Stars, Snakes, and Hoffmann's Executive Powder
Short Story by Mark Ready
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If you wore a giant white fur coat like Liberace and put a pair of oversized Raybans on a golden snake the size of a telephone pole and led it by a tiny leash like you’d use on a Chihuahua, nobody would give you a second look as you strolled down the Las Vegas strip. Hell, passersby would even ask if they could take their picture with it, not to mention all the women who wanted to kiss the golden constrictor and the strippers and pole dancers who wished to ride it like a pony. A snake of Harss' size gave the song Anaconda by Niki Minaj a new meaning.
Buster had to keep reminding the colossal constrictor that Vegas was just a stop for liquor and that they had a busload of baby chicks waiting to head into space. The young man remembered the night his fiancée, Crystal, and Hessie suggested returning to Earth for supplies to start a chicken farming operation to provide the giant snakes with their favorite food. He was standing under the enormous pink planet Mom barbequing the last of their frozen chicken.
He’d called the Venus-sized planet Mom because it orbited Marvin Gordon Chum, the star he named after his father. He'd purchased the massive celestial fusion reactor from the International Star Registry for his dad’s last Christmas. His old man didn't need anything, and it was either to buy him a star or make him a Scottish Laird. He figured the name Chum didn’t exactly sound Scottish, and Laird Chum reminded him of the 80s English rock group Wang Chung, so he bought the star instead.
Buster discovered the stars’ framed certificate of ownership and location chart under a pile of saggy underwear while cleaning out after his father's death. Since his parents were gone, and his fiancee, Crystal, didn’t get along with hers, he ditched the undies but kept the info on the star. They pooled their money and purchased a used Thomas school bus a few days later. They spent the next few weeks hunting for an old flyback transformer, a tin can of Hoffmann's Executive Powder, and scavenging parts to assemble a Blantner Reality Phase Inverter. Meanwhile they removed the bus’s seats and replaced the windows with steel sheets.
Cory Blantner’s discovery allowed the average person to explore the stars. Blantner, an MIT dropout, discovered the equation that made his design possible after passing out on his cluttered desk. A full bladder woke him from his slumber, and a raging hangover made him swear off drinking for the thousandth time, but it was the papers that stuck to his forehead that were important. They were covered in different mathematical theorems and his shopping list for a bad case of jock itch. When he removed them to take a whiz, some of the writing had transferred from the papers to his forehead. He noticed the backward tattoo in the mirror: Mc=E squared, minus g, divided by c. plus 12 oz. can of Hoffmann's Executive Powder. It changed the world forever.
Putting it bluntly, the phase inverter saved the human race from extinction. The simple device provided a safety valve for human anger and aggression and grouped Western society into two groups. Those waiting for the return of Jesus and the end of days and those looking toward the future. This mentality gave rise to one of the better marketing slogans for leaving the planet. Why wait for the end when you can have a new beginning? Or the more cynical, There are 100 billion galaxies and 10 billion trillion stars. If Jesus wants you, he’ll find you. It just might take him a while.
White supremacists were some of the first to leave. They assembled in 100 Walmart parking lots with their pickups flying the Confederate battle flag and left the Earth in one huge swarm to establish a homeworld in the stars. They landed on an earthlike planet called Ariana in Alpha Centauri on a colony of tiny insects resembling ants. The supremacists didn’t realize the creatures were the planet’s Apex inhabitants and planted their Don’t Tread on Me flag in the center of the colony. This pissed the little acid-spewing bugs off, and they wiped the newcomers out in less than five minutes. Three hours later, they’d erased any sign of the invaders except the flag, which they decided to keep.
Even though the Blantner inverter made faster-than-light travel possible, it was inherently safe. The reason was simple: you weren’t there. Once the inverter energized, you no longer existed in your dimension—or any dimension. That was the secret. Nothing could affect you because you were in two places at once. You were out of phase with reality.
Mom’s moon had been Crystal and Buster’s last hope. The International Registry had sold him an old Red Giant that had expanded and swallowed most planets in the solar system's Goldilocks Zone. Mom's moon was habitable because the planet shielded it from the massive red star's radiation. When they landed, the huge snakes surrounded the bus and threatened to destroy it. Buster thought all was lost until Crystal opened the school bus's doors and stepped out to greet them with her boa constrictor Goldy draped over her shoulders and a can of Hoffmann’s Executive Powder.
When the giant snakes saw Goldy, their demeanor changed, and they became more curious than hostile. Two huge snakes, Hessie and Harss, slithered over, and Crystal told them how darling they looked and massaged their golden scales with a soft cloth and a sprinkle of Hoffmann's Powder—the powder of a thousand uses.
Buster smiled as a stripper wearing Daisy Dukes and a bikini top straddled Harss as he wiggled and slithered and caressed her with his uneven scales. She looked like she was having a very good time. His thoughts returned to the night under the planet, Mom, and The Lawrence Welk Show.
They are going to go nuts when Myron Floren plays his accordion.
Accordion music was like cocaine to the moon slithers, the name he started calling the moon's inhabitants. The only problem was that it sounded like the Henry Mancini song Moon River, which Audrey Hepburn sang in Breakfast at Tiffany's and Andy Williams made famous. ♪ Moon Slithers, wider than a mile. . . ♪
He hummed the song and flipped pieces of chicken sizzling on a large charcoal barbeque to keep it from burning. The slither's ears were specially tuned to the high pitch of the reed-based accordion. The giant reptiles also loved Arthur Duncan's tap-dancing routines because he used his feet to make sounds. They'd never seen extremities until he and Crystal landed on their moon. Feet and shoes fascinated them.
Buster laughed. Arthur is like Laurence Welk's personal Stepin Fetchit or Bill Bojangles Robinson. All the poor man needs is a piece of watermelon and a basket of fried chicken, and you have the perfect black stereotype. How in the heck did Larry get away with that?
“Hey, Buster.” Crystal and a golden snake joined him at the grill. “Hessie and I think you should go back to Earth and buy as many chicks as the bus will hold and bring them back here and start a chicken farm.”
Hessie’s amber eyes glistened. “Yes. We would pay you for your trouble.” The giant snake's voice sounded like wind blowing through a tunnel. “Harss thinks it’s a great idea and wants to go with you.”
Hessie's mate slithered over. “How close is the chicken to being ready?” His forked tongue tasted the air. “It smells delicious.”
Buster gave the chicken a good sprinkle of Hoffmann's Executive Powder and tossed a thigh to Harss. “Here, catch?”
Harss snapped it out of the air and smacked his expandable jaws. “That’s some fine yardbird Buster.”
Back on the view screen, Lawrence said a few wunnerfulls, gave a spiel for Saratan, and then introduced Myron Floren and his accordion. The golden snakes went wild! The high lasted until Arthur finished his tapdance routine, and by the time the show was over, the snakes lay like limp rubber hoses, and all the chicken was gone.
He looked at Crystal. "Yeah. I think a chicken ranch is a good idea."
Crystal grabbed him by the ear. "Not a chicken ranch, darling. A chicken farm. There is a big difference."
The stripper's giggles brought Buster back to the present. Both she and Harss had a smile on their faces. "Come on, big boy," he jerked on the tiny leash. We need to get those chicks back home."
Harss licked the satisfied woman on the side of the face and she wrote her phone number on the side of his body with her lipstick.
"Promise you'll call me. My name is Brandy, spelled with a "B."
The giant snake shook his head. "Sorry baby, I got no hands. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."
She pouted. "Awwe. Please take me with you, long, gold, and nobby. Nobody ever made me feel the way you did."
Harss started to shake his head.
Buster interrupted. "Sure, we'll take you with us. Do you have any friends? There are more like him where we came from."
Two hours later, Buster steered the school bus into the dark of space with a cargo of seven strippers, three pole dancers, and 2000 chicks.
Harss put his big head to Buster's ear and whispered. "How are you gonna explain the babes to Crystal?"
"She and Hessie told me to pick up some chicks to start a chicken farm. I got 2000 baby chickens and 10 chicks to help feed and pluck them. We're good, buddy. What do you say we crank up Lawrence and the boys and drive this bus home."
Harss looked back at the smiling young women. "Cover me with Hoffmann's Executive Powder ladies and climb on. Buster, find Myron playing Lady of Spain. I feel frisky."
Buster pushed play on the bus's sound system. Then, put a fresh can of Hoffmann's Executive Powder, the powder with a thousand uses, in the Blantner Reality Phase Inverter and set a course for Mom's moon.
Mark Ready repairs kitchen equipment and writes in his spare time. His Book The Journey to New Edgarton is available on Amazon. He has a very understanding wife, a brilliant and beautiful daughter, and four dogs.