuances that need to be addressed. It is certainly true that factory made food is carefully designed to be "hyper-palatable" so as to make sure customers keep coming back for more, but it is also the case that however much processing is undergone, the base ingredients are supremely unhealthy all by themselves.
And I'm not even counting the grubby panoply of chemicals that extend the shelf life and "freshness" of said foods. The major base ingredients, wheat, corn, seed oils, and especially sugar, are bad metabolic actors all on their own. Whatever processing and chemicals are involved in processed food manufacture, I consider them to be the lesser of the other evils.
Unfortunately, many types of foods such as bacon, sausage, and canned meats that most would consider processed, have been tarred by that metaphorical brush. The hard fact is that the likes of bacon, hotdogs, lunchmeat, and even SPAM are wildly healthier than any boxed or bagged snack in the middle of the grocery store. They are in every way far far better for you than any bread, pasta, chip, cracker, cupcake, candy, or cookie found not only in stores, but anywhere else they might appear. Even the most hoity-toity artisanal whole grain fifteen bucks a loaf bread from the corner vegan bakery is inferior to, dare I say it, SPAM, as far as your endocrine system is concerned.
That system doesn't give a hoot in Hades how good something tastes, or what your particular "gotta have" preferences might be. Your endocrine system does best on animal protein and fat, and anything else serves only to, slowly or rapidly, aid and abet the catastrophic epidemic of diabetes and auto-immune diseases that are devouring not only us, but the entire medical system as well.
What are the vegetables necessary for good health? The answer is that there are none. As in nada, no sireebob, no way Jose, neither jot nor tittle. There is simply not a single vegetable, nor any combination thereof, that a human critter absolutely must eat to stay healthy. I haven't eaten any in over five years and have not felt the lack, at all. Taking it further, there is not a single plant, grain, tuber or fruit, that is absolutely necessary for a human to consume. Of course we do in fact eat scads of grains, veggies, and fruit, especially in this age of meat demonization and plant canonization.
"Scads" is a poor signifier for the carb-saturated Standard American Diet. "Awash in" more accurately states the case. Like virtually all plant foods, veggies have carbs, from a little to a lot, and "vegetables" like potatoes are nearly pure carbohydrates. Including sweet potatoes which are the current darling of many not-at-all-low-carb enthusiasts.
There is nothing the least bit magical about leafy green vegetables however much they are piously claimed to be "superfoods". The assertions that they are healthy is little more than wishful thinking and lifelong programming. Every parent for many generations is aware of how hard it is to get a kid to "eat your vegetables", often employing ever more mentally draconian methods to achieve this dubious goal. I have become convinced that youngsters' common distaste for green veggies is in fact a subconscious survival instinct. I consider all veggies, all plant foods really, as survival rations only and to be avoided unless no animal foods are available. My personal exception to this rule is coffee, which I have kicked for as much as a year without any noticeable improvement in my health, mental or physical.
Unquestionably, the worst plant food offender is sugar in all its many forms. Even vegans recognize how much this vile substance should be strictly avoided. Nevertheless, sugar is a plant food although one rarely encountered in concentrated form in the natural plant world. The main exception is honey, which is nominally an animal based food, but it is pure fructose and glucose and promotes ill health just as much as white crystalline table sugar. It has some benefits when used topically, but not when eaten. We are a nation of sugar addicts, something that few would deny, but few care enough about the problem to do anything about it.
Sugar in all its manifestations is nothing more than metabolic poison. It may be the best tasting poison available, but poison it nevertheless is. It doesn't even qualify as survival food. It is an anti-survival food, as the wildly burgeoning numbers of diabetics in this, and many other, countries are finding out. Going further, sugar, grains, fruit, and starchy vegetables are directly responsible for the incredible explosion of atherosclerosis and the many ghastly autoimmune conditions in the populations of the industrialized countries.
There are, supposedly, 200,000 plant species that are edible by humans without immediate harm. Worldwide we only eat about 200 species because most of the others either taste bad or are almost impossible to cultivate on a large scale. In any case, not one of them, domesticated or otherwise, has the slightest metabolic advantage over animal protein and fat. Humans are classified as "facultative carnivores", which means we can tolerate some plant foods, but we do not in general thrive on them. We simply have not escaped our ancestral evolutionary heritage as primarily eaters of animal foods. Animals, ruminant mammals especially, are perfectly adapted to converting plant matter into the type of protein and fat that enable and promote healthy human metabolisms. In short, don't eat your veggies. You're welcome.
This is my first, and probably last, Pibgorn story. The comic doesn't easily lend itself this sort of treatment. It is set a few years after the "Fairy Holocaust" that was detailed in the "The Pain Guy" arc. It ignores all that has happened in the "Provenance of Pib" arc because that is happening, supposedly, hundreds of years before the start of Pibgorn. Important note: The last part of this story may make little or no sense if one has not read my Chickweed novel "The Thoraxian Incident".
The Sorcerer's Assistants.
Pib’s sleep was also untroubled by the fact that Dru was having her way with Geoff in the next room. They had been at it for an hour, with their wails and moans of ecstasy permeating the house. Pib slept on, only acknowledging the ruckus with a slight sleepy smile. Said ruckus died for a bit, then resumed in Dru’s and Nat’s bedroom.
As the sun cracked the horizon, Dru, still in her bare human form after a night of near continuous horizontal revelry with Jeff then Nat, tiptoed into the spare bedroom and gently sat down on the side of the bed. She gazed at the form underneath the covers and sighed. She was beginning to wonder if there was still any need for the anti-troll alliance she had formed with Pib all those years ago. The underworld was deserted now, the trolls and demons flung into the sun, and all the surface portals sealed.
As far as Dru was aware, she, Nat, Stan, and Henmellyn were the only demons left on Earth. Stan and Hen were above ground and above board now. Very happily married and even thinking about making babies. Stan still retained some of his demonic looks, but Hen had assumed a very human form and had no intention of ever changing back. She simply no longer had the need to do so since the curse that had almost killed her was broken. Hen didn't work, but Stan was an investment banker, for which his demonic nature was the ideal job.
The Djinn and Meerfrau were still sweetly mated in their sun bubble. Roger and Satori had moved into a small house in the wilds of New Jersey where Roger toiled as a white hat hacker. Lena was old enough to start dating now, and god help the teenagers of her town because she had transformed from a bratty unpleasant ten year old to a very pretty, if intense, sixteen year-old. Oognat had escaped the Fairy Holocaust, retired from the hair fairy business, and lived a quiet life in a roomy cabin in the Yukon woods with a grizzled off-the-grid homesteader named Buzzard Murphy. She didn’t have to stay in her human form for most of the time because her hair-fairy form didn’t bother Buzzard at all. He was pretty hairy himself.
Sylvia and Mr. Knott were still on their Pacific island, and were running a resort for the wealthy. Guy and Esther were back in the little French seaside town from which they came, with Guy still baking up a storm, and Esther was busy baking and raising two children, and another was already in the oven. Crewth and Gaggot had been collateral damage of the F.H., but they were definitely not missed.
Pib only resumed her dappled appearance when she slept. Dru hardly slept at all, but Pib needed plenty of restorative sleep even though the F.H. had ended over two years previously. She was determined to put all the pain of the past to rest and pursue the role of a good wife to Geoff. And she was succeeding, so far, and the nightmares had subsided under the assault of Geoff's overwhelming love for her. Dru and Nat were living as man and wife, and loved each other unconditionally, but had not bothered to get married.
However, things were still rather complicated. Dru loved both Geoff and Nat, whereas Pib loved Geoff, but only liked Nat, liked him a lot in fact, but had not yet crossed over into love with him. She very much liked making love with him, and indeed had done so on several occasions in the past before the F.H. In the present she lay with Nat only a few times a month. With Geoff it was four or five times a week when they slept together, which was four days a week. Two days were reserved for the attentions of Dru. It wasn’t as if sex with Nat wasn’t great, it very much was, but for Pib deep love was the sauce that made the meal exquisite.
Two weeks after the “reformed” demons moved in, Pib and Dru put their heads to together and decided to put any lingering jealousy on the back burner and share husbands.
Anything else seemed selfish to Pib, and neither she nor Dru, especially Dru, had any truck with bourgeois morality when it came to love-making. And there was no chance Pib could ever get pregnant. Dru could, but she had to decide to do it. She couldn’t get knocked up accidentally. She hadn’t ruled it out, but was in no hurry because she would have to commit to being fully human to achieve it. Perhaps one day.
On her monthly visits to Benny Bozoid, they often noodled about the possibility of restoring Pib’s lower half to flesh and blood. They had come up empty. Bozoid tech was good at interfacing the biological and mechanical, but it couldn’t regenerate biology to anything like the extent that Pib needed. Benny was convinced that it would take technology indistinguishable form magic to restore Pib. Pib could still heal others, but her powerful baiser de la fée would not work on herself. And such was far beyond even Dru’s powers which largely extended to creative violence, but not biological creativity. She had "spot welded" Pibs wings on, twice, but despaired that she could not make Pib whole again.
With Geoff’s permission, Dru had invited Benny to move into the household, or at least a separate little cottage, but he declined. He was unwilling to give up his arctic solitude. Geoff and Pib weren’t just notional husband and wife. They were official spouses. Had a ceremony and everything. Naturally Thorax officiated. Hen, Dru, and Thorax’s three wives were bride’s matrons, Stan and Roger were best men. The wedding was in an open New Hampshire field at the height of spring. Thorax had insisted on bringing a goodly number of the inhabitants of his patriarchal enclave out of their “home” reality to the world of demons and fairies. A fine time was had by everyone, then the “home” folks departed. They reappeared only a microsecond after they had left so no one was missed.
Dru looked fondly on the dozing fairy. What trials she has been through. So have we all, but Pib simply doesn’t have the ability to recover that I do. Her body is mutilated and her mind is beset by the horrors she has endured. Poor little thing. I feel so sorry for her. I must be slipping. Except for Hen I’ve never been this maudlin about anyone before. I yearn for Pibby to be happy and whole because...because I’m in love with her.
There, I said it. Part of me wants to cringe in embarrassment and part of me wants to smother her in affection, to kiss her, to make love with her, to protect her with my life. She has been a force for good, and not just in my life, but in almost everyone around her. There is just a plain core of goodness in her, despite everything. And it’s infectious. She makes me want to be a good person. Me, the ultimate cynic, seducer of the corrupt, and relentless slayer of demons.
I’m tired of it all. I never thought I would be, but I am. And I’m rapidly losing my mojo, not that I’m in any immediate need of it. No demons or dragons or vampires to battle. The trouble is that it’s all I know. How will I keep myself busy? I don’t honestly know. I do have three boon companions to share my life with now, not a trivial thing at all. Three people I love dearly, and I have utterly glorious and satisfying sex with two of them often.
I’m spending more and more time in human form. I don’t know if I unconsciously switch back to ebony and scarlet when I sleep. Neither Geoff nor Nat has mention such happening. Pib is so strong and so vulnerable at the same time. So sweet, so funny, so adorable, so horribly damaged it breaks my granite heart.
I seems as if I have been in a rage forever. It is, perhaps was, my task to seduce and ensnare the corrupt and venal men that litter the world while puzzling out how to make them pay for their criminality or betrayal. I am extraordinarily good at doing that. But, I need a century or two of rest from seducing venal mediocrities and saving the world’s bacon, the pursuit of which has nearly done in Pib and I so many times I’ve lost count. At least I am intact despite the many times I have been “killed”. My sweet gentle fairy queen has not been so lucky.
Her innocent spirit has been repeatedly savaged and hideous irreparable damage done to her body. Her regenerative powers are not nearly as good as mine, and, so far, there is little hope she will be truly whole again. Can either of us ever be “normal”, lead ordinary lives, do ordinary things, stop killing and being killed? It has taken over two years for us to be able to even entertain the idea that either of us can ever be “ordinary”.
How very odd that when one is not ordinary, it is the one thing that attracts the most attention. Pib and I have been as extraordinary as any living beings could ever be. But, it just isn’t enough anymore. Can we really be--human? We’ve been acting human, more or less, but can that acting turn into reality? I think it must already be happening. Cooking dinner, vacuuming the floor, or doing the laundry is terminally ordinary, but I’ve come to like such mundanity. Even the prospect that I might lose my powers is not all that distressing. The same could happen to Pibby. She could lose her ability to revert to fairy form from simple disuse. She and I could deal with that, presuming we aren’t called upon to battle the demonic forces of evil again.
Dru stroked the sleeping Pib’s glorious russet mane then lightly trailed her fingers down her forest green dappled arm. To her surprise the light touch caused Pib’s dappling to fade into human coloring and her tightly furled wings to seem to disappear. She did not wake, but shifted slightly under the covers. Dru slowly stood, gazed down at Pib, her heart overflowing. She padded silently around to the other side of the bed, lifted the covers, and with as little disturbing movement as possible slid in and turned toward Pib. Pib’s open emerald eyes gazed back at her, a welcoming smile played on her face.
Returning the smile, Dre reached up and laid her palm on Pib’s cheek. Out of her depths Dru voiced the truest thing she had ever said. “I love you.”
Pib, still sleepy, mumbled, “Love you back.”
Dru’s thumb caressed Pib’s cheek then she said, “I am in love with you, my fairy queen.”
Pib’s eyes sprang fully open. “Back at ‘cha, my demon partner.”
Dru, “I mean it, Pibby. I’m in love with you.”
Pib, “I’m so glad. With all we’ve been through together, falling in love with each other seems inevitable. Give me one good reason why we wouldn’t be in love. Seems like a slam dunk to me.” She moved closer to Dru and gently pressed her lips to hers. Dru had kissed her before but there was no hint of tenderness in those kisses. There was now. Dru kissed her back gently, then forcefully, then abruptly they were in each other’s arms kissing furiously. A psychic dam of long standing shattered into flinders. After some minutes Pib whispered, “My darling Drusilla, let’s make love.”
So they did, In a whirlwind of lips and tongues, fingers, and tortured hearts, they writhed around each other for an endless glorious time. Curious as to Dru’s whereabouts, Nat peeked in the bedroom briefly. With a big smile on his face he joined Geoff in the kitchen for coffee.
“It finally happened.”
“What did?”
“They’re making love with each other right now. The room positively reeks of female desire. About damn time if you ask me.”
Geoff, “I agree. I’m surprised it took this long.”
Nat, “Forest for the trees kind of thing probably. No doubt they’ve loved each other for a long time, but admitting it is a big step for them, Dru especially."
“Yeah, there’s hardly a being of any sort tougher, or more cynical, than Dru. Pibby is pretty tough herself, but her, um, adventures with Dru would have driven most people, human or otherwise, into a suicidal depression. So good on them. They both deserve peace. Heh. I’m surprised when you saw them you didn’t start audibly narrating your thoughts about their coupling.”
Nat, “Nah. I’m trying to cut way back on that. The perverse cleverness of that gets old fast when you’re actually living with someone. Three someones in this case.”
Geoff, “You’ve been in your human form for over ten years now. Have you lost the ability to switch back and forth?”
“I dunno. Haven’t even tried. Haven’t had a reason to switch. We know Pib only switches back into fairy form when she’s asleep. Dru can and does switch, but she generally doesn’t switch when she’s asleep. Maybe the need for any of us to switch will just disappear after years of a low stress lifestyle.”
“What about Hen, Stan, and Oognat?
Nat, “Well, not long ago Stan said that he hasn’t seen Hen switch for the four years they been living among humans. He doesn’t either, but he says it’s still a choice for him. He’s not sure Hen can switch, and he’s not going to ask her about it. All of us, possibly former, demons may be succumbing to human normality. Personally, I don’t see that as a problem. The six of us are the last demons or fairies on earth, so it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
Geoff, “For about the fiftieth time, you’re absolutely sure there are no more?”
“I’m sure. We’ve neither seen nor gotten wind of any others.”
Geoff, “Good to know. Do you still not know why all of you were spared?”
“Not for certain, but we do all have one thing in common. We fell in love. Apparently, that yanks the bad out of you and slams the good in. I’m not complaining, at all.”
Dru and Pib had wound down from their frantic peaks and lay quietly, gently kissing and murmuring affection. Pib, “What the heck is wrong with us?”
Dru, “It’s a long list, sweetie. Gimme a specific.”
“Okay. Why haven’t we been doing this for years? I mean Geoff’s and Nat’s lovemaking is wonderful, but this...this is something else. Something I don’t have words to describe. Is what we're doing really right?”
Dru, “Hmmm. We weren't really built for the modern world. The social mores we grew up with bear no resemblance to what is called normal these days. Five hundred years ago, even in the world of demons, two females making love was a rare thing, which was a reflection of the normal world at the time. It's hardly rare any more. What may have been considered wrong back then is the opposite now. This is right for us, no question in my mind. And we aren't merely having sex, we are, at last, making love to each other. For nearly my whole life sex was for the most part only about seducing the corrupt, with Will the one exception. Then I inexplicably fell in love with Geoff, but basically ruined it with murderous jealousy, of you. Your first experience of sex was with Geoff, but he was my thousandth, not first. Oh hell, all that doesn’t really matter now. We’re here in each other’s arms and I’m grateful it’s happened at all.”
Pib, “Same here. You think Geoff and Nat will be okay with this?”
“I don’t see why not. But, even if they aren’t they are going to have to be okay with it. We just won’t give them a choice. It won’t come to that though. Geoff can hardly object to his two paramours in each others arms, and I’m certain he knows we are in each other’s hearts, metaphorically speaking of course. And I can’t imagine Nat would have the least trouble with it."
Pib, “Okay then, I’ll stop worrying about it. Say, how about showering with me?”
“That works.” It worked very well for both of them. Afterward they did their hair and makeup, mundanity personified, then dressed and went hand in hand out to the kitchen, where Geoff and Nat were starting their third cup of coffee.
Pib, “Hey guys. Wanna see something?” Without waiting for an answer she twirled Dru into her arms and kissed her fulsomely, for at least a minute. They broke the kissy touchy embrace and Dru asked, “Any coffee left?”
Nat, “Sure thing, doll face. You two sit your sweet selves down and I’ll heat up your cups.” As the steaming coffee was set before them Dru said, “What, no questions?”
Geoff, “I do have one question. What took you so long? You two have been in love since the day you started trying to kill each other.”
Dru, “Just chalk it up to the perversity of the universe, my love. And the fact that I was such an angry jealous bitch for so long. I never before had to actually compete for a man’s affections. Put me in a mood I stayed in for a decade. Then one day I discovered that I would protect Pibby as best I could from harm, although I did have a major failure in that regard.”
Pib, “Nonsense, sweetie. You didn’t aim that energy beam at me. That’s all on the Bozoids, may they all rot in Gehenna, except for Benny of course. He’s one in a billion for sure. The big softie did the best he could to make me whole, for which he has my eternal gratitude. I may be crankshafts and pistons below the belt, but I’m still more or less alive and kicking.”
Geoff, “He has my thanks as well. It would have shattered me to lose you. Either of you.”
Nat, “This suits you two. Not to mention it’s sexy as hell seeing you kiss each other.”
Dru, “Philistine.”
Nat, “Never pretended otherwise.”
Life, or some off-kilter version of it, went on. Geoff composed and worked at his new college choir director gig. Nat accumulated over a hundred thousand subscribers to his Bogart Noir vid channel. Dru and Pib cooked, cleaned, washed, dusted, shopped, had their hair and nails done, and made love to their men and each other. The buzz they had always heard was that the lot of a housewife was frustration and stifling boredom, but the very sameness and banality of daily life comforted the minds, bodies, and souls of two demimonde creatures who had endured more physical and psychic pain than any other hundred beings, demonic or otherwise, had ever experienced.
They watched a lot of streaming TV, especially old sitcoms. They took the notion to emulate June Cleaver, and one night when their husbands got home dinner was ready and they were arrayed in calf length floral print shirtwaist dresses with petticoats, modest matching heels, and pearl chokers. They had altered the online purchased dresses to be appropriately form-fitting and were eager to see their mates’ reactions. Which was to sweep them off their feet, carry them to their respective bedrooms, then extensively have their way with them, several times. Dinner was cold when they re-emerged. No one cared.
For another date night Pib and Drew wore tight skirts a foot above the knees, and completely sheer tops without anything resembling underwear above or below. They arranged to meet their hubbys at a restaurant to forestall immediate trips to the bedroom, but both Geoff and Nat ate their meals in a flurry of flashing forks and knives, then rushed them home and into bed. Pib and Dru barely had time to summon to-go boxes for the eighty percent of their meals they had not eaten.
After another year or so Dru began to seriously entertain the idea of having a baby, but she ultimately decided against it because such would only emphasize Pib’s inability to do so. Dru remained committed to easing as much of Pib’s psychic pain as she could manage. Pib had almost completely ceased reverting to fairy form, although she still could if pressed, but Dru switched several times a week just to make sure the power to do so did not fade away. On occasion Nat slipped up and called Dru “Dinah”, but to Geoff, his wife would always and forever be Pibgorn. He just wouldn’t call her that in public.
Early on it had become apparent that the three eldritch folks needed normal full names.
Dru “just happened” to know an expert forger, so after Geoff and Nat had ponied up over $6,000 dollars, sundry documentation were received for Mrs. Penelope Alice Stromberg (Geoff’s last name), Nathanial Bogart Damon, and Mrs. Drusilla Dinah Damon. She loved the initials. Plausible easily remembered back-stories were thought up for the three newly minted citizens and all entered what had once upon a long time ago been called “polite society”. Dru had to work very hard on the “polite” aspects of her newly legalized personhood.
There was an all round sense that none of them could go back to what they had been doing in the past. Pib living in the wild again and wrangling dew drops? Preposterous. She loved Geoff and wanted to him to be as comfortable in his surroundings as could be managed. Living in some remote rough cabin miles from civilization just wasn’t his style. She was content to be his love and lover anywhere he wanted to live. She considered herself very lucky that Dru had moved in with Nat in tow. Neither of them wanted to spend any significant amount of time away from each other because each of them was the love and lover of the other.
Dru occasionally spent time fretting about the re-emergence of demons. There had been no sign of such in several years, but it worried her since she was almost always in her human form now and did not know if remaining that way for a long time would somehow rob her of her powers., hence her weekly switching practice. Every so often she would change into her ebony and scarlet form and fly off to what she called the “range”. Which was a deserted area where she could aim plasma blasts at innocent rocks without anyone being the wiser.
It was a dark and stormy night. Except that it was full daylight, and it was a blizzard not a thunderstorm. The power was out at Geoff’s house, but the emergency generator had kicked in immediately and warm light blazed out into the storm. The group was cozily arrayed around the fireplace watching yet another noir classic on the flatscreen. Not a Bogart film, but rather The Glass Key with George Raft. Nat had branched out into the genre as a whole, but Bogi was still his touchstone. Moments after the film ended, an insistent knock came at the front door.
Dru, “Who the hell is out and about in this snowmageddon?” After receiving shrugs from the rest of the room, she popped up and went to the door and cracked it a couple of inches. Snow whipped around a lone heavily bundled short figure who was carrying a staff taller than him with a large cloth covered sphere on the top. He waved at her.
Dru, “Who are you?”
The figure’s rather high-pitched British accented reply was somewhat muffled by his...muffler. “Dear lady, I hight Ogden Llewellen, Pussmaid. Sorcerer extraordinaire.”
Dru, “Oh yeah? State your business, sorcerer.”
Ogden, “Might I come inside? This North American weather is rather beastly.”
Dru, “You may enter, but no funny sorcerer business unless you’d like to be reduced to a pile of ashes.”
Ogden, “Heaven forbid! Ms. Drusilla, your reputation is well known to me. I shall be on my best behavior.”
“Come on then.”
Ogden stumbled into the living room and after leaning his staff against the wall he began to divest himself of his voluminous outerwear. What appeared from his various wrappings was a worn, almost elf-like, face and form, but without the pointed ears. He was dressed in an actual (rumpled) suit and tie. By now the others had roused themselves and converged on him. Dru, “Well, what the hellfire do you want here?”
Ogden, “For myself nothing at all, but I have news that you may well want to hear. You especially, Ms. Pibgorn.”
Pib, “How do you know my name, or Dru’s for that matter?”
Ogden, “You are both quite well known abroad in the demimonde, what’s left of it. Your exploits are legendary to my sorcerer confreres. And although admittedly we are few in number we do keep our ears to the ground regarding events in that small sphere.”
Dru, “Why have we never heard of these sorcerers?”
Ogden, “We keep a very low profile lest our powers be used for evil. We manage to eke out a living doing magic tricks and shows, but nothing so flashy as to call further attention to ourselves. Most of the things we do can be duplicated by real professional magicians so our public personas are simply cover for our true selves. We rarely interact with humans in our capacity as sorcerers. We carefully pick and chose what we do and with whom we work. Be all that as it may, I have come to help you, Pibgorn, Queen of Fairies.”
Pib, “Huh, some queen. I couldn’t manage to protect any of them. I still have nightmares about it. I’m just lucky I have my true friends with me.”
Ogden, “Indeed you are lucky. You have more true stout-hearted friends than most people.”
Dru, “Get to the point, little man.
Ogden bristled, “Little man? Your cruel streak is showing, Ms. Drusilla.”
Dru, “It is, and will be showing a lot more if you don’t tell us why you’re here.”
Ogden, “What? No warm welcome for a traveler? No brandy or spirits with which to chase the chill away?”
Dru was ready to warm up her plasma cannon, but Pib said, “So sorry, Ogden. Please come sit down by the fire and I’ll get you a good nip of very fine scotch.”
Odgen, “Bless you, my child.”
A minute later Ogden was gratefully sipping a wee dram of the pride of Islay. It had the desired warming effect. Setting his glass on the coffee table he said. “Now, about what I have come for. As bizarre as it sounds, my sweet fairy lass, I intend to, with Drusilla’s help, and also Geoff’s and Nathanial’s, restore your lower physiognomy to its original condition. I, we, are going to fix you, Ms. Pibgorn. What the execrable Bozoid race hath wrought, I plan to reverse.”
The room got very quiet. Pib burst out, “What!? You can’t be serious.”
Dru was ready to strike but Ogden said, “I am perfectly serious. I will use my incantations, and Drusilla’s incredible power to effect the change.”
Dru, “Hold up buster. You want to use my plasma bolts to change Pib back? Ridiculous. If I could have done that I would have a long time ago. It’s not possible.”
Ogden. “I beg to differ. It is true that neither your power or mine alone would be sufficient for the task. Combine them and we can and will rescue her from her mechanical durance vile. What a good Bozoid hath wrought, we will put asunder.”
Pib, “Don’t talk about Benny like that. He did the best he could under dire circumstances.”
Ogden, “I do not fault your friend Benny at all. As you say he did the best he could, and is to be commended for it. But, I, that is we, intend to go much farther than he could ever manage.”
Dru, “How dangerous is this? I’ve never subjected Pib to my full power before.”
Ogden, “Actually, I believe you have. When Pib needed her fairy’s kiss amplified to bring back her fairy friends back to life when they had been dissected by that scurrilous bunch of alien hunters, you amplified her power a thousand fold. The use of that power did her no harm if I remember correctly. Also you restored Pibgorn’s wings to her, twice. There are doubtless other times such things happened of which I am not aware.”
“Dru, “How did you know about all...never mind. Those things did happen I admit, but can that really be applied here?”
Ogden, “Yes, it can. However, although I briefly mentioned Geoff and Nat, their participation is nearly as important as yours.”
Geoff, “How the heck can I help? I have no eldritch powers, at all.”
Ogden, “My good Geoff. You, and Drusilla, both love Pibgorn deeply. You both have a psychic connection to her that is crucially powerful in its way. Even you, Nat, have great affection for her. Is this not true?”
Nat, “Well sure, she’s one swell gal, and as sweet a woman as ever lived, but love? I’m just not sure I do.”
Ogden, “Even if you do not think you do, you still have great affection and you care about her greatly. That will more than suffice, although I speculate that if you seriously examine your feelings for her they will be prove to be indistinguishable from love.”
Nat, “Got me there, Oggy. I...” Suddenly Nat found himself wrapped in a tight hug by Pib, with a trickle of tears down her face. Nat stroked her hair and said, “Yeah doll, I guess I do love you.” Dru joined in the hug and said, “About time, you big lug. Pibby, are you game for this? I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t.” Pib could only nod yes. Dru looked at Ogden and said, “Oggy, if you harm one tiny hair on this love of ours, you will not survive for more than a second or two.”
Ogden, “I understand. But, even if the procedure does not work it will not harm her in any way. This I promise on my honor as a founding member of the Sorcerer’s Guild.”
Dru, “That’s not in the least reassuring, but we might as well get on with it.”
Ogden, “Alright then. Ms. Pibgorn, if you would, please revert to your unadorned fairy form, then sit on the couch.” Pib nodded and reverted in less than a second. She sat, wringing her hands nervously, her wings drooping, her eyes wide with both hope and fear. Ogden retrieved his staff, slipped the cover off its head reveling a plain mirrored sphere. He placed it in front of himself, murmured a few words and the staff stood straight up before him unsupported. He then had Geoff hold Pib’s hand on one side and Nat on the other. Dru held Nat’s and Ogden’s hand, and Geoff completed the circle by taking Ogden’s hand.
Ogden, “Drusilla, when I tell you to, start feeding your power into my hand slowly, the more and more as I call upon it.” She nodded. A low hum began to emanate from the sphere, then subdued colors began to swirl in its mirrored surface. Ogden squeezed Dru’s hand and she fed a trickle of her power into his hand. The sphere brightened sharply and the swirling colors expanded away from it. He squeezed her hand twice, cueing her to increase power significantly. She did and the swirling color expanded to the entire room and the brightness became difficult to directly view. Everyone but Ogden had to shut their eyes as the swirling brightness intensified. Ogden squeezed three times and Dru let her power flow freely.
A glittering whirlpool of near incandescent light emerged from the sphere then lowered along Pib’s form until it came to rest at her waist, pulsing and racing around her lower body. The hum grew lower and louder, then all light from the sphere abruptly ceased and the juddering hum cut off. Geoff, Nat, and Pib blinked away the light ghosts in their eyes and looked around. Ogden, “Geoff, Nat, please help Pibgorn stand.”
Gently the two men took Pib by her arms and helped her stand, although it appeared she did not actually need their help. She stood firm on her bare feet, her eyes bright and blazing, her wings stretched tall and proud. Ogden, “How do you feel, Ms. Pibgorn?”
Pib took a step and gasped. She looked at everyone, held their eyes for a moment, then tears began streaming copiously down her face. She sobbed out, “I feel everything again! Everything is there! Oh my god it feels so good!” Dru rushed her and in an instant Pib was surrounded by a scrum of her loves hugging and kissing her as tears leaked from everyone’s eye’s, even Drusilla’s. After the storm of emotion ebbed a bit, Pib said, “Ogden! Thank you so much!” There was no answer. Everyone turned around and stared. He, along with this staff and clothes, had disappeared.
Florence Anne was having a quiet cup of tea at the kitchen table of an empty and un-customarily non-raucous house when she heard her husband's heavy tread in the living room. Bill walked in and asked, “Any more tea, my darling girl?”
“Of course. Sit and have a cup. She poured and squeezed a bit of lemon then sat the cup before him. She said, “Is it done? You were barely gone long enough to make tea.”
Bill, “Indeed it is done, and all appeared to be deliriously happy. I am most glad I could help. Restoring Pibgorn was a truly satisfying experience. The poor little thing has been so tortured, both mentally and physically, that it has tugged greatly at my heartstrings that I could do nothing about it until recently. Dear Pib may well even be able to bear children.”
Florence, "My goodness. That would be simply splendid! Um, do you still think the masquerade was necessary?”
“Yes, I do. I felt it would help with the demimonde inhabitants’ acquiescence to the procedure if it was tendered by a mysterious ‘sorcerer’ rather than lumpy old Thorax with nothing but a four inch square Biological Restoration Module from his home planet. And the dumb show with sparkles and lights I knew would reinforce the faux magical nature of the proceedings. I just wish that the BRM had been available years ago.”
Florence, “Do you think it has application in our world?”
Bill, “Quite likely, but I can only use the technology in this reality on a member of our group, and only for serious traumatic injuries that our nanites cannot handle.”
Florence, “Incredible. It certainly seems much more like magic than technology to the likes of me.”
Bill, “My precious love, you have heard me say this before. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from..."
End.
Grease, that is to say animal fat, has been consistently, and inappropriately, demonized by the entirety of the governmental and private medical establishment for the last sixty years. Now, the word "grease" conjures up mind images of a sticky icky yucky, double plus ungood threat to one's health. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could be further from the truth. Grease is good. Animal fat is good. Bacon fat, tallow, and lard, is good. It is good for virtually every organ in your body, especially your brain. And the older one gets the more important it becomes.
It is unfortunate that "grease" is also used to describe thick mechanical lubricants. Something the average person is keen to get washed off his hands. "Greasy" food is considered just about the worse thing a person can eat. Ironic in the extreme since the grease is likely to be the healthiest part of a typical fast-food meal. And this is accounting for the fact that in most cases animal fats have been almost entirely replaced by "heart-healthy" (not) seed oils.
My way of eating averages out at about 50/50 fat and protein by weight. In terms of calories the ratio is about 80/20 fat/protein. I am absolutely thriving on that ratio, in every respect, and plan to continue eating this way into the misty future. Which is very likely to be much much longer than it would have been just six years ago. Animal fat and protein abetted our species' rise to sapience several million years ago. There is no reason to not continue to adhere to that biological imperative.
CICO is the hoary old acronym used to designate the Calories-In-Calories-Out nutritional paradigm. It is pure bunk, and I can prove this with a simple example. Does anyone in their right mind think that, say, the nutrition provided by 2000 calories of sugar is precisely equal to that of 2000 calories of beef?
Didn't think so. To be sure the above is an obviously nonsensical comparison, but nevertheless it's taken as gospel by most of the public and the medical establishment. The major problem with this mindset is that we humans do not have a steam engine in our innards that is "burning" the food we eat. What we do have is a metabolism that processes the macro-nutrients of fat, protein, and carbohydrates differently. Radically different in fact, to put it as mildly as possible.
It is best to think of food intake as "volume" not calories. If one is in fact eating very nutritionally and energy dense food, such as meat, then the volume of that intake will be much lower than what is "normal" on the wretched Standard American Diet. It is easily possible that one can nearly starve on, say, 700 S.A.D grams of food per diem, and quite dramatically thrive on 700 grams of animal products. This process is strongly abetted by the fact that consuming protein and fat results in much higher satiety signals from the old gray matter. Some aver that a very low carb way of eating is a "fasting mimicking" situation. To whatever extent that is true, it is a thing much to be desired.
Add up these crucial differences and the result is that a high-carb diet is in every way grossly unhealthy, and a very low-carb diet is not. And a near zero-carb diet is healthiest of all in the short, medium, and long term. Carbohydrate toxicity is the bane of modern society in too many ways to count. Toxic it most certainly is, and viciously addictive. Among the numerous addictions of our world, carb addiction may well be the worst in terms of the overall health of that world. It can be as hard to kick as smoking, drinking, and opiate use. Stop the madness, dammit. Go low, live long, and prosper.
