As this column is called "Northwest Lite," I can tell you that it has fewer carbs than other newspaper columns, but still plenty of fiber.

Chew on this — the sheer nerve:

Am I to understand that it may not actually be healthy to drop weight by scarfing down a steak stuffed with sausage, wrapped with bacon and garnished with ribs — for breakfast?

Next thing, they'll be claiming that Britney Spears isn't a role model for relationships.

I've been enjoying watching people try to achieve the perfect size 2 by devouring plates of meat. For men not familiar with women's sizes, a size 2 is roughly equivalent to a praying mantis or Mary-Kate Olsen. For comparison, the late Marlon Brando wore a size 24 dress but looked like a 22 when he wore vertical stripes.

Anyway, a coalition of health experts called Partnership for Essential Nutrition (PEN) is sticking out its neck and chins to make the following claim: Low-carbohydrate, high-protein diets such as Atkins can lead to a laundry list of health bummers.

For instance: kidney stress, liver disorders, gout, higher risk of heart disease, stroke, diabetes and assorted types of cancer. Not to mention severe constipation, gastrointestinal problems, nausea, headaches, energy loss, difficulty concentrating and even bad breath.

So that's why I've been staring at my computer screen with my mouth hanging open and wondering how to accessorize with my colostomy bag. Alone.

But at least I look tasty in a Speedo. Or I will after a Brazilian bikini wax.

Vain But Lazy syndrome

While the emaciation and difficulty concentrating unlock the origin of Paris Hilton, the diets themselves are a symptom of the acute medical condition known as Being Vain But Lazy. Generally, if people just take the stairs once in a while and don't eat deep-fried Doritos at every meal, they can avoid being enshrined in a zeppelin museum.

Make that vain, lazy and wishy-washy. More than half of all U.S. consumers who have tried low-carb diets have dropped them like a hot potato with butter and sour cream, according to a new survey from the research firm InsightExpress. Maybe it's harder to find the right restaurants when you're in an iron lung.

Meanwhile, the low-carb food craze is nothing short of plus-sized, with 930 new products seeping into the marketplace in recent years, according to Consumer Reports. That PEN health coalition estimates that people spend an average of $85 a month on various low-carb products. And the Food and Drug Administration doesn't regulate what can carry labels such as "low-carb," "reduced carb," "carb smart," "death to filthy terrorist carbs" and the like.

The FDA especially doesn't regulate some of the names these products have in common. For instance, there's now Doritos Edge, Pepsi Edge and a beer called Aspen Edge. The makers of these products could get together and fight for the right to use the word — if they had the energy. But "edge" must actually refer to the edge of your ribcage protruding from your skin.

I bought a one-ounce package of Nacho Cheesier! Doritos Edge. Ah, health food. Six grams of net carbs, it says — nine total, compared with 17 grams in a regular one-ounce package. They taste like old paper.

This flood of products includes low-carb bread and pasta — foods pretty much synonymous with "carbohydrates." Do you know what that stuff is? It's ANTI-MATTER.

And now, Charles Bukowski for Bacardi Silver Low-Carb Cherry: "What the (expletive) is this (expletive) (expletive)?! Get out of my (expletive) face!"

So there's plenty of low-carb booze that could get you viciously assaulted for ordering it in the wrong place, or, in my case, emasculating sneers from grocery-store employees. I read their minds: Sure, pal. And right this way to the bubble bath.

Let's experiment

Low-carb beer is especially puzzling. Because beers are portable gut-enlargement factories and because there is no such thing as a "salad belly." But in the spirit of Science, I buy three to try and pour them into glasses in front of me.

First: Rock Green Light. A bit nasty, but slugs would love it.

Next: Michelob Ultra. Oddly, it also tastes beer-free.

Last: Aspen Edge. Slightly less offensive than the other two, but still tastes like a prop liquid from the set of "Six Feet Under."

Nonetheless, I go ahead and finish all three, just to take the edge off.

The next night, I bring home more experimental material: Low-carb pet snacks called "Liv-A-Littles." Their manufacturer, Halo, describes them in a promotional e-mail as "the all natural low-carb freeze dried treats for pets, (which) are so healthful, that they are the only in the world USDA approved pet snacks for humans to eat!!!"

Also in my grocery bag: a bottle of low-carb Merlot called "one.9," and a chocolate bar called "Hershey's 1 gram Sugar Carb." Time to party.

I enlist two experimental cats whom I'll call Subject M and Subject D.

The beef "Liv-A-Littles" first. Subject D inhales his, while M takes her time relishing the little oblong cube. Subject D must be physically restrained from hogging M's portion as well.

So I pop one into my mouth. The taste of the crouton-like beef thing causes me to make a sound something like "Aaaaawwwlrgh!" I take a big slug of the one.9 and swish it around. Not bad, doesn't seem to be eating the enamel off my teeth. And anything would taste OK after the Three-Buck Chuck I've been buying from Trader Joe's by the case.

Next, the chicken. Subjects M and D scarf it right down. I try one. It's like a vaguely bouillon-flavored Styrofoam packing peanut, and I take another giant swallow of the one.9.

Mmmmm, codfish nuggets

Finally, the low-carb codfish nuggets. I put them off until the end because they scare me. However, Subject D is undeterred, and it disappears instantly. Subject M hockey-pucks hers around for a few moments, then takes care of business. Overall, the cats have eaten the "Liv-A-Littles" with enthusiasm. Other things they eat enthusiastically: masking tape, the bathroom trash.

The taste of the cod-ball makes me fight back a gag, and half a glass of one.9 won't get it out. I tear open the low-carb Hershey bar. It's like wood putty.

The next day, my head throbs a little. I wound up experimenting with the whole bottle of one.9. A bit of reading makes it throb more: nearly all wine is low in carbs, with less than seven in a five-ounce glass. Nice.

There's also a clarification waiting in my e-mail from the Liv-A-Littles people, because I'd asked why the containers didn't say "low-carb" or "approved pet snacks for humans to eat," like the press release said:

"The Department of Agriculture prohibits us from actually using any references to 'Human Grade' or 'approved for humans' because of the liability that could be associated with it actually being a pet product. I.e.: Hypothetical ... if say, a little old lady bought the product thinking it was a snack and then found out it was really made for cats, panicked and had a heart attack — that we could be liable for not being 'clear' about our product."

What's "clear" to me: Nothing worthwhile is easy, and you can't have everything without consequences. In other words, you can't eat your cake and have it, too, not without sticking your finger down your throat.

Northwest Lite is an occasional humor column in Northwest life. Mark Rahner: 206-464-8259 or mrahner@seattletimes.com