Earl’s Potato Salad (Chapter 2)
Harland David “Colonel” Sanders said, “I won’t sell a fat yellow chicken.” It’s that kind of statement that could ignite a ignite world war. At the very least, the third world war could be blamed on the controversial media storm caused by a statement like that. Anyway, Colonel Sanders was known to say things that could result in cataclysmic global destruction. No, that was Bo Pilgrim. Colonel Sanders said, “There’s no reason to be the richest man in the cemetery.” I agree with that.
Lonnie “Bo” Pilgrim, the renowned Texas chicken underlord, was known for saying things that could inflame global tensions. He once caused a riot in the Texas State Senate for kicking over tables and shouting, “I’ve got your $10,000 right here!”
Contrary to common knowledge, Lonnie Pilgrim was born in Russia. Well, in an alternate reality he was born in Verkhoyansk, Russia.
Verkhoyansk is also home to the only prosthetic head manufacturer in existence. The Köppen Replacement Head Parts factory secretly employs 800 of Verkhoyansk’s 1500 citizens, designing and producing a wide range of facsimile replacement heads.
The Verkhoyansk heads are not widely available and are profoundly expensive. It takes 24 technicians, 32 human replication artists, 19 software programmers, 12 hardware debuggers, 85 machine operators, 100 middle managers, 200 executives, and 1 prophet thirteen months to produce one prosthetic head. After production, the head is subjected to another thirteen months of quality assurance testing. After quality assurance testing, the head is air-sealed and stored in a wooden box for thirteen months in what is referred to as The Maturing Phase, after which point the head is ready to be packaged and distributed.
The customers of Köppen Replacement Head Parts remark on how extraordinarily realistic their heads are, how they’re sure that they’re now more intelligent and charming than ever, and how they wouldn’t be caught dead without it. The manufacturer has never received a customer complaint, owing, undoubtably, to the thought suppression microchip embedded in every prosthetic head.
Unfortunately, most of the prosthetic heads that originate in Verkhoyansk look unmistakably Russian. One model, PKS-1191-b, has an enchanting western European design. The specifications document (translated into English by Vladimir Lelyushenko, employee I.D. 113191) describe the PDS-1191-b as:
Most beautiful remark of European empress
Emotes of royal power and grace
Pale to slender of neck
Attachment clips of true lock
Modulators/the demodulator of nerve
Filters of spinal fusion
Length of shimmering hair
Deep grasping of eyes
The Verkhoyansk prosthetic head manufacturer has produced only two PKS-1191-b model heads. One was sold immediately. The buyer’s records are not available, having been sealed in a plastic tube, blasted into outer space, brought onboard the International Space Station, and eaten by a very deranged Russian cosmonaut who said later, “Those were the worst thirteen days of my life.” The other PKS-1191-b head was shelved shortly before the design was discontinued.
It seems very few people are interested in looking like a western European empress.
Scott awoke in the middle of a Barnes and Noble, sitting on what moments before was a booth from where moments before there had been a popular eating establishment in what moments before was his version of reality. He was instantly convinced that he’d reached the bottom floor in the business tower where the corporate headquarters of the Strange and Bizarre could be found. He had, in fact, just entered the building. And he’d entered through the front door. Elvis exited through the parking garage.
“Where can I find books on Transdimensional Phenomenon?” he asked.
A very young and nervous sales attendee with a sminy name badge stared back and slowly began his response.
“Uh, Row 22, across from the International Travel section,” he began to sweat one of those panicked sweats that you see in a competitive figure skater that just flubbed a signature sit spin.
Scott abandoned the bewildered sales professional mumbling over the twelve-foot-square space of pink vinyl, cotton wadding, ceramic shards, and foam. “I need a cleanup,” he stammered, “Derek? Melody? Guys?”
Row 22 contained a diverse range of topics, from How to Construct a Temporary Genetics Lab to Role Playing Strategy Games. The department sign above the row read, “General Curiosities/Unpopular Topics.” There were three books on Transdimensional Phenomenon.
The first, How To Vacation in Alternate Dimensions on a Budget, consisted mostly of profiles of restaurants, hotels, and entertainment venues in a variety of alternate dimensions. As fascinating as he found the review of the five-star Grover Cleveland Luxury Bed and Bath (named for the revival preacher, not the president of the United States), Scott found no useful information that could explain how a small section of a lunar deli could suddenly end up in a retail bookseller.
The next book he picked up was titled Transdimentional Phenomenon and Your Self-Image. Its title barely captured its absurdity: a step-by-step guide for building confidence by projecting images of alternate versions of the self.
Imagine yourself as a giant financial power, driving influential financial deals or negotiating major corporate mergers and investments. Say to yourself, “You are a captain of industry, a king of finance, a deity among lesser beings.” Stare at yourself in the mirror and try to intimidate yourself, “You are a powerful and fierce creature. You will take and not return. You will be. And in being, you will transcend your need for self image. In transcending, you will find yourself aware that you have no need to consider yourself. For you are. And when you are, you need not wonder at your being. For you are. And if you are, you have been. And since you have been, you need not be again. You are.
Book two was returned to the shelf. The third and final book would possibly contain the answers he sought, the clues to the mysterious displacement that defied logical explanation. The book was titled, simply, Arnold Palmer.
