Confessions of a protein whore
Are we the cavemen of the future?
I knew I shouldn’t be out so late. I had a splitting headache, and the brake lights in front of me were blinding. I was never sure whether the term “red light district” referred to lots of Johns stopping mid-block on the side of the road, which would neatly satisfy both literal and metaphorical interpretations of the phrase. Or…
I’d been to Hamburg once. It’s not Amsterdam, but it’s close. Less than 5 hours by train. But also canals, plenty of prostitution, and not-so-illicit drug use. Red light poured through shop windows and bathed the cobblestone streets. So maybe that’s why they say “red light district.” But anyway, things have changed. This is a straight-up green light district. Don’t go to jail. Pass ‘Go.’
Collect $200.
Yes, it’s off-putting to call a vendor of human flesh a “shop.” My word choice has been more cutting since what Great Society called “the accident.” So I’ll tell you that a shop is what it is. I hope you’re not one of those people who calls the extermination facilities “camps.”
I haven’t had someone in what seems like forever.
My buddies are doing the Zoom diet lately. It’s reminiscent of the whole NOBNOM thing bros were into in the early 21st century. Zero Ooze, Omphaloskeptic Masturbation. I mean, there’s more to it than that. It’s become a whole lifestyle. There’s a whole fringe subculture of gyms and food webs that surrounds it. But like any food web these days, once you buy in, it’s hard to get out. And when you’re metaphorically navel gazing every time you are very unmetaphorically jerking off, other stuff becomes very hard to get out.[1]
That could get old.
I tried the Leto diet for a while. It was okay. Same kinds of headaches as now. There’s always that transition period. The whole thing just came off as inauthentic, which is a bit ironic given Leto’s wont for method acting.
By the way in case you were wondering, Jared doesn’t mind. He’s been dead for decades. Though in a sense he still lives inside us all.
My brake lights are off. I’ve already pulled as close to the curb nearest her as I can without scraping my tires. They get kind of annoyed if you make them walk too far, especially in heels.
She’s got on the uniform. Tight-fitting outfit, short skirt. But not too much makeup like some of the others. I bet her boss is pissed about that. Wanting more flair.
They were doing a roller-skating thing for a while instead of the heels. A throwback to 20th c. Americana. A nice double entendre between drive-ins and Boogie Nights. But people have moved on. Everything is Noir. Merica Nouveau lasted a good 4 years. Then of course a year to change all of the sets and costumes as well as to give us time to develop our characters.
See what I mean about that transition period? These Cultural Theme Parks at least give us something to do. The D. Native Mericans thought virtual reality would occupy us. It’s crazy to think sometimes how primitive our forebears were! “Ahead of our time” lol.
People would’ve “discovered digital” at some point anyway. I bet the cavemen thought they were advanced because they discovered fire.
There was a time when wen lived like cavemen. “Wen” is a word we invented 50 years ago meaning “post-industrial women and men and everything in between.” We’re quite economical these days, even with language.[2] The full spectrum of sexual morphology and psychology in just three letters.
Anyway, back in the early 21st, fit people were more like hunter-gatherers than anything else. They were constantly starving for protein. This had the healthy byproduct of birthing advances in human ingenuity surpassing earlier periods of enlightenment. (We call it the Wennaissance.)
Once the realities of sugar’s poison came to light, the unspeakable coconut genocide that was launched in the holy name of sweet, cloudy, expensive water in little cardboard juice boxes — abruptly screeched to a halt. Only to start again with even more fervor so ketogenic junkies could become even more emaciated. This time the tropical extermination was waged with a less sacred veneer, unabashed MCT-lust on full display.
Humans even rediscovered almonds after almost having lost this precious gift, while Hawaiian farmers reached new heights in macadamia production.
And like Napoleon reconquering France, the great conquistador-nouveau John Stamos invaded Greece and brought back ships loaded down with the tangy dairy treasure that those wily Hellenes had somehow for millennia kept a secret from the world.
Non-sugared animal protein on a budget was especially hard to find. Lifters ate so many sardines that certain slivers of society became nose-blind. Peruvian chicken places became like opium dens for Crossfitters. The guys behind the counter joked about their pathetic addiction.
“Hola, yeah, can I get the whole chicken except all dark meat? Like, as if Perdue had genetically modified the thing to have four thighs? And I don’t need the yucca… or the rice… yeah, no beans either — I’m on keto this month… just the side salad with the salmonella dressing thanks.”
As if whiteness alone wasn’t enough to give these wen away.
Violence was inevitable. It started when the Cava cartel started distributing spicy-lamb meatballs and supergreens in suburbia. The Chick-fil-A family took the move personally. They hired Silvercorp to invade New Zealand and eradicate all lambs. And sheep, too, I can only assume, cause they’d just generate more lambs. The ensuing conflict was like Passover meets the Hobbit. There is a classic choose-your-own-adventure documentary in virtual reality that came out in the middle of the war, but like I said, no one watches VR anymore.
The war ended only when Chick-fil-A started selling 50-nugget grab-and-go bags in every Orange Theory. It was not only super convenient, but the smell of chicken wafting over into the training area turned the women working out into ravenous beasts, goosing their gains and shredding their abs even more than before.
Wen eventually found their way to synthetic meat. Supposedly this was to alleviate animal suffering. But we know now that it was really about gaining muscle mass with minimal side effects and maximum flavor.
My engine is still running. I want to be able to dart out of here if I see any signs of police. Plead ignorance if I have to. Plausible deniability.
She sways as she walks over to my car. Like she’s not in any particular hurry. But that’s just what it’s supposed to look like. Part of their brand. And consistent with their scripts for the Noir era. But make no mistake: these gals are running a quick-turn operation to rival McDonald’s.
This isn’t my first time, so I wouldn’t mind a hurried job either.
“What’ll it be, tootse?”
I find her Noir affectation to be a little over the top. She seems to be confusing vaudevillian delivery with 1920s film, her silky drawl the only thing that belies the real sentiment of the age we’re all supposed to be embodying. But I smile and play along.
“Just one Johnson here, ma’am,” I reply with a smirk. I instantly regret the “ma’am.” Not sure if that fits the situation. Glad we don’t live-stream until Year 2.
“Cummin right up, sugar.” She says that with a wink and just the right amount of sass. “Lemme let Lenny know. Back before y’know it.”
I don’t smoke, but the timing is right for me to light up as I watch her hips walk away. Then when she’s out of sight I fake inhale and shift my gaze wistfully down the street. I bask in the glow of my own performance.
It’s then that I realize how starving I am for this. I’ve become a monster.
I don’t need to be here. I could stay home and devour any delight I want, 3D-printed for me courtesy of Great Society. It’s pretty delicious, though they moderate the dosing of the spicier stuff. Anyhow, I’m on my way to do another scene in the Valley and couldn’t help but stop through this bougy ghetto to get fixed up.
“Here you go, baby. One Dwayne. Lenny says that’s a hundred.”
I hand over a hundred in cash bills. We’re way beyond that technologically, but the setting and storyline demand cash for a few years.
She hands me a brown paper bag. I marvel at how I have the same kind of bag in my hand as my wen ancestors would take their school lunches out of as children. They had peanut butter sandwiches. I have the priceless protein-heavy fruits of underground labs.
I crinkle open the bag. 215g of pure protein. Easy to ingest. Not like consuming dry chicken breasts and hard-boiled eggs one after another. This is ooze-form, like runners used to carry in those pouches they’d wear on a belt around their waist like whimsical fairy handymen.
Tastes kind of like beef but better. The Leto craze got most of us hooked. We developed a taste for it, like oysters or olives. It felt wrong the first time, but you got used to it. It induced ketosis better, and the muscle hypertrophy results were astounding. Everything was lab-grown, super clean. Besides, he donated his seedling cells to mankind. He’s long gone. He didn’t suffer.
And here we have the next generation. Leto was perfect for that gaunt, ripped look. But everyone’s packing on mass these days. We need more gains. And if it gives us charm and a winning smile, we’ll take it.
I look into the bag before ingesting. I cringe but ultimately need this.
Sorry, Dwayne. But thanks.
About the author: Sri hosts The Warrior Poet podcast, a show on the philosophy of leadership based on his experience in the SEAL Teams, at Harvard Business School, on Wall Street, and in tech. Shows every Monday. Follow him on Instagram @sri_the_warrior_poet and @sri_actually.
Be sure to check out: If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy my related post on how Wolverine gets shredded abs: “Intermittent Fasting and the Placebo Effect.”
All the way wet (aka footnotes)
[1] I resisted the temptation to substitute “other stuff” with “your own kind of ooze.” But despite ranting to you about calling things what they are (viz. “shops”), even our most cherished principles come with sliding-scale pricing.
[2] Economical language shouldn’t be confused with sparse and imprecise language. Some languages have very few words that each mean numerous things, turning wen into linguistic detectives in every conversation. We’ve opted for economy in overall communication, necessitating increased precision. So our vocabulary has grown rather substantially.
Check out a discussion related to this one on my podcast, The Warrior Poet: Show #25: Paleo Life (Part 1).
