The Great Powers Outage (4 page)

“Comrades,” he began in an aged yet powerful voice. “A new day is upon us. For decades we have been told what we like and what we don't like when it comes to salty, fried snacks. A force beyond our control has guided us down one particular path, telling us that there is only one choice when it comes to something as important as potato chips.”

The crowd was hanging on every word. In fact, so was I. His statements sure
felt
compelling, but what was he really saying? It was difficult, but I forced myself to focus on Comrade Crunch's message rather than on how it was making me feel.

“But now, at long, long last, we have a choice. Open your eyes! That single path has finally reached a fork in the road. Will you continue down the path to the right? A path that has been laid out for you as if you had no mind of your own? Or will you take the path to the left? This is a new path, an exciting path! A path you choose for
yourself
. Are you ready to try a new kind of potato chip?”

“YES!” the audience erupted in unison.

“Are you ready to take a new path?” Comrade Crunch shouted even louder.

“YES!” the crowd exploded in response, including my dad and Stench. What was happening here? That speech had made no sense!

“Then express your collective will,” the old man in red built to a crescendo. “And take that path to the left. Amazing Indestructo Pseudo-Chips were made just . . . for . . . YOU!”

As if they had one mind, the crowd expressed their preference by turning en masse to the left and toward the grocery store. The Mighty Mart was about to sell a whole lot of potato chips, but they weren't going to be Dr. Telomere's.

CHAPTER THREE

A New Day Dawns

I came downstairs the next morning to find my mom and dad quarreling. It didn't take a genius to know what the argument was over. It had begun the moment Dad and I returned home from the Mighty Mart the day before.

“What got into your head?” Mom asked yet again as she gestured at the sixty or so canisters of Amazing Indestructo Pseudo-Chips that were stacked on every counter in the kitchen.

Normally, when Mom gets this mad, Dad immediately apologizes—even if he doesn't really think he's done anything wrong. That strategy has kept them together for years. But in the case of the Pseudo-Chips, he just wasn't budging.

“These chips are the future,” he insisted. “We've been forced to eat one brand our entire lives, and now we finally have a choice.”

“But we've always loved Dr. Telomere's chips,” my mom pointed out. “You used to work there! Why do you suddenly think there's something wrong with them?”

“It's not them,” my father insisted, “but rather the opportunity to take a new path; to try something different.”

He was parroting exactly what Comrade Crunch had said.

“They don't even taste good,” my mom said in frustration as she sampled one of the chips.

I grabbed one of our remaining bags of Dr. Telomere's potato chips and headed for the TV room. I turned on the set and plopped onto the couch. The latest episode of
The Amazing Adventures of the Amazing
Indestructo (
and the League of Ultimate Goodness
)
was on, but I had no intention of watching it. I no longer had any respect for AI and refused to support him in any way.

I flipped around and finally stopped on a channel running a Sunday morning news show. The banner across the bottom of the screen identified the program as
The Great Superopolis Mayoral Debate.
The announcer was in the process of explaining the setup.

“. . . and with the election now only sixteen days away, we're proud to be hosting the first in a series of debates. On your right is the incumbent candidate, Mayor Whitewash.”

The camera turned to a podium where the mayor stood. He was smiling in his usual forced-casual sort of way and waving to the TV audience.

“And since the mayor is once again running unopposed,” the announcer continued, “we'll represent his opponent in this debate with the prize-winning pumpkin from the recent Carbunkle County fair. We've even carved a face on it to increase the level of tension between the two debaters.”

This was quite possibly the stupidest thing that I'd ever seen on TV, and that was saying a lot. I mean, there was no mystery why Mayor Whitewash was unopposed. Take a look at his entry in the
Li'l Hero's
Handbook
and you'll see why.

A general sense of agreement was usually all it took for people to cast their votes for Mayor Whitewash. Of course, to actually force people to go out and vote for him would require a much stronger power—like the one I witnessed from Comrade Crunch yesterday. If the mayor had had
that
kind of ability, there would have been no need to stage a debate between him and a carved pumpkin.

“To get things started,” the announcer continued,

LI'L HERO'S HANDBOOK

PEOPLE

NAME:
Mayor Whitewash.
POWER:
The ability to make people agree with him.
LIMITATIONS:
Just because they agree with him doesn't mean they'll get off their butts and go vote for him.
CAREER:
Despite a formidable handicap in his first election, Whitewash has gone on to twelve consecutive terms as mayor.
CLASSIFICATION:
Utterly incompetent, yet highly electable.

“I'm pleased to welcome our guest moderator and member of the League of Ultimate Goodness—Mannequin!”

There was a weak smattering of applause from the tiny studio audience as Superopolis's greatest super-model made her appearance. She was clearly perturbed by the mediocre response.

“Zank you for zat vonderful reception,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She stalked over to the table facing the two podiums and took her seat with all the flair one would expect from a fashion model with zero journalistic credibility.

“Zee first question is to you Mayor Vhitevash,” Mannequin began. “As vith makeup, a good foundation is ezzential for good government. Vhat have you done vhile mayor to create such a foundation from vhich beauty can flourish?”

The camera switched to Mayor Whitewash, whose expression showed he clearly had no clue what Mannequin was asking. But like any good politician, that didn't stop him from answering.

“Why of course, madam moderator,” he said with a courteous bow. “But first, I must tell you how beguiling you look this morning.”

Despite the mayor's ability to make people agree with him, his power wasn't necessary in this case. Mannequin had no doubt that she was beguiling.

“In answer to your question,” he continued. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I'm certainly beholding it now.”

Mannequin blushed, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't answered her question at all. She turned next to the carved pumpkin.

“Ze question I have for you, Mr. Pumpkinhead, is more zerious,” she said in her
zerious
tone of voice. “How can von be avare of zee importance of beauty if von . . . vell, how does von say it? . . . if von looks . . . like a pumpkin, and not a very attractive von at that.”

The camera turned to the pumpkin, which, not surprisingly, said nothing at all—although it did appear to have a hurt expression carved on it. The camera remained fixed on it for the full two-minute response time. As this silent mockery of broadcast journalism continued, my parents entered the room.

“Why is there a pumpkin on the screen?” my father asked.

“I think it's running for mayor,” I responded. “What's up?”

“I'd like to know what you think of these chips, OB,” my mom said. “I don't know why your father is obsessed with them. Maybe if he hears your opinion he'll realize he's been brainwashed.”

“I don't get them, either,” I agreed, “but I told him that as he was clearing them off the shelves at the Mighty Mart along with the rest of the mob. He wouldn't listen to me.”

Just then the pumpkin's two minutes ended, and the announcer used the opportunity to cut away to a commercial. I sat up with alarm when the face of Comrade Crunch appeared on the screen.

“Perfection is at your fingertips, Superopolis,” he began. “Who wants to deal with the sloppiness of potato chips that all look different from each other? Chips like that are drains on our society, competing with one another for attention instead of focusing on the common good. But I'm pleased to announce this potato chip problem has finally been fixed. Just like the hero himself, every Amazing Indestructo PseudoChip is a paragon of preformed perfection. No greasy textures. No wasted packaging. NO INDIVIDUALITY! Each chip works in unison with every other for the common, crispy goodness of all! What's more, they'll make you smarter and better looking!” As he concluded, his voice rose to a crescendo. “This is Comrade Crunch telling everyone to go forth and buy the Amazing Indestructo's Amazing Pseudo-Chips in place of any other potato chip brand!”

For a moment I felt dazed. Then I had an overwhelming desire to shove aside my bag of Dr. Telomere's chips. But I shook myself free of that thought.