Ask Doctor Neferbath, M.D., Ph.D., D.D.S., P.H.F., M.S.D.1,
J.D., P.R.N., B.S.2
QUIERY: G'day Mate,
Got a bit of a curly one heeya, it's not about me ya know, it's me
mate, eh? She's a corker alright, me new partner on the NYPD. Good looking chick,
and she sure can get those ferals on tha street runnin', eh? Pretty violent
for a chick.
But ya know, there's somethin' a bit off there. I seen her doin' weird
stuff, like howlin' at the moon, and people she don't like kind of turn up lookin'
like they've been eaten by feral animals. She reckons there nothin' going on
I should know about, but I reckon she's off tap.
So Stinky Inky mate, tell me straight. How kin I find out if me mate's
a bloody werewolf, and do ya have a bloody cure?
Good on ya mate, Sam C, NYPD.
The Doctor kindly thanks you for not setting him up on a date with this one.
The surest way to tell is melt down some silver, have someone handy in the
ammo biz make you a silver bullet, and shoot her in the heart with it. The Doctor
admits this is rather like the medieval way to determine whether someone was
a witch: witches floated but non-witches drowned when tossed in the neighborhood
pond. In this case, if she's a werewolf, she'll shape-change back to wolf before
your eyes, and you'll know. If she isn't, you'll be doing time on Rikers with
all those dudes you've sent up in the past few years.
Alas, we're whimps in these modern days, so you may simply have to settle for
following her around when the moon nears full, but be aware that the combination
of a werewolf's keen sense of smell and her innate cop training may mean 1)
she eludes you or 2) she eats you. If you keep this up, the second option will
happen sooner or later.
As for cures: Wolfsbane is an herb useful for this. It's like Kryptonite for
werewolves. They turn human in its presence, and cannot change. Unfortunately
it also weakens them, and they lose their sense of smell and their canny edge
in a fight. You could ask her to wear a wolfsbane pendant and see that she's
moved to a desk job. Internal use of wolfsbane is not recommended as it causes
indigestion and hives; the latter condition is only welcome in were-bees.
QUIERY: Dear Inky…
I saw your ad offering help in matters of the heart…
I like this guy Rudolph… but he does not even know I am alive…
cause like he died… and so now that I have fallen in love with a dead
guy… what should I do?
(aka Goth Girl)
The good Doctor Neferbath is heartened by your tale of true love, for sooner
or later Rudolph is going to stink worse than Inkie does; and maybe the Doctor
stands a chance with the chicks, after all. You can start by consoling yourself
that your Rudolph Valentino is never going to cheat on you, criticize what you
cook for dinner, read Playghoul, or spend hours playing poker with the guys.
Except when you change his shroud, you won't even need to do his laundry. On
the down side, he'll never take you anywhere, but cheer up! The two of you can
share lovely picnics at the cemetary!
QUIERY: Greetings Inkompotep! I am plagued with flashing hotness. What
do you prescribe? -- Lucretia
Inkie is currently being plagued by flashing coldness (it's called winter in
these parts), and would welcome some flashing hotness to remind him of his native
Ancient Egypt. Each to their own, however. Since this appears to be a problem
for you, Inkie recommends a snow or ice bath every time you flash with unwanted
hotness. Inkie is also concerned that you might ignite, although such instances
are rare in his experience. Your local fire department should be appraised of
your location at all times, and by no means should you pump your own petrol
QUIERY: My darling Inkompotep,
Please help a vengeful Daemoness. You see, my terrible dilemma is thus;
many thousands of years ago, I had a bit of a fight with a very powerful angel
(who's dead now, by the way). I threw a bit of a temper tantrum and somewhat
destroyed the face of the Earth. Not beyond repair, no more than a few volcanoes
and hurricanes worth of damage, you can hardly even tell nowadays.
The thing is, I'm just getting a few old friends together for a bit
of a second war against some deity who thinks he's God (he's missing, though)
but nobody has any focus any more. They all keep having little in-fights about
silly things like who really started the Trojan War and whether we immortals
should put a stop to reality television. I don't know, it just makes me so angry,
but I have an incy feeling that blowing up a few little volcanoes nowadays might
be less productive than it once was. Please my dear Inky, can you help me control
my anger so we can get on with starting our war? -- Love Lilith
Dr. Incompotep Neferbath recommends serious stress management. Perhaps you
could take up transcendental meditation or yoga. Maybe even move to a raw food
diet, but certainly remove caffeine and sugar from your meal plans. Better yet,
move to a diet of valerian, and Haldol. By all means, keep that television turned
Oh, and inquiring minds want to know: where do you plan to start your next
all-out war? Might the physician suggest the Galaxy of Andromeda? It is a pleasing
place just begging for volcanic action, and should provide enough real estate
to make the journey worth your while.
QUIERY: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!! Crack in my paw pad. -- Zore (who appears
to be a large and wild member of the feline family)
Ah, well, uh. Do you think, just a moment, that Inkie can use this here tranquilizer
gun to get in close? Uh, no? Yes, yes, he can see that crack in your paw pad
from here, it's awfully big (your paw, that is). If you just stop growling for
a few, he might be able to come in close and check to make sure it doesn't get
infected -- although if he does get too close it's quite likely TO
get infected, considering his personal innate flora and fauna. Um. Rinse it
out, make sure there's nothing lurking down in that crack, and find yourself
a big bottle of aloe. Maybe three. Maybe we can stitch the crack -- uh, you've
got needle-sharp claws on your other forepaw; how about threading one of them
-- you can drill a hole in that claw if you miss the quick, and thread it. Then
YOU can stitch it up all on your lone.
Oh, do stop growling! Honestly, you whine worse than a presidential candidate...
ACK, I'm sorry!
*Here, the good doctor dashes off...*
Doctor Neferbath notes that neither he, nor the Pan Historian, nor the site PanHistoria, is responsible for your use, mis-use, or misdirection based on any of the kindly Doctor's comments herein written within this column. Inkie would rather rather drink Iranian fuel oil nightly than take responsibility for anything.
1. Master of Scarab Dung (Scarab dung is sacred to Ancient
Egyptians. Go figure.)
2. Not Bachelor of Sciences, but something a little less sacred than