like bombs thrown on a nest of demons

for a month, Werebrock remained stoic. tough as a rock, head twice as hard. but at last, after a month of extra frequent stomach pain, bouts of nausea and unforgettable trips to the outhouse, he mentioned it to Master Yoda. "Hmmmmmm. That's too bad. You could try looking in this book, the Green Pharmacy. It's got good general ideas." The book, like Traditional Chinese Medicine, is a valuable resource for keeping healthy and rescuing the sickly from an eclectic variety of ailments, (high blood pressure, cholesterol) but not the unholy shits.

It got worse and worse. Werebrock's quality of life began ebbing away with each meal. Werebrock went back to Yoda. "Hmmmm. Let's put together some tinctures." Werebrock starting sipping herb extract at every meal, with no noticable effect. "Hmmmmm. You might find a useful Chinese formula in the Materia Medica." Due to the wide variety of possible sources for a stomach complication, the best he could find was some tea for a flu. "Aight, I'm goin' to the Western doc. No hard feelings, 'ey?"

On the phone, the receptionist told Werebrock to arrive half an hour before the appointment. So they arrived right on time. The US of L's sick-care bureaucracy always asks for more than it needs.

Sarong-clad Werebrock strode into the "waiting room". "Hmmmm." Said the receptionist, purposefully not glancing below his waist. "Fill out this form." Werebrock left the phone number and social security spaces blank. "You left the social security space blank." "I can't remember it." "Okay. Make sure you call us with it, because we need it to bill you." He did not understand the purpose of the medical privacy waiver, and rather than fielding his questions, the receptionist asked him if he wanted to just leave it blank. "Sure!" Claire Wolf says you should always leave forms, especially social security spaces, blank, if you can get away with it.

Being told to come half an hour early and arriving on time, of course Werebrock and Crazy Steve had to wait another half hour. Otherwise the clinic central planners would lose face, right? But eventually they called him back to triage for more waiting. The nurse waived another form in front of his face, with a social security blank on it. "Well, I could try. But I'd probly give it wrong." The nurse scowled. "Aw, better not risk it." Shazam! Two down, one to go. Finally, the Occidental Doc finally showed their face.

"Diarrhea, huh? We'll need to send off some samples to the lab. I'll give you a container. What's your social security number?" Werebrock was caught off card. "Errr. I'm not sure..." The Doc looked at him. He caved, but bounced right back. "Listen, I live on less than $1,000 a year. You think you can cut me a little slack?" "Sure, the receptionist can give you a form to fill in. Return it, and we'll think about it."

Right, Werebrock thought. I'll put myself at their mercy. HA HA HA.

"Here, take these two varieties of antibiotic for a week and a half. Don't drink milk. And do a Gatorade fast for a day." They gave him a scrawled little piece of paper. "Also, don't drink any alcohol while you're on this (they pointed to a patch of the scrawl), as it will make you puke up your toenails." "Impossible. I already shit them out." The doctor, unflappably and without showing any sign of having heard, left.

"What can you do? Money talks and bullshit walks" Crazy Steve said reasuringly. "We gotta get you some blackberry wine." "I'd say this was bull shit, too, 'cept I'm a Taurus and so in a way that would be putting myself down. I'll call it demon shit."

Werebrock fasted and cut out the dairy for the time being, but decided to wait on the antibiotitcs; his confidence in their poisening power was bolstered by likening to Zombans' shared suspicion of the pills. He thought "Fuck that", and reflected upon his real options. While morosely moping around the kitchen during his fast, his eyes passed over the cinnamon, the cumin, the shredded coconut, the carob powder.... hey! "Intuition has it!" And indeed, many olde-timey kitchen condiments and spices, when understood and used properly, can kick the shit out of Tecumseh's Revenge. For a week and ever after, Werebrock ate hightly spiced foods and drink that. He analogized that the boluses he'd been sending down the alimentary canal were like bombs thrown on a nest of demons. Only it were plants being thrown, so Banksy's iconic "Love is in the Air" be a more appropriate graphic.