My Favorite Potato Chip
I grew up in Chicago home of Jay’s potato chips. A chips of such superiority its lingers to this day in my best memories of youth. Oddly the chip started out life as Mrs. Japp’s Chips after the founder Leonard Japp. The 1941 Attack on Pearl Harbor and the subsequent anti-Japanese sentiment, however, led to a negative connotation towards the word “Jap” in the United States. The chips were consequently rebranded to “Jays Potato Chips” to avoid the sound-alike name, and the company became Jays Foods, Inc. This was years before I was born. Company died in October 2007.
Our casino fell on hard times – poorly trained staff and lax security meant they were paying out well over the odds, and were well on the way to bankruptcy.
Then someone hit on the idea of replacing the poker chips with potato chips: Different flavours for different values, and although the punters were dubious to begin with, they soon came around to the new thinking.
The casino was soon back on track, and it really didn’t matter how much they were cashing out – the punters never walked out with full pockets…
They just couldn’t resist eating their profits.
Someone started putting razor blades in the potato chips.
Then it was needles in the noodles, splinters in the breakfast cereals and glass shards in the sanitary products.
Local businesses suffered badly. Even those where foreign articles hadn’t been found in the foodstuffs lost most of their customers almost overnight.
The police targeted the usual suspects – anarchists; those holding grudges; competing businesses, and eco-warriors.
However, they drew a complete blank, because of course, they were looking entirely in the wrong place, and I simply didn’t fit into their criminal profile.
Because, I was doing it just for kicks!
Workers are already hired, monitored, and fired by algorithm. But they still aren’t reliable. So we’re automating people, not jobs. Welcome to Parallel Organic Transmission and Autonomous TeleOperation. With the POTATO chip installed in the workers’ brains, a construction team can be directed by one manager, like the workers are his eyes and hands, and do the job faster and better. It doesn’t feel like taking orders. It feels like the purpose injected into your brain was your own idea. You’ll just do it.
The military are interested, but I think the big money will be in the sex industry.
“What High school does Rhineheart go to?” Billbert asked as if it was a reasonable question.
Linoliumanda took her bag of potato chips and threw it at him. “What are you thinking? She said she thought you were Rhineheart. He’s in high school. This is junior high. Either Wanda, here, is out of her mind, or she has unstated intentions.”
“That’s okay, Lindeelooo. You believe what you want. Billbert and I have bigger fish to fry. Or should I say, ‘fly’.” Wanda winked knowingly at Billbert.
Billbert swollowed uncomfortably while Linoliumanda leaned to Wanda and hissed, “What do you know?”
Potato chips are bad for you.
So many carbohydrates. So many calories.
It doesn’t matter what oil they’re fried in, or even if they’re baked.
They’re still bad.
Same with the kind of potato.
Any good that comes from a sweet potato is ruined by the oil.
And salt. That’s bad for you, too.
Same with those chemical flavorings and seasonings.
Just a bunch of chemicals some mad food scientist cooked up in a lab.
The only good thing to do to a potato is to stick arms and legs and eyes on it and play with it.