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  • I have had a good and bad and great and not so great couple of days.
    Tomorrow I travel.

    I am tired of the planet Earth.
    I am back out in space with my characters from my story “Plan B.”

    Right now, Trevor Bolton, an intelligent robot, is hosting a variety show and his protégé, Dusty, a vacuum cleaner, is telling a long and twisted Fairy Tale.
    This part of Dusty’s story is centered on food.

    Let’s listen.

    Dusty cleared his sound tube and resumed his narrative.

    ” Once upon a time, in a forgotten part of the Universe there lived a Prince and Princess, which is a man and woman who ruled under those titles as was the custom in the European Feudal system,”

    “Dusty,” prompted Trevor, and it sounded like a growl, “Get to the point.”

    “When they were married, that is a made a nuptial arrangement so that they could have birth and raise children with legal rights to property. They gave a great feast, which involved consuming large quantities of calories broken down into sub groups called courses. Meats, chiefly venison, water foul or pigeon were baked in a great oven heated with large carbon based coals from wood fires lit many hours earlier. A feral pig roasted for days on a turning spit and the ears covered with wet leaves to prevent charring. Root vegetables were heated until their cellulose fibers broke down to better facilitate the ingesting of their nutrients, in some cases an increase of threefold expressed by the equation 1x3ly, and onions cooked until their own sugars browned them. They drank a liquid called wine that was made from grapes picked at their seasonal ripest and crushed until the juices run and then mixed with yeast and sugars until the Brixometer is satisfied, and the sugar level is high enough to feed the mass frenzy that will be the high point of the life of a yeast organism, this then is poured off its lees into vast vats called a carboy, and then canted off to a secondary vat and then,”

    “Dusty,” Trevor said more sternly, “You are straying off topic.”
    “Yeah, get on with it you git,” piped up the drill press.
    “Hey, none of that,” soothed Trevor.
    “What are you some kind of Shepards Bush geezer, eh?” the milling machine cut in with his cockney twang.

    Trevor made a slit throat gesture and they all became silent again.

    “Their cake was a marvel to behold. Made as it was from 10 cups of sugar and 8 sticks of butter skimmed from fresh cream, from a bovine, grass eating quadruped and twelve eggs from bard rock hens. Then adding five spoonfuls of flavoring made from scraping and soaking of a vanilla pod brought from a trade route and rare and costly, suspended in pure spirits of grain alcohol or Continental brandy, then mixed with 10 cups of wheat flour milled from a grain sown that spring and harvested when gone to seed, and leavening to make the dough rise and it was baked in seven pans each eight inches in diameter and thrown from the finest river clay, fired at cone 10 and glazed with a neutral slip glaze. The icing was made from vast amounts of sugar, approximately three cups of refined cane with traces of molasses and three more cups of butter cream, which was tinted, with the juice of beets, violets and carrots to impart their color. At the very top was a small statue of two miniature human forms made from alimentary paste with hair made of spun sugar.

    The cake brought joy and four hundred calories per slice to all who set eyes on it.”
    Dusty paused, expecting laughter.

    There was a restless stirring among the group, the drill press twirled an auger bit and Meriwether gave a polite smile to Trevor who was quietly humming.

    The chapter continues with disappointment for Dusty and an epiphany for Trevor.

    Now it is time for me to go prepare my dinner, here on Earth, with my head in outer space.
    I hope my meal brings joy and four hundred calories to all who eat it.
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