RESULTS MAY VARY. We've all read that warning somewhere.
The next time you see those words, you might want to think about what happened to me and Mom.

Dinah Powers: That's the name the pummeled big-rig driver gave to the state troopers when he came to at the hospital.

If I know anything, the middle name of her alias is Might.

The fifty-foot trailer, crammed with a fortune of TVs, stereo equipment and other goodies for Funk-You's media warehouse was uncoupled at the truckstop. She only wanted the tractor to ride around in; they're roomy.

My mom has changed her name and her appearance-—don't bother looking for her name and likeness either on the FBI's most-wanted list or among the mug shots at your local post office. Her last driver's license lists her height at five feet, one inch—-and her weight at ninety-nine lbs.
But those are just dry measurements. Before she changed, she shuffled, muttered and spent most of her time sitting or lying down. Limp blond hair, sadly thin on her scalp, didn't quite hang to her shoulders; she covered up her receded hairline with a variety of hats and wigs.

She pawned her wedding ring. Hell, it slipped off her finger so many times she couldn't wear it.

Now way she can wear that wedding ring now unless it's around the base of her clit or on one of her nipples. Given the lousy attitude she had about my dad, she had to have pawned it early on.

Once or twice, at her lowest, she fainted at home. The second time was in her bra and panties which didn't fit her frame anymore and sagged like something she had to borrow from a much bigger woman.

She's got to be about six feet, nine inches now. She probably goes about three hundred pounds. And she isn't obese if that's what you're wondering. It's all bone and muscle. She has hair like a rock star if she lets it grow out. The hospitalized trucker described her as having a crew cut. But from what I observed, her hair grows fast, maybe two inches in twenty-four hours.

Mom used me to get the way she is now, but I've got the upper hand for the moment—-and I'm taking every opportunity to enjoy my freedom and get ready for the next round. She promised to hunt me down. I don't intend to go easily.

Not so long as I've got my once-secret weapon. The ones she made herself. And those take some explanation:

I hide my amazing pep pills in plain sight; they look so unappetizing and innocuous that no drug-cultured freak or professor of chemistry would ever recognize them.

I’m going to sleep in a wet spot, but I don’t care.
Hell, there are so many of those wet spots in the sheets it’s impossible to lie down without touching one of them.

Yeah, I feel pretty good about myself if I do say so.

When my story started, I supposed the only wet spot I’d be resting in would be a pool of my own blood.

Things changed, all right, but for the longest time, everybody who knew me,(including yours truly) didn’t give me long to live.

I guess it began with superfood.

Super food...or superfoods?

Just what in Hell are they?

Some countries, like the EU, deny there are such things or at least prohibit labeling foods as such. Fine. Those super foods...what are some examples we’ve all heard of? Well, shipmates, there’s that old stand-by, spinach.

It didn’t exactly blow me down, or in any other direction for that matter. The misshapen, yet tuneful
sailorman who popularized spinach isn’t to blame.
Nutritionists who must have been looking at the data with only one eye themselves made a mistake and touted it as an iron-rich vegetable that every child in America should be raised on.

Not as nutritious as originally supposed...but decades of cartoons gave me the idea spinach was miraculous.

And then there’s dark chocolate, red wine, soy beans, yogurt...the lists go on and on. Well, a steady diet of this fare is supposed to heal, energize, add long life and boost performance in every department. I mean every department. Even the ones I shouldn’t have the keys to yet. Yeah, THAT department.

Stupid me...and my mom.

Actually, Mom wised up faster than I did. When she discovered the real secret of how to utilize the stuff we had been taking, I wound up a prisoner in our own home and she was the jailor.

Of course, I got out, but it was an ordeal I was lucky to manage.

We turned out pretty wimpy, considering the rest of the family.

Dad died young—-anemic, short of breath, chronic fatigue, fallen arches, vertigo. A tragic case. I didn’t want to turn out like him. So, I did some timely research into the world of fitness literature.

We saw an ad in a Musculature/Fitness magazine for “NUTRA-BOOM”, a new, completely natural food supplement touted to bulk up a slight frame and kick start the system. Oh, sure...and spinach gives you instant muscles.

“NUTRA-BOOM” What a racket! What a scheme!

Well, why not, I ask you. Go into any store, big or small and you’ll see energy-boosting drinks sold in keen-looking cans and outside those stores you’ll see those same keen-looking cans sitting around empty. There’s a definite market.

Remember friends, this is America. We put a man on the moon, irradiated the Southwest, made obesity popular, killed the electric car...we spend millions and millions of dollars on useless body-shaping, weight-loss cures every year and laugh at the native witch-doctor on the dark continent with his lizard skins and vulture claws who works for free. Unlike him, we know what we’re doing.

It turns out this crud was marketed in other places as “SUSTA-BLEND”, “NITRO-GORP”, "GROWTH-BLAST" and a string of other names. Mom and I were one of the pathetic, gullible minority who unloaded hard-earned inheritance money for “NUTRA-BOOM” and ate our way into ill-health, poverty and misery.

But then, something turned that all around...

TO BE CONTINUED