Paleo, Bro

You’ve heard of it, your mom is on it, and your Grandma dated the caveman who started it. The Paleo Diet was the #1 most Googled diet of 2013. On it, you can’t eat processed foods, dairy, or anything that proliferated after the Agricultural era. That means no grains, beans, or froyo bro. What you can eat, however, is shit-tons of animal flesh, nuts, and healthy fats.

It’s often called the “Caveman Diet.” Cavemen didn’t use quotes, so I’ll put those away for a few sentences. Proponents of Paleo point out that it forces you to pay attention to what you’re eating and that it lowers your blood sugar and you become more sensitive to insulin. Meaning that if you’re on the diet, the next time insulin makes fun of your weight you’re apt to over-react and scream, “Quit living in the past, Insulin!”

Since we all know future is all that matters, I think we should imagine what the world will be if this Paleo trend keeps up:

Moms will start sending their kids recipes via smoke signal. 

The diet becomes so expensive it forces people to start hunting and gathering for their food. Ugh. 

Guys, you will be able to use the excuse that it isn’t lipstick on your collar, it’s lamb’s blood. What you don’t have to tell her is that lamb’s blood was someone else’s lipstick. 

The new way to give up on your life in your teen years is to marry your high-school wheat heart. 

Popular Paleo diets will keep getting more and more ridiculous, going further back into the past. The most popular diet of 2014: the “Natural Selection” Diet. 2015: the “Fish out of Water” Diet. 2016: the “Trilobite, you’ll like it” Diet

I hate calling it the Paleo Diet. If we’re going to be completely accurate, it should be called the “Diet Consisting of Foods that were Available to our Ancestors that didn’t Kill said Ancestors when Consumed.” Otherwise known as “Real Human Food.”

So yeah, I eat Paleo.

Two Long Breaths

They pulled up in fronts across from each other. The hand brakes were not engaged; feet hovered above stop and go. His face was nebulous, changing in quick factoring fashion after every interaction. Her face was captured thunder in a Mason jar.

He first offered up a memory. It was a tickling electricity meant to probe everything and prove nothing. It failed on both accounts, for she was never unready and had already grasped the foreseeable path of their conversation and knew she could shuffle and deal his emotional flash cards quite easily. To her, he had never been a challenge. His nostalgic words crashed down with gravity, and then silence snuck between them like a speeding chariot – and was gone again with the next hush of winter’s unwinding exhale. It was now mutually understood that this fight was taking flight; he turned off his cart’s engine.

He crossed his fingers and legs in opposing patterns, trying to present to her a complex figure – a helix or an unsolvable proof – but she remained uninspired by his neutral advances. She launched unabashedly.

Thus spake the grey lady, each word a cube of iced, laconic invective, “Don’t will yourself to and fro, for you are not itinerant. You are static in a dynamic universe. I share this changing world with the rest of humanity, but you are not here with us. We don’t even see you. Your invisible existence creates eddies of misinformation, swirls of lost communication, and a complete loss of loquacious fidelity.”

Here she turned to pause her front.

“To put it quite simply, I am in a changed state. While once we shared a common playing pitch, I have sharpened to a fine point and you have gone flat. I can command the recent history of the near future, whereas you know nothing past your own nose. I can change the air around you before you can change that look on your face.” Remember here that he has proven repeatedly that he can change expressions faster than melted silver can reflect mere ire; that’s quick silver. She continued, “You have a penumbral instinct to crescendo in increments of unfortunate. This will be our final exchange, and this my final word.”

She sparked her cart and receded out of the shadows and into darkness. In his chest suddenly existed a steel vacuum, pulling artfully his heart into his stomach into his stainless stolen soul. Her words remained; a sculpture staring at no one in particular, certainly not him. He picked out a tool, turned it over in his mind, and began to chip off phrases. Off came static. Misinformation, he chiseled into twenty pieces. In increments of unfortunate, he slowly succumbed to despair. She was gone. He was then struck; bolted to the floor in an undistinguished seizure of indefinite length.