Elvirus
Elvi-geddon: Dawn of the Elvi Invasion
Dave Ehlert
Copyright 2014 by Dave Ehlert
Smashwords Edition
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of Fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Dedication August 21, 2014
This book is dedicated to my wife Susie who provided inspiration, proofreading and
laughter to make this book much better for her efforts.
Special thanks for further inspiration to:
Warren “Stef” Steffen
Rich “Wenzel” Krueger
Larry “The Bird” Hendrickson
Ralph “Mr. Wonderful” Garrity
Anthony “Alter Kacker” Roberts
Dr. Terrence “Chops” Bugno
Chester “Rusty” Mansfield
and Elvis “The King”
Technical Advisors:
Kris “Pooter” Poulsen-Hendrickson (Reader Services)
Devin “Fitty State” Stephens (Zombie Killer)
Introduction - The Vile Evil Elvi Live
Sounds of a family union fill the air in the suburban Chicago neighborhood on a warm Sunday in
summer of 1959. Adults sitting around the kitchen table visiting after the meal. A few are in the
living room watching their beloved Cubs lose yet another game. Young girls on the front
sidewalk playing hopscotch, older girls seek refuge in their bedroom to giggle and fawn over the
teen idol posters on their wall. The younger boys ride their bicycles on the dead end street.
Older ones play a combination of “cops and robbers” and tackle football. It makes sense to
them.
One of the cousins at this reunion isn’t joining in any of the games outside. He has discovered
an older cousin’s record collection and has stumbled on a sound he had never heard before. It
was the voice of Elvis Presley. Young David tuned out the world and lost himself somewhere
between “Don’t be Cruel” and “Heartbreak Hotel.” For hours, as Grandparents visited, Aunts
and Uncles played cards and cousins made a ruckus, David was mesmerized by the voice and
singing style of the most influential entertainer of the 20th century. On the 2 hour drive back to
his home, David’s brothers and sisters were a captive audience in the back seat of the family car
as David sang all the new songs he had just heard. Dave’s Dad, a Frank Sinatra fan, wasn’t
impressed.
“What the hell is that?” he said, “Somebody in pain back there?”
“George,” scolded David’s Mom, “don’t discourage him! He might get better someday.”
Someday finally came six years later in 1965 when young David, now Dave, sang his first Elvis
song in public at a neighbor’s birthday party. It was the start of a career performing as an Elvis
Impersonator, or Elvi as they later came to be known. Dave had no idea anyone else was an
Elvis Impersonator. It never occurred to him that anyone else would want to be one. Elvis was
still alive. Anyone could buy a ticket and see the real Elvis in one of his movies, although they
weren’t likely to win any Oscars. Anyone could go out and buy a record the real Elvis made.
And in the late sixties, anyone could go see the real Elvis in concert after an eight year absence
from the stage. Dave was doing it mostly for fun. He loved “being” Elvis on stage. Five years
after his first show, he was shocked when he found out there was another Elvis Impersonator.
Rick, from another Chicago suburb was also “Elvis” on stage. What Dave and Rick didn’t know
at the time was that there were almost 100 Elvi worldwide in the mid-sixties. What they also
didn’t know, couldn’t know was that in the next 40 years, there would be 100,000 Elvi worldwide. And more would come each day until every last person on earth would be in danger of
becoming an Elvi. Rick and Dave could never have foreseen events like the following.
The CDC announced enhanced “E” screening at New York’s Kennedy Airport, Washington
Dulles International, O’Hare International, Hartsfield-Jackson International and Newark Liberty
International. Passengers will also undergo detailed questioning upon their arrival.
Passengers at other points of entry will continue to be screened by customs agents, who examine
travelers for visible signs of the “E” virus and distribute fact sheets to those who have traveled in
areas affected by the outbreak. In addition, the T.S.A. is providing guidance to airlines on how to
identify passengers who are infected.
On Oct. 27, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention will begin implementing a postarrival monitoring plan for non-symptomatic travelers arriving by air from the “E” virus Hot
Spots.
Passengers will be asked to check in daily with state or local health departments in order to
report their temperature, any other symptoms and any travel plans, including both in, or out of
state. If a traveler does not report in, public health officials are to take steps to locate the person
and ensure that active monitoring continues.
Six states, including Georgia, Maryland, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia,
which together receive more than 70 percent of those passengers traveling from known areas of
“E” virus , have already been prepared to begin post-arrival monitoring. Anyone showing
symptoms will be isolated and by local health officials trained in protocols to limit exposure, and
will be directed to a medical facility trained to receive potential “E” Virus patients.
The C.D.C. will assist the effort by informing state officials of passengers who will require
monitoring and by providing extra technical support, guidance or funding, as necessary.
Does the above information pertain to the dreaded Ebola virus? No, something far more
insidious.
In 1965, twelve years before Elvis Presley met his untimely death, there were only a hundred
Elvis Impersonators World-wide. In 2017, the 40th anniversary of the King’s death, estimates are
that there will be over 100,000 of these misguided, often musically challenged and most always
psychologically damaged creatures. Never before has society witnessed such a rapid growth in a
segment of society heretofore thought of as benign although highly nauseating to normal folks.
T he explosion in the population of
these ersatz “Kings of Rock n’ Roll” has inspired social forensic scientists to theorize what
caused this phenomenon. What they found is both surprising and disturbing.
Documents have revealed that the source of the problem can be traced back to the spread of a
mutant organism starting with the million plus visitors to Graceland in the aftermath of his death
and continuing to this day. Graceland has been established as being second only to the White
House in most visited personal residences. This organism finds a host in these myriads and,
those infected become “carriers” of the gene. When the “carrier” passes that virus laden gene
onto a susceptible victim, the victim has no choice but to become an Elvis Impersonator. One
telling event showing the sinister nature of the progression was a macabre “Elvis Happening”
during the Bi-Centennial Celebration when 200 Elvis Impersonators were crammed on a barge
floating down the Potomac. Where on earth was the CDC? The sinking of that mutant gene
carrying barge would have been worth a million vaccinations! As the situation gets worse the
outbreak of Elvi intensifies and Elvi are replicating, spawning hot spots of Elvi popping up all
over the world. Just watching an Elvi sing could risk coming in contact with the mutant gene
and becoming one of the dreaded ilk.
Gangs of Elvi are roaming the streets terrorizing defenseless
wheelchair bound old people. “Make him stop!” pleads one frightened senior. “I was minding
my own business, waiting for my medication when he came out of nowhere! He grabbed me by
the neck and made horrible sounds. It was only when Raymond, our orderly pulled him off that I
could breathe again! It was a terrible day at Shady Pines!”
In otherwise safe neighborhoods, residents are
observing uncomfortable scenes as the Elvi Creeps accost their kids, stealing their bicycles.
“Mister,” said the little girl, “That’s my bike!”
“A well a Ah jes need tuh rock n’ roll with it baby! Ah-ah-ah promise to Return to Sender, you
dig?”
“I’m sorry, what?” was the little girl’s response.
Take a walk down Main Street and you think you’re safe but
look! – Up on the rooftops!
Nearly every aspect of human life including Entertainment, where one of America’s
Late Night Icons surrendered his ratings for a jumpsuit.! Now instead of entertaining millions on
TV, he’s harrassing audiences a local Karaoke Night in your home town!
Want to see Arnold Schwartzenegger in another Blockbuster?. Think again, he’s
fallen prey to this insidious predator. Instead of “I’ll be back” he’s crooning “Return to Sender”
and with that accent, it ain’t pretty!
Even World Politics can’t escape the effects of this epidemic. Some say that
House Speaker John Baynor in his continuing vendetta against Obama slipped some of the
mutant gene to the President when they were doing shots in the Oval Office. The result? See for
yourself!
The United Nations issues a statement that Kim Jong Un can proceed with
making a nuclear bomb if he will just please stop with the Elvi stuff! Ruv me Tender? Are you
kiddin me? Even an intervention from Dennis Rodman failed to bring Kim back from his
descent into Elvi land. When asked to comment, Rodman said this,
“ain’t nobody know what I know. You know what I’m sayin? Don’t even try. People try, but
they can’t. I can, but I won’t Even if I did, who knows? You know what I’m sayin? I wouldn’t
say it but sometimes it has to be said.
Think you can find comfort by seeking a religious refuge? Not really.
Even religion is no match for this scourge.
Whatever your beliefs are, they have been infested with the Elvi gene.
Christians, Jews, Hindus, Muslims even the Dalai Lama has an Elvi Clone! It has given new life
to an old joke: “A Jew, a Hindu, a Muslim and a Christian walked into bar.....and came out
singing ‘My Way’!”
New Jersey Governor Chris Christie also fell victim to Elvirus. It happened
so suddenly that his torso was wrenched in the opposite direction of his ass! Who or what is
responsible for this gyrating nightmare? What evils are yet to come? “Holy sideburns Batman”,
Evils is just Elvis with the letters jumbled! No one is safe.
Paranoia is everywhere! Orders of peanut and banana sandwiches have spiked. Is that a facial
tic or the virus causing your lip to curl?
It’s not even safe to go to Wal-Mart! This shopper came in to the store as Father
Mulrooney of the local diocese in Columbus, OH. By the time he checked out he had been
overcome with Elvirus and was genuflecting to the beat of Suspicious Minds.
It seems that everyone who has visited Graceland has been exposed. When they go back home
the mutant gene virus is unleashed on would be Doctors, Lawyers and Teachers.
Is there no way to fight this side-burned menace? Perhaps if citizens band
together, this mayhem can be stopped. But, no one can escape the contagious Elvis Impersonator
Pandemic. Even Authors who, one minute are typing away on their keyboards- “Thank ya,
Thank ya very much”……wait a minute- I didn’t type that! “Ah’m all Shook Up Baby” - STOP
THAT!!! “A uh huh...” Oh NO…..It’s happening to me! “Well it’s One For the Money…. ”
GOOD GOD! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES……….!
Elvirus
Chapter One – A Grave Situation
The Memphis Police cruiser sped towards Forest Hill Cemetery on a cool October night in 1977.
Elvis Presley had been dead less than two months when two “body-snatchers” were discovered
trying to steal the “King’s” coffin. Or, were they?
“Did you stash the cylinder?” asked the one called Monk.
“Yeah, and it was heavier than shit!” snapped Monk’s partner Rudy as they rode handcuffed in
the back seat of the MPD squad car.
Monk was a career con-man, burglar, and small time bookie for the mob in Memphis. The
Memphis mob had ties to the Dixie Mafia headquartered in Biloxi. Monk was a street smart guy
who knew better than to cross anyone in the Dixie Mafia, especially Kirksey Nix. Kirksey was
the guy everybody knew tried to kill Sherriff Buford Pusser and succeeded in killing Pusser’s
wife back in 1967. Nix was in prison now, but still ordered hits from behind bars to all those
who crossed him. Monk wasn’t sure if his current assignment came from Nix, but he wasn’t
taking any chances. Nothing in the Memphis crime world happened without being sanctioned by
Nix or guys like him. A hit ordered from Louisiana State Prison could come in the form of a
shotgun blast like Nix’s first attempt on Pusser or in the form of a mysterious one car accident
which finally killed the McNairy County Sherriff in 1974. Neither outcome was attractive to
Monk. He was following his instructions to the letter. And in the situation he found himself in
presently, his instructions were to ‘shut the fuck up!”
“Doc gonna have our bail ready?” rasped Rudy.
“Don’t worry, it’s all good!” smiled Monk. “He’s in this too deep to screw us.”
The two men who had staged the ruse of stealing Elvis’ coffin had heard the rumors that Dr.
Nick, as he was called, had not only pumped Elvis with 5,000 pills in the last six months of his
life, he was also involved in “the virus” plot. In 1977, the good doctor, or “Dr. Feel Good” as he
came to be known had prescribed over 10,000 doses of amphetamines, barbiturates, narcotics,
tranquilizers, sleeping pills, laxatives, and hormones for Presley. His predilection for over
prescribing led to not only Presley’s death, but some say the deaths of two of Jerry Lee Lewis’
wives. Monk and Rudy had been informed of the scheme which involved hiding two cylinders
of a formula containing a virus. Doc and another genetic scientist had manufactured the virus
from samples taken from Elvis Presley in the years before his death. From beginning to end, the
plan was devised to spread the virus world wide, then hold the anti-dote ransom for millions of
dollars. They would sell the secret anti-dote to the highest bidder or watch as the entire
population became infected.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” chuckled Rudy, “that fucking coffin don’t weigh no 900 lbs. now!!”
Rudy had referred to the controversy fueled by the “Elvis Faked His Own Death” conspiracy
freaks who pointed out that: One, Elvis’ middle name Aron was mis-spelled (Aaron) on his
headstone out of superstitious fear of spelling it correctly. Truth was, it was mis-spelled in the
first place on his birth certificate and Vernon didn’t want to perpetuate the idea that he and his
wife were nearly illiterate when she bore the surviving infant in a birth meant to be twins. Two,
A million dollar Life Insurance Policy purchased by Presley and held by Lloyd’s of London was
never cashed after Elvis died. The truth was, no such policy ever existed. And, three, it was
estimated that Elvis’ coffin weighed 900 lbs. nearly crippling the pall bearers who struggled with
it nearly dropping it twice at the burial. It was theorized (by the freaks) that there was a cooling
system installed in the coffin to keep the King cool til he could be secreted out of the coffin and
into a waiting limo to be hustled off to…well who the hell knows where? Another claim was
that Elvis was sighted in late August of 1977 at the Memphis Airport purchasing a ticket to
South America. Problem with that is that, in 1977, the Memphis Airport wasn’t selling any
international tickets.
What the dumb shits (as Monk and Rudy called them) didn’t know is that “the cylinders” were
responsible for more than half the weight of the coffin bearing the very dead corpse of the former
King of Rock n’ Roll.
“It sure felt like more than 250 gallons of that virus shit in those tanks!” lamented Rudy still
trying to stretch his back muscles
“Shut the Fuck up!” hissed Monk careful not to reveal their dark and lethal secret.
Monk knew that the contents of the cylinders would be more devastating than 10 times it weight
in anthrax.
“And last for 50 years!” he bragged to himself. “When the streets are full of the grotesque beasts,
they’ll throw shitloads of money at us for the anti-dote.”
“What are you smiling about, you morbid piece of shit?” glared Sgt. Wayne Carmenza of the
MPD.
“You stupid bastards actually thought you were going to steal Elvis Presley’s body?”
“Dumbasses!” chimed in his 300 lb. partner Patrolman Jimmy Princeton at the wheel of the
speeding cruiser blowing all the red lights on the way to Central Lockup. “You sonsabitches
outta be thankin’ us for haulin your sorry asses downtown. Elvis was my best friend.”
This was a lie he had been telling for years to anyone who would listen.
“You see these sunglasses? Well, Elvis gave them to me. You can see where they are engraved,
‘To Jimmy from Elvis’”
He took his eyes from the road to make eye contact with the would-be grave robbers,
“There’s still thousands of fans gathered outside who would gladly rip you two morons to shreds
if they even knew...”
No one saw the 10 Ton dump truck speeding north on Lamar Blvd and slamming into the cop
car, critically injuring the cops and killing the crooks. Jimmy, flew threw the windshield and
slammed into a crowd of gangbangers gathered on the corner. They cushioned his impact, but
three of the gang members didn’t survive his hurling 300 pound mass. Wayne’s airbag deployed
but it was deflated instantly by the large “T.C.B.” ring he wore. So instead of being protected by
the airbag, Wayne’s face slammed against the dash putting him into a coma that lasted for six
months. The ring was a replica of one Elvis wore on stage. Carmenza had insisted it had been
the original and given to him by Elvis himself. Doctors who removed the ring in the emergency
room were surprised to see his ring finger had turned green and even more surprised when they
saw the “made in china” stamp on the underside of the fake ring. Rudy, sitting closest to the
impact in the back seat was driven through the grating of the dump trucks grill and the rest of
him had to be scraped from the pavement. Monk, lingered the longest and as the first bystander
to arrive on the scene knelt beside his convulsing body, he tried to speak.
“Beat…”
“What?” yelled the bystander, trying to be heard above the approaching sirens. He could hardly
look at the man lying on the pavement. His left arm was twisted backwards in a grotesque
position and the right one had been ripped from its socket and was positioned at an odd angle as
if shaking hands with its mate. The only reason it was still lying near the soon to be dead
victim….was the fact that it was still cuffed to his left wrist! Still, the bystander leaned in
avoiding the slowing spurts of blood spraying from the victim’s neck. A wound caused by a
piece of metal still glowing from the blast when the gas tank ignited. The bleeding man tried to
speak again, reaching up and pulling the bystander down to him with surprising strength. As the
blood sprayed across the bystander’s face he heard the man’s dying words,
“Beat It!”
Chapter 2 – There’s Something in the Water!
“Hol’ on Rusty!” cried Chester. “Kayn’t yew jes hol’ on a dad blamed minute?” Chester was all
of 103 lbs. and running out of steam. If you started with Hank Williams Sr., aged him for 40 yrs.
past the demise the legendary Country singer suffered at the age of 29 and starved him for a
couple of months, that was Chester. Rusty was his identical and equally larcenous twin brother.
The two n’er do wells had been hired by Monk a month before Elvis died. At their first meeting
with Monk things didn’t go so well.
“Now, lemme git this strayt” drawled Chester who was the spokesman of the pair. “….Y’awn
us ta jes p-p-p-por this heer tonic in the fowntin at Graaace Laaand?” He uttered the words
“Graace Laaand” as though they were actually two words and thus in his backwoods mind gave
it more reverence. Monk and Doc had figured out that by tampering with Elvis’ gravesite at
Forest Lawn Cemetery, Elvis’ father Vernon, or more importantly, Elvis Presley Enterprises
would move his remains to Graceland where they could charge people money to see the grave.
At Graceland, a fountain would be installed for effect and visitors would feel the mist from the
fountain as they approached the hallowed ground of Elvis’ final resting place. That mist would
be a good way to disperse….”the tonic” Monk looked the two emaciated backwoods misfits up
and down and wondered if he had made a big mistake in hiring them for this job.
“Are you sure you two can pull this off?” he asked doubtfully. ‘How about you Chester, do you
think you’re ready?”
“Why shoot Mr. M-M-Monk, I was b-b-born ready!” Chester attested.
Monk rolled his eyes, “And you, Rusty? You ready?”
“Oh he’s ready alright sir, R-R-Rusty’s almost as s-s-smart as me, he is!” Chester volunteered.
“That’s what I was afraid of.” sighed Monk. “Now remember, no one can see you when you
dump the stuff in the fountain.”
“Yes sir, I mean n-n-no sir Mr. Monk, we ain’t even gonna look arselves!”
“Jesus!” cursed Monk “Just follow the plan. Rusty, you distract the guard, you know that Uncle
Vester fella. You did bring some of your moonshine from your still back up there in the woods
didn’t you?”
“Shure nuff we did!” snickered Chester.
“Chester!” bellowed Monk, “I was asking Rusty. Do you always speak for him?”
“I do yesser I shurly do, sir.” stammered the smarter of the twins “Why Rusty, he ain’t sed
nuthin for 15 yrs. Jes plum up n shut up, he did.”
“God help me!” pleaded Monk. “Look you two, There’s enough bad shit in that cylinder to
affect a billion goddam people so don’t screw this up. And don’t get any of it on you.” He
warned, “although it might be an improvement!” he thought to himself.
“Wail now, jes watsa gonne happin if’n we do git sum on us, what then? “ Chester asked, the
wheels finally starting to turn in his very small brain.
“Call me and I’ll tell you uh,... the antidote!” supplied Monk. “If I think it would make you
worse off then you losers already are.” again to himself. Rusty’s eyebrows went up ever so
slightly which to some might have appeared to be a rational thought. But, just as quickly the
moment passed.
Chester however, now felt the impact of at least 3 or 4 brain synopes firing off had an ephiphany,
although he didn’t know what that word meant.
“Mr. Monk sir, w-w-why kayn’t ye jes tell us what the antidope is now? Thataways, we wudn’t
have no problem at all, we wudn’t.” he articulated though that wouldn’t be an accurate
description of his gibberish.
“Not antidope, ANTIDOTE!” Monk was now losing his patience. “And the answer is” he
continued, “I don’t trust you guys. The last job you were on almost had you guys arrested for
stealing cash out of the register.”
“N-n-now Mr. Monk”, Chester protested, “That there, twern’t ar fawlt, it twern’t, the dad berned
cash registrator wern’t werkin right, it twern’t!”
Monk waved him off, “I don’t care what lame excuse you come up with, I know you’re a thief,
your old boss knows it and the $50 bill you tried to cash at my office still had the markings he
used to catch your sorry asses. The point is, until this is a done deal and the “tonic” as you call it
is being atomized by that freakin’ fountain, you need me. I’m the only one who knows the
antidote, got it? So the both of you hicks had just better make sure nothing happens to yours
truly!” Monk shared his final thoughts on the matter. Now, a month later, Monk was dead
leaving Chester and Rusty in possession of one of the cylinders containing the “tonic”.
Uncle Vester perched on the seat of his famous Pink Jeep squinted in the late afternoon sun as he
acted as the “guard” at the gates of Graceland. He was dressed in tan polyester slacks, white
shoes and a pink plaid shirt. He wore a baseball cap emblazoned with the insignia “T.C.B.” He
was surrounded by a stack of cookbooks which he had co-authored and offered for sale to any
visitors with a surplus of cash and a deficit of common sense. He loved his job and despite the
fact that Elvis was gone, the female fans who vied for attention at the gates had not ebbed. And
though he was by any measure an “old fart”, he never missed a chance to flirt with the girls,
especially the young ones. Now, this Presley Sentry observed not a bevy of beauties
approaching his domain, but two of the skinniest, homliest, stretched skin over bones walking
cadavers he had ever seen.
“Afternoon! Y’all hard at it agin ah see.” drawled Chester, the stick figure who spoke.
“Howdy, what can I do for you sorry lookin fellas?” said the wary and savvy Vester. He seemed
to have a nose for anybody who was up to no good.
“Doc s-s-s-sent us,” quipped the talking stick.
“Oh, he did, did he?’ challenged Uncle Vester.
“Yessir, Doc sent us, he did.” assured Chester now just a few feet away. “And we brung you
somethin reeel goood, didn’t we Rusty?” He turned to Rusty who held a jug in the air and merely
winked. Vester swallowed hard,
“Is that what I think it is?” he said licking his lips.
“The finest Moonshine this side of the Mississippi or even the other side, I reckin” boasted
Chester. “And, it’s just fer yew, it is!”
“Well, quit wavin’ it around, these cameras see every damn thing!” Vester pointed to a camera
aimed at the entrance to the late Elvis’ home. Rusty returned the jug to its generic paper sack.
The two narrow men moved closer to the stone wall so as to avoid the cameras.
“Be alright if we jes rest this here sack on the ledge n’ you kin git it when yer reddy, you kin.”
said Chester. Vester grinned,
“Looks like I was all wrong about you two. You ain’t much to look at, but you bring good
presents for old Vester. Tell Doc I said thanks much, y’hear?”
“Yessir,” assured Chester as he motioned Rusty to make haste in their exit. “We’ll sure nuff tell
‘em, we will.” And with that, the two walked away and immediately dissappeared behind a
telephone pole. Uncle Vester wasted no time in opening the jug, sniffing the cork like it was
fine wine and emptying it within 10 minutes. An hour later, Vester’s chin was on his chest and
he was snoring. This was the hillbilly version of disarming the burglar alarm. The path to the
fountain was now cleared.
Two hours later the Pinched Pair returned, though not as brothers but as husband, “wife” and
“baby”. Chester, as Mr. Skinny tried to “console” his grief striken “wife” who was actually
Rusty in a long black dress complete with veil to hide his hollow cheeked face.
“N-n-now Dear, don’t yew wirry y’self nun. Evvis is gone but he shur nuff knows yew luvved
‘im, he does.” soothed the comforting Chester. Rusty although mute as far as words go was now
whimpering, sobbing and then wailing with gusto as the mention of “Evvis.” Playing the part of
a woman consumed with emotion at the loss of the “King” Rusty was also putting his back into
wheeling the baby carriage carrying “baby”. The bottom of the carriage barely cleared the
ground despite being reinforced with springs from Chester’s pick up truck. The wheels squeaked
loudly prompting Rusty to emit another volley of sobs interrupted by the blowing of his nose, the
only feature of his face that had any mass. The carriage was weighed down not by a baby but by
one of the 250 lb. cylinders stolen from Elvis’ original 900 lb. casket.
“Mighty big baby!” said one of the several groundskeepers who had no real concern for the
apparent breach of security, but only thought it strange that a baby carriage would be nearly
dragging on the ground from the weight of a “baby.”
“It’s Evvis’ nephew” explained Chester.
“Oh, I see, yeah that makes sense.” said the groundkeeper apparently assumimg that Elvis end of
life obesity was genetic.
The “family” made their way to the fountain area and backed the carriage so that the release
valve was positioned over the edge of the fountain. As another Graceland employee approached
to investigate, Rusty fell upon his neck sobbing uncontrollably. Momentarily distracted, the
employee felt the bony “woman” clinging to him and felt the stubble of “her” chin on his neck.
This is all the time Chester needed to open the valve and let the “tonic” flow into the fountain.
The Graceland employee finally manaaged to untangle himself from the hysterical “woman” but
the deed was done. Soon the “tonic’ would be atomized, then recirculated by the pool’s pumps
creating a virus “hot zone” over the next two decades. Rusty, suddenly composed, walked
quickly down the drive towards the street with Chester hurrying behind.
“Careful now, yer gonna tip the buggy over and hurt ‘Jolene’!” Chester cautioned. Rusty paid
no heed and now broke stride and started sprinting towards the gate, the carriage now wildly
careening. The groundskeeper seeing them passing in the opposite direction noticed the carriage
was riding a good 18 inches higher than before.
“Rusty,” chirped the bantam weight Chester, “We dun gud, we did!” Rusty noticed the new
growth of side-burns on Chester’s hollow cheeks and pointed them out. Chester was staring at
Rusty’s new pork chops and shot back, “I was a fixin’ to ask you about yoars! That there ‘tonic’
works fast, it does” As they approached the guard shack, Uncle Vester was just coming to,
“Goddammit! I told you Elvis Impersonator bastards you ain’t welcome here. Git!” Vester
reached down for his shotgun and started firing salt pellets at the two newly spawned
Elvi….Chester and Rusty!
Chapter 3 -The Anti Dope’s On You!
Doc sat in the passenger seat of a 10 Ton Dump truck with extensive front end damage. Behind
the wheel was Jon Wane an impersonator of the same. Jon looked like the real John Wayne in
the movie Rooster Cogburn as he sported a new patch over his right eye. One of the several
injuries he sustained when he rammed his truck into the MPD cruiser two nights before. He
didn’t mind, Doc paid him $10,000.00 for the intentional hit and run incident.
“Wal Ahl tell ya mister” started Wane,
“Not now Duke!” Doc stopped him cold in his cowboy boots. “We’ve got work to do. Frick and
Frac up there are loose ends. I don’t like loose ends.” They both watched as Chester, Rusty and
the baby carriage moved up the street.
Jon Wane shifted in his seat to adjust the six gun that had become lodged in his ass,
“Well you could always fill ‘em full of pills, that took care of “E”. Doc looked at Wane with
deadly eyes.
“You know Duke” he spat out the words, “I have a syringe with your name on it….mister!” The
fake cowboy slunk in his seat.
“Vel, I vas just yolking Herr Doktor” Jon Wane, real name Johan Von Himmler, let his
Austrian accent take its natural place in his mouth. Actually, he was more Aryan
philosophically. “Und vat are ve going to do about dese two mis-fit svinehunds?” Johan
wondered aloud.
“Well, this truck came in handy for Monk and Rudy.” Doc mused,
“Yah und de two Jew cops mit dem-ah, Gotdammit!” Wane cursed as his eye patch drooped
revealing the socket where his eye had been.
“Don’t worry,” Doc now amused said, “You can always audition for that Rooster Cogburn
sequel!” Doc could be cruel despite his “good old boy” exterior. “Start up the truck” he
instructed.
“Ve not gonna run dem ova in de broad daylight are ve?” the neo-Nazi Wane protested.
“Nah, I got a better idea. Just pull up along next to them.” countered Doc. Jon Wane lowered
the brim of his cowboy hat, put the rig in gear and started moving slowly up the street until they
were next to the two stringbeans who now both had pompadours to match their side-burns.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Doc, that stuff works fast!” As they approached the two mutating Elvi,
Doc rolled the window down and yelled, “Howdy boys, need a lift?”
Rusty struck a martial arts pose with fingers pointed oddly and Chester crooned back,
“Thankya, Thankya vera muuuch.” The pill pushing doctor jerked his thumb to the back and
hollered,
“Hop in King, and the other King too!” Chester, caught up in the Elvis mood spun around and
accidently kicked Rusty right between the eyes knocking him unconcious where he fell.
“Jesse” Chester was now calling out to Elvis’ stillborn brother. “Jesse, ahm sorry, Ah would
never hurt you Jesse, you bein’ dead and all. Ah was jes Caught in a Trap.”
“That’s not Jesse, asshole.” cursed Doc, “and you’re not Elvis. Now get in the fuckin’ truck.”
“Uh ya want me to ride in the back?” asked Chesterelvi.
“Yeah, it’ll be like a limo ride. You like limo rides don’t you King?” mocked Doc, now out of
the truck and approaching the two wannabe Elvi. Chester now in full Elvi mode continues,
“ah’d lak ta sing a beautiful song ladies and gentlemen…”
“Just sing it in the back of the dump truck stupid.” Doc and Jon Wane now boosted Chester into
the box of the dump truck and tossed Rusty in after. Wane looked them over getting ready to
close the tailgate.
“Are you shuah, your nammen ist not Chester-berg, mmm?”
“Christ, Hitler!” Doc barked, “just close the tail gate and let’s get out of here. Those two have
completely lost their minds.”
Chester’s new pompadour appeared over the top of the dump truck box followed by his thin face
which was made twice its width by the new burns. In a fleeting moment of lucidness, he pleaded,
“We’ll be awright, we jes need that there Anti-Dope, we do!” Doc, jumped over the side to
join the two misfits and said,
“Sure thing Chester, I have it right here.” he produced a syringe from the diamond encrusted
medical bag Elvis had presented as a gift. Doc injected Chester with a generous dose of
phenobarbital.
“Dat der’s the Anti-Dope? But I thought....” Chester asked as he started the martial arts routine
again. He still didn’t completely trust the Doc or his Cowboy-Nazi friend. A fading Chester
flung a karate kick to a newly concious Rusty, knocking him out again, saving Doc the trouble of
a second injection. Doc now jumped from the truck and said,
“Sorry Chester, The Dopes on You!” Wane started the truck and sped off towards the Memphis
City Dump
Chapter 4 - One for the Money!
The wrecked dump truck was now racing southeast on Hwy 78 towards Elvis’ birthplace in
Tupelo, MS. They would make the trip in just under 2 hours and arrive before dawn. They
would still be under the cloak of darkness for the next step in this sinister plot. The two
morphing Elvi, Chester and Rusty had been dumped over a ravine towards the back of the
Memphis Landfill near the Mississippi State Line.
Doc had watched their scrawny Elvi fingers scratching the slick floor of the dump truck box
trying to keep from sliding out of the container and down the steep ravine.
“Maybe you two should’ a worn your ‘Blue Suede Shoes’,” he mocked, then watched them slide
down and out of sight in the night air. “We won’t be ‘Lovin them Tender’ anymore!” his
parting remarks made Jon Wane a little uneasy at the cold nature of the good Doctor.
The Faux Duke was having second thoughts and actually felt a little sad as he saw the two hicks
turned Elvi vanish from view. Turns out the boys weren’t Hebrew after all, just misfortunate
Gentiles. They could have been turned into soldiers in Wane’s underground Neo-Nazi Corps.
But now they would just be rat food in a few hours.
“Das ist too badden!” he thought.
Tupelo was to be the next dumping spot for the rest of the “tonic”. If Elvis fans didn’t get
infected in Memphis, there was always Tupelo.
“Den ve get da deutsch marks?” Jon Wane asked.
“Dollars you Cowboy Kraut!” Doc reigned his anger, “Of course Johann, you’ll get all that’s
coming to you as soon as we finish in Tupelo”. Wane nodded,
“Ya das ist guut….GOTTDAMMIT! MEIN PATCHEN EST FALLEN AUF AGAYNE!” As
the truck raced along at 75 mph, Jon Wane struggled with his errant patch and, in a move that
would have made the real Rooster Cogburn shoot him in disgust, manged to replace it over his
good eye.
“Vas is loess! I Kan’t see! I Kan’t see.! Ve are gonna crash!” shrieked the Dumbkoff Duke.
The disoriented pretender did not understand what had happened. In desperation, he turned his
rage on Doc. “You did dis! Ya I tink it vas you. JEW DOKTOR! JUDEN!!!”
Jon Wane, the Nazi turned Wannabe Movie Star reverted to his idol’s dialect, “Well, I’ll tell ya
Pilgrim, you picked the wrong hombre to double cross.” He reached down to pull the six gun
from the holster strapped to his belt. Doc had always thought the gun wasn’t loaded or at worst
loaded with blanks. He wasn’t expecting the blast from the real thing that disintegrated the
passenger window. For a blind man, Wane wasn’t a bad shot! Doc reached for the gun forcing
it upwards so that the next shot blew a hole in the roof of the truck cab. Back to his native
Deutsch tounge Johann shrieked, “Ich werde dich töten Schweinehund!” Doc had pushed the
gun closer to the madman’s head so that the next blast grazed the would-be cowboy star’s
forehead ripping a gaping hole in the brim of his cowboy hat. The hat had never been removed
in all the time Doc had known him and when it fell off during the struggle he saw Johann’s
shaved head with the swastika tatoo emblazened across his skull.
The truck was violently swerving now across the median and into the north bound lanes. With a
violent thrust, Doc jammed the barrel of the gun to the middle of the swastika and watched
Wane’s head explode as the last shot was fired. He simultaneously grabbed the wheel and the
emergency brake and yanked. The driverless truck skidded sideways, tires shrieking and finally
came to a stop sideways on the dark Mississippi highway. Doc’s hand was burning from his grip
on the gun barrel. His nose and eyes burned from the smell of gun powder. But he was alive. He
wasn’t going to die tonight. He looked at what was left of Jon Wanes head minus the brains that
had been blown out of it and laughed.
“Stupid bastard!” He felt that it was a hearty laugh but strangely, he couldn’t hear it. His
eardrums had been temporarily incapacitated and couldn’t hear the sound of his own laughter.
He also couldn’t hear the sound of the semi truck’s horn blast and squealing tires just before it
slammed into him ending his career as the Doc who created Elvirus.
The fertilizer truck which had collided with them now exploded sending a blast through what
remained of the bullet riddled dump truck. The contents including the second cylinder of “tonic”
and a trunk full of $100.00 bills spread over the surrounding 2 acres. A million dollars, Doc’s
share of the payment for spreading the mutant gene. Currency now tainted with that gene and
lying over the highway and surrounding pastures. One for the money!
Chapter 5 - Two for the Show
The School bus got off to an early start from the group’s overnight stop in Tupelo that morning.
The bus carried students from a Chicago area Junior High School on a summer class trip to New
Orleans. The sweltering August heat had exhausted the group and it was difficult for the adult
chaparones to get them on the bus in the pre-dawn hour. Now traveling north on Highway 78
towards Memphis, the students had fallen back to sleep when suddenly, they were awakened by
the sound of the screeching tires as the school bus came upon a gruesome accident scene.
Neither police nor ambulances had arrived yet. The bus driver opened the doors and ran to the
still smoking vehicles to look for survivors. But, as he approached, he noticed something else.
Money! And lot’s of it lay strewn on the ground as far as he could see. The students aboard the
bus had seen it too and now spilled out along the road scooping it up bill by $100.00 bill despite
the adult chaparones’ admonishments to ‘stay on the bus!” Soon, everyone was grabbing up the
“tonic” laced currency as fast as they could. So much uproar drowned out the faint moaning of
the grotesquely injured Doc as he murmured a barely discernable
“K-K-Keep away! That’s my money!”
No one heard him or, if they did, even cared. And as they kept scarfing up the crop of cash,
another tour bus arrived dispersing its passengers to get their share of the loot. Forty two
Japanese tourists from Tokyo descended on the area like worker ants collecting and stashing
American Currency in their pockets, purses and camera cases. The camera cases were empty as
they now engaged in their other pass time for which they were famous, snapping photos. As teen
aged tourists Fumio and Atsushi collected the discarded booty, their friend Hajime put the
souvenir cassette tape he had purchased in Tupelo into his Boom Box. Elvis’ ballad “Fame and
Fortune” blasted from the speaker. Several Nippon treasure hunters started to sing along, even
though they spoke no English. Within two weeks of their arrival back home, they would all
become Elvis impersonators.
There would be Elvi performing at the base of Mount Takao and
the beautiful Yoyogi Park in Tokyo wiping out centuries of Japanese Culture with one hideous
rendition of “Are you Ronesome Tonight” or even worse “Jahr-house Lock”
That fate too would befall the students from the Chicago area. Those who weren’t
susceptible to the mutant gene contained in the “tonic” would become “carriers and pass it along
to some poor unsuspecting soon to be Elvi victim. A victim who should have been an engineer,
architect or chemist but instead would dye their hair black, grow or glue on sideburns and torture
their fellow citizens as they became the “King” reborn. This first dissemination of the mutant
gene or Elvirus as it came to be called, would claim two thousand victims. Other victims would
include:
A Mexican family from Nogales (a family member would later become the first
Mexican Elvis called “Elvez”), His songs included “G.I. ‘Ay Ay’ Blues”
A Sikh family trying to place their son in an American Medical School (instead of
becoming the doctor his family expected, he became the first Elvi to sing “Jailhouse Rock” while
wearing a turban),
An African-American family traveling north to relocate from Mississippi to
Detroit (their son would not be an auto worker but instead be the first Black Elvi called
“Blackvis”),
A Lesbian couple traveling to Key West Florida for a Gay Rights Parade (they would
later separate because one partner insisted on becoming “Elvis Herselvis”), She later would
achieve fame by her #1 record, “I did it Bi-Way” which became the theme song for the Lillith
Concert Series.
An Egyptian diplomat driving to the airport in Memphis after purchasing large
plots of Mississippi farmland where Casinos would later be built (his son would later become
“Camelvis”) He recorded his version of an Elvis movie song “Slicin’ Sand” and finally
An Hassidic Rabbi visiting the Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life in
Jackson, MS (his nephew would leave the Rabbinical School in New York to become
“Schmelvis”). Schmelvis would become famous for his take on an Elvis hit, his version was
called, “A Little Less Circumcision”
As the TV News Chopper broadcast the events live on Memphis Channel 13 Morning Report, a
bald, overweight, cigar smoking Colonel Parker watched with glee. To the man sitting across
his desk he said.
“You know, Ah used to paint sparrows yellow and sell ‘em as canaries. Ah don’t have to do that
anymore.” His southern accent was as fake as his self-ascribed title, “Colonel.” In fact, as an
illegal alien from Holland, his U.S. Citizenship papers were fake as well. It would make sense
that he would be the mastermind of a plot to produce an infinite number of fake “Elvi” to be
unleashed on an unsuspecting public. To the future head of Elvis Presley Enterprises the
guardian of the “King’s” legacy, he said, “This here is betta than anathing Ah could a hoped fa.”
His fake drawl continued, “Ah couldn’t a planned it betta maself!” This here is gonna be betta
than the fountain opahration. Two distrahbewshion points in jes two days. Simplay Ahmazin!
This is gonna be big, Ah tell ya, Ah say BIG! Y’hear me boy?”
The future legacy steward nodded his head. “If it’s handled right, it could be very big. We’ve
bought all the companies who sell Elvis junk, T-shirts, hats, fake side burns, shot glasses, we’ve
got it all. Even had a guy trying to sell me souvenir toilet seats but that’s a pending deal.
Priscilla can be a real bitch sometimes. But we’ve got to be careful. If word ever leaked out
about our involvement, we’d be screwed, maybe even killed. Those Elvis freaks are crazy!”
“Ah made ‘em that a way!” boasted the self-described King maker. “Remembah when Ah paid
those young gals to start screamin and breakin windas outsahd a Evvis’ dressing room?” The
greedy Colonel jabbed his smoking cigar towards the exec, “Now how d’you intend on runnin’
your end of the plan?”
“Simple,” replied the EPE rep, “First, we act like we’re against these impersonators, that’s key.
Right from the start as they start multiplying, we’ll make public statements indicating our
disapproval and outrage at the besmirching of Elvis’ Legend, blah, blah, blah…all the usual
bullshit. Then, and this is important, we send out ‘Cease and Desist” letters to the more
prominent Elvi. We’ll even take a couple to court just for the headlines. The point is going
forward, at the end of the day we want control. Once we establish a fear factor, we can close the
deal to reluctantly “accept” them. We’ll issue phony “Graceland Approved” certificates and
charge big bucks for them. We will “sanction” Elvi events and collect royalties on everything
they do.”
The Colonel grinned an evil grin with his cigar clenched in his yellow teeth. “Now ya talkin mah
lingo, son!” The Brooks Brothers suit wearing plotter continued,
“This will mushroom into an industry as big as, or bigger than Elvis himself! When you
calculate the combined income generated from a hundred thousand Elvi worldwide, you’re
talking big money!”
Do you really think it could go that high?” salivated the Colonel dropping the fake drawl.
“Why not” said the Madison Avenue schemer, “The Elvirus is already working. I’ve got people
monitoring its progress all over the world. And the first step is to create an event, maybe on
August 16th the day he died, that will draw all the freaks to Memphis. They’ll walk by the
fountain and ‘bam!’ another Elvi is spawned. What we need is a SHOW!”
“Well Suh,” the Colonel now in full Southern dialect, “That’s where Ah come in. Y’all wanna
SHOW? Son, mah middle name is SHOW!”
Chapter 6 - You Outta Be In Pictures
The Colonel’s plan had indeed taken shape. The Elvirus was spreading like wildfire from those
walking through the mist of Graceland’s fountain to anyone coming into contact with those
tainted $100.00 bills. The beauty of that piece of dumb luck brought about by Doc and Jon
Wane, was that each hundred dollar bill would expose whoever touched it for the next 40 years.
One Hundred Thousand $100.00 bills being passed from person to person for 40 years! The
place where you can find the most $100.00 bills on any given day is Las Vegas. Is it any wonder
that Las Vegas is the home of the most Elvi per capita than anywhere in the world? A close
second would be Hollywood and the effect of Elvirus there can be measured in real terms. No
less than 44 actors have portrayed Elvis in the movies. Don’t believe it? Here’s just a partial
list
Jason Biggs
Actor, American Pie
Jason Matthew Biggs was born on May 12, 1978, in Pompton Plains, New Jersey, to Angela
(Zocco), a nurse, and Gary Biggs, a shipping company manager. Jason has two sisters, Heather, a
tax specialist born in 1971, and Chiara born in 1980. Conjecture to be sure but, could Jason have
been exposed to Elvirus when he visited Graceland to do research on his role as Elvis? Or could
his father have received a cash bonus containing one of the tainted bills? Perhaps his mother as
a nurse came in contact with one of the victims of Elvirus who sought treatment before fully
morphing into an Elvi. No one will ever know.
Paul Boensch III
Actor, This Is Elvis
The pages are blank after his portrayal of Elvis in 1981. A promising career then nothing on the
radar for this probable victim of Elvirus.
Lukas Cain
Actor, A Time to Kill
Sadly, another dead end when trying to find any current info on Lukas or his career after
apparently coming too close to Elvirus and dropping out of sight professionally since portraying
Elvis in the mid 90’s.
Bruce Campbell
Actor, Army of Darkness
Born June 22, 1958 (the youngest of 3 brothers) in Royal Oak, Michigan. As a child, Bruce
watched Lost in Space on TV, and ran around dressed as Zorro. He got the acting bug at age 8;
his dad was performing in local community theater. Starring as Elvis in the Horror Flick, Bubba
Ho Tep, we are left to wonder if Bruce made a trip to Graceland prior to filming and was
exposed to Elvirus mist or came into contact with the tainted bills collected from a ditch in
Mississippi in 1977 and somehow ended up in Michigan? Don’t forget, Kalamazoo, MI was the
location for several “Elvis Sightings” in the mid-80’s. Or could the exposure to Elvirus point to
an Elvi who died mysteriously in the vicinity of Royal Oak, MI, the birthplace of Bruce
Campbell? There seem to be sinister activities surrounding any of these possibilities.
Peter Dobson
Actor, Forrest Gump
Born in Red Bank New Jersey, Peter Dobson’s illustrious acting career began at the Academy of
Dramatic Arts and the Lee Strasberg institute in New York City. Dobson went on to join the
summer stock Royal Shakespeare Company in Monterey CA. Soon after Dobson Headed to Los
Angeles and began studying with acting coach Sandra Seacat. The New Jersey connection
seems to be suspect here as in the case of Jason Biggs. Notably, New Jersey will intersect with
another actor on this list. Coincidence? Perhaps an investigation of an Elvi named Tony Grova
of New Jersey who was an integral part of the research for a movie about Elvis directed by one
David Winkler, a Hollywood Director related to Henry Winkler. Is it not interesting that Henry
Winkler played the “Fonze”, an obvious Elvis inspired character? Again, coincidence?
. David Dunavent
Composer, David played a young Elvis in the TV Series of the same name. He apparently has
not only succumbed to the Elvirus but has also adopted the late Rocker’s diet. Oh the humanity!
. Jerry Eeten
Writer, Identity Thief. Jerry played Elvis reincarnated for the Quentin Tarantino movie Elvis
took a Bullet. There is no mystery in how Jerry was exposed to Elvirus. Two words identify the
source: Quentin Tarantino. Quentin is seen (above) as one of 12 Elvi in an Episode of the
Golden Girls. He is shown dead center in the back row. Who could imagine that Elvirus was
moving through the air vents on the set of the Golden Girls?
Rob Fenton
Actor, Ricky Nelson: Original Teen Idol. It is also obvious how Rob was exposed. Ricky
Nelson was among the first generation Elvi none of whom admitted they were Elvis
Impersonators but looking back leaves no doubt they were already carriers of Elvirus. Another
question mark appears where Rob’s photo should be because there are no photos available.
Coincidence or more ghostly aspects of Elvirus.
. Randy Gray
Actor, Elvis, Randy Gray played Elvis as a boy in the 1979 movie. Elvirus was already
saturating Hollywood. However, Randy’s exposure can be pinpointed to an obvious carrier, the
star of that movie, Kurt Russell. More on Kurt below. Again, Randy joins the ranks of other Elvi
actors who have simply vanished. No photo or no Randy?
Johnny Harra
Actor, This Is Elvis. Johnny Harra made the full Elvi Circle. He was exposed to Elvirus when
he was only 11 years old. He became a high profile Elvi appearing in Las Vegas. Hollywood
executives approached Harra to be one of four actors to portray Presley in This is Elvis. Elvirus
was not kind to Johnny Harra who died in 2011 on welfare living in a shack in Wilmer, TX.
. Tyler Hilton
Actor, Walk the Line Tyler played a convincing young Elvis in the Johnny Cash Biopic.
Possibly his exposure to Elvirus came from his mother Kristy. In a cruel twist of fate, she was in
the class of 1977 at San Diego State. That campus was shocked by the death of Elvis in that year
and no doubt Elvirus was hard at work infecting as many victims as possible during that
vulnerable time.
. Paul Hipp
Actor, Face/Off
Paul Hipp grew up in the Philadelphia area which in a sense could be all the explanation
necessary as to the source of his contact with Elvirus. Philadelphia being the home of American
Bandstand, a prime target in the Colonel’s plan for the virus distribution. However, a more
likely scenario is during the filming of Face Off, Paul’s contact with Nicholas Cage who has
performed as “Elvis” and an obvious carrier of Elvirus.
. Don Johnson
Actor, Django Unchained
Best known for his starring role as Det. Sonny Crockett on the hugely successful TV
series Miami Vice, Don Johnson is one of the stars who really defined the 1980s. Yet he chose to
do a part in a TV movie as Elvis. What forces prompted this uncharacteristic decision? How
did Elvirus get to Don Johnson? Remember the pet alligator on Miami Vice? It was named
Elvis!
Stephen Jones
Actor, Mystery Train
This Elvirus victim played the ghost of Elvis in a movie called Mystery Train. What
“possessed” him to take the role as Elvis? This is an easy one. Stephen Jones is the husband of
Paula Jones who claimed to have a sexual relationship with Governor Bill Clinton. President
Clinton was an obvious carrier of Elvirus. Elvis was one of President Clinton’s nicknames.
. Harvey Keitel
Actor, Reservoir Dogs
According to Wikipedia: Some of his most notable starring roles were in Martin Scorsese’s
Mean Streets and Taxi Driver, Along with actors Al Pacino and Ellen Burstyn, he is the current
co-president of the Actors Studio, which claims itself to be considered “the nation’s most
prestigious acting school” What could have influenced an actor with his credentials to portray
Elvis? Could it be…..Elvirus? And if so, how was Mr. Keitel exposed to the mutant
gene/tonic/virus? Above is a photo of Mr. Keitel with an Elvi from New Jersey. We have
already introduced evidence suggesting New Jersey was a hot bed of Elvirus activity. The
Colonel had business dealings in Atlantic City. In fact his huge gambling debts there were one
of the reasons he devised this hideous plot. Apparently, taking up to 50% of Elvis’ earnings
were not enough to cover his gambling losses in Las Vegas and Atlantic City.
David Keith
An Officer and a Gentleman
David Lemuel Keith was born on May 8, 1954 in Knoxville, Tennessee, the son of Lemuel
Grady Keith Jr. and Hilda Earle. He graduated from the University of Tennessee with a Bachelor
of Arts in Speech and Theater. Elvirus was created in Tennessee and Keith was an easy target.
.
. Kilmer Actor, Heat
Val Kilmer Actor, Heat
Val Kilmer was born in Los Angeles, to Gladys (Ekstadt) and Eugene Kilmer. (Note, Gladys was
the name of Elvis’ mother) He played in Top Secret, Real Genius, Top Gun and Willow. He
was Jim Morrison in The Doors, Batman/Bruce Wayne in Batman Forever and Doc Holiday in
Tombstone. So, he decides to play Elvis’ Ghost in Quentin Tarantino’s True Romance? It is
also noteworthy that although the roles listed above appear prominently in his Wikipedia resume,
his Elvis role appears as a footnote. Such is the case with most actors on this list. Apparently,
Elvirus prefers to work in the background. What was the path that put Kilmer within reach of
Elvirus? The easy answer is that Quentin Tarantino wrote True Romance. Quentin has already
been shown to be infected by Elvirus.
Shawn Wayne Klush
Actor, Shake, Rattle and Roll: An American Love Story
Duh! He IS an Elvi, obviously already carrying the Elvirus gene as he has visited Memphis on
numerous occasions and passed by the fountain still spraying its Elvirus laden mist.
. Matt Lewis
Actor, Three Days to Vegas
Double Duh! Elvi alert! Plus Matt Lewis spent time in Branson, MO and associated with other
known Elvirus carrying Elvi.
. Steve Martin
Writer, The Jerk
. Steve Martin
Steve Martin’s appearance on this list is an anomaly in that, although he did a 10 second
“imitation of Elvis” based on his experience when meeting the “King” backstage, Mr. Martin has
an obvious immunity to Elvirus. He seems to have been snatched back from Elvi oblivion except
for a possible relapse as the Dentist.
. Dana MacKay
Actor, This Is Elvis
Not really an actor, just another Elvi who was placed on this list with help from the Colonel.
Elvirus plain and simple. When he tried to report his knowledge of the Elvirus plot, he was shot
dead in Las Vegas.
McKinney Actor,
Gil portrayed an Elvi in the Movie Elvis has Left the Building. This hilarious movie was about
the accidental killing of several Elvi by an unwitting Kim Bassinger. Tom Hanks was in the
movie and his appearance explains the Elvirus connection. Tom Hanks as Forest Gump taught a
young Elvis his signature hip swivel according to the movie’s storyline.
. Karlo Metikos
Actor, Going
To illustrate the world wide influence of Elvirus, Karlo, after being exposed to the virus by
portraying Elvis in Going for the Gold, returned to his home town of Zagreb, Croatia/Hrvatska.
The entire globe is within reach of the Colonel’s plan
Dale Midkiff Actor, Pet Sematary
Dale Midkiff attended Edgewood high school and Salisbury University in Salisbury, Maryland,
before moving to New York to work as a waiter while pursuing his acting career. His
breakthrough role was when he landed the role of Elvis in the made-for-TV movie Elvis and Me.
The story was written by Priscilla Presley with help from a ghost writer. Of course Priscilla
could not avoid Elvirus with her presence in Memphis and her reluctant association with Doc
and the Colonel.
Chunkey Pandey Actor, Don
Born on September 26, 1962, Chunkey Pandey is known for acting in Bollywood movies. His
real name is Suyash Sharad Panday. From Hollywood to Bollywood, even the Colonel wouldn’t
believe to what extent Elvirus has spread. Like the British Empire of old “The Sun Never Sets
on Elvirus.”
. Ryan Pelton Actor, Hound dog
Ryan is the 5th Elvi to be listed among the actors on this list. Just like an Elvi, always trying to
fit in where they don’t belong. No wonder Johnny Carson once said, “If life were fair, Elvis
would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead!”
. Robert Patrick
Actor, Terminator 2: Judgment Day
After portraying a tough guy in Terminator 2 and Judgment Day, Robert Patrick became “Elvis”
for Jay Mohr’s “Lonely Street. Elvirus moved from Jay Mohr to Robert Patrick turning him
from tough guy to an aging Rocker. How did Jay Mohr come into contact with Elvirus? That’s
also easy, Jay was in the movie Mafia with a guy named Frank Welker. And Frank’s exposure?
As fate would have it Frank was in an Elvis movie called The Trouble With Girls. Frank met the
Colonel on three occasions.
. Ron Perlman Actor, Hellboy
Ron Perlman of Hellboy fame took the part of Elvis in
Elvis Nosferatu a vampire movie. Appearing in the movie with Ron is Anjelica Huston. The
Elvirus path was a little daunting but, here it is. Anjelica once dated Jack Nicolson. Nicholson
was romantically linked to Rita Moreno as was Elvis himself until the Colonel broke it up. No
one was going to derail the Colonel’s plan, and if they tried, Elvirus was always there for back
up!
Rick Peters
Actor, Elvis Meets Nixon
Rick’s family had just moved to Australia in August of 1977 when news of Elvis’ death made
headlines in that island/continent. Little did he know that two decades from that year, he would
be portraying Elvis in the movie Elvis Meets Nixon. Also unknown to Rick was that the director
of the film Alan Arkush had carried the Elvirus gene with him for over a decade from his work
as director on the TV show Moonlighting starring Cybil Shepard. Cybil, as a Memphis
debutante and model, had met Elvis in a movie theatre and dated him for a time. Elvirus always
finds a way.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers
Actor, Match Point
Jonathan Rhys Meyers was born July 27, 1977, a mere 21 days before Elvis died. His
remarkable performance was more influenced from the presence of Elvirus by an entire TV
Network. Yes, CBS had been involved with the Colonel’s plan from the start when it aired Elvis
last concert tour shortly after his death. CBS also hosted this Elvis special and more importantly,
the special aired at the conclusion of the miniseries. Following the mini-series, Priscilla Presley
appeared on millions of TV screens across the country with a tour of Graceland, inviting even
more visitors to enjoy, among other things, “the fountain.” The Elvirus business had friends in
high places.
. Kurt Russell Actor, The Thing
Kurt Russell is arguably the top Actor turned Elvi as well he should be. When it comes to
Elvirus, Kurt Russell was at ground zero. At the age of 10, he was in a movie with Elvis called It
Happened at the World’s Fair. In this photo young Kurt is shown kicking Elvis in the shin.
Almost 20 years later, Kurt would play the King in John Carpenter’s Biopic Elvis. What better
way to pass along the Elvirus gene than physical contact? As to the scene itself, remember
Colonel Parker was listed as the technical advisor on all of Elvis’ movies. He was always in
Elvis’ ear. In fact, Steve Binder, the producer of Elvis’ 68 Comeback Special once said, “I swear,
Colonel Parker Hypnotized Elvis. Yes, there was a surly side of the Colonel to be sure. Just ask
the Dutch police about the details surrounding the death of a woman in a case where Andreas
Cornelis (“Dries”) van Kuijk, (Colonel Parker’s real name) was the prime suspect.
Joey Sagal Actor, The Chase
Joey Sagal played Elvis in 3 movies, one TV show and a play written by Steve Martin. This
resume represents the most prolific actor in the Elvirus saga. That’s because of two sources of
the gene were available. Joey’s sister Katey Sagal (of Married with Children fame) met Elvis on
the set of Girl Happy. How did she manage that? Her father Boris Sagal was the director! And,
the Colonel was the technical advisor.
. David Scott Actor, This Is Elvis
David Scott portrayed a young Elvis in the 1981 This is Elvis movie. He is pictured in the photo
in between the other two actors who portrayed Elvis in that project. Testifying to the sinister
nature of Elvirus, consider the following concerning the three actors and the narrator of the
movie and their fate: (Child Elvis) Paul Boensch dropped off the entertainment radar shortly
after the filming, or was killed in an auto accident depending on which story you believe, (Young
Elvis) David Scott committed suicide in 1993, (Narrator Elvis) Ral Donner died of a heart attack,
(Hospital Scenes Elvis) Dana McKay was gunned down mob style in Vegas after his show and
Johnny Harra impoverished and surrounded by scandal, died in 2011.
.
Martin Shaw Actor, Macbeth
Martin Shaw came down from such heights as performing with the Royal Court Theatre in
London, working with such greats as Sir Laurence Olivier, big names like Roman Polanski… to
the depths of playing a bloated Elvis wailing at the top of his voice to his dead mother. What
would make this prestigious British Actor become a member of this list? The Elvirus link can be
found with the show’s producer Bill Kenwright, a foremost British Producer and a close friend of
Elvis’ British counterpart/friendly rival Tommy Steele. After being covered up for years it was
revealed that Elvis made a secret trip to London in 1958 and was guided around the city by none
other than Tommy Steele. Elvis always wanted to perform in London but the Colonel never let it
happen because he knew (although did not divulge the information) that as an illegal alien, he
would never be able to get a valid U.S passport and would not be able to re-enter the country if
he ever went outside the border. If the Elvirus exposure in the Kenwright/Steele/Elvis chain was
not sufficient, Priscilla also met with Kenwright during an interview on the BBC. Kenwright
would have been a definite carrier of the gene before meeting with the prestigious actor Shaw.
. Jason Alan Smith Actor, Meeting Evil
Jason played in the TV series Las Vegas (already established as a thriving Elvirus hotbed) as
well as the TV series Nashville. His entry on this list gives us some insight on Nashville as a
host city for the insidious gene. Jason’s portrayal of Elvis came in a movie Crazy, about Hank
Garland, a guitarist who worked with Elvis on Nashville recording sessions including such
memorable guitar riffs in the hit “Little Sister”. Hank was technical advisor during Jason’s Elvis
role in the movie. Hank was also involved in a blowup between Elvis and Colonel over the
firing of Scotty Moore (Elvis’ original guitarist) with Hank being the replacement. Even though
Hank was used at the time and in subsequent recording sessions, the Colonel never forgot Hank’s
role in the incident. In 1961, when Hank was recording the sound track for Elvis’ movie Follow
that Dream, he was critically injured in a car accident. He was left in a coma and although he
eventually recovered, he was never able to play well enough for sessions. Had the Colonel and
his partner Elvirus been involved?
Chapter 7 - Reining in the Elvi
The Colonel’s shrewdness was apparent at the beginning of this plot and remained so until his
death in 1997, 20 years after Elvis died. Not so apparent while he was alive was his sordid past.
The dark side of the Colonel included being a murder suspect in his homeland of Holland,
serving in the US Army but then deserting in 1929, being discharged as a “psychotic” by the
Army, gaining weight so that he would exceed 300 lbs. and thereby avoid the draft during
WWII. His association with circles controlled by New York Mobster Frank Costello, New
Orleans Crime Boss Sam Carolla and his underling Carlos Marcello meant the Colonel was no
stranger to organized crime. Some would suggest that details of his past were leaked by those
close to him in an effort to remove his influence and take over the reins of the Elvirus scheme.
In analyzing that scenario, who would benefit? The Colonel had laid out his plan and put it in
motion starting with Hollywood. All that needed to be done was to continue that plan. Who
knew of the plan? Was that young executive at the secret meeting described earlier involved?
Would he become the head of the company in charge of Elvis’ Empire? History shows how
closely the plan was followed by Elvis Presley Enterprises.
Dave, an Elvi from Chicago, opened the letter from Elvis Presley Enterprises with keen
anticipation. He had been performing his show for over 20 years going back to over a decade
before Elvis died. “They finally are going to recognize my achievement!” he thought as his
hands trembled with excitement. He sat in his study and as he drew the letter from the envelope,
he glanced up at the last correspondence coming to him from Graceland, dated July 19, 1977.
The letter was framed and hung on the wall over his desk. “Dear D….” the letter opened with a
greeting and closed with “Sincerely, Elvis Presley.” In between was a congratulatory message
regarding this Elvi’s success in winning an Elvis Impersonator Contest along with a cautionary
message to seek a unique path to success.
The letter received on this day in 1987 was of a different nature. “…we demand you cease and
desist in your act which infringes on our trademark Elvis Presley. The letter was signed C. Barry
Ward, Attorney for Elvis Presley Enterprises.
Dejection settled in on the veteran Elvi but soon turned to anger. “Bloodsuckers! It’s o.k. for
them to sell the worthless trinkets as souvenirs, but something that pays tribute to Elvis through
music is not o.k.?” he reasoned. Then his mind quickly shifted gears. He turned to his computer
and started revising a newspaper ad for one of his upcoming Elvi performances. Now the
headline read, “Come see the show that Lawyers in Memphis don’t want you to see!” The Elvi
leaned back, smiled and said, “Perfect!” That advertised show was a sell-out. Elvirus was
getting to be more powerful than its keepers at Graceland.
In fact, the number of Elvi had grown from a start-up group of a 100 or so world-wide when
Elvis died to an unbelievable 100,000 and growing at present. It has been predicted by experts
that at that rate within a decade, 1 out of every 3 people on the earth will be an Elvi. Natural
evolution or by design with the aid of Elvirus? People of earth, be forewarned! These creatures
do not come in peace. Crimes allegedly committed by Elvi include ricin poisoning plots, sex
crimes, weapons violations, domestic violence, suspected drug trafficking, murder, fraud, tax
evasion and impersonating a member of law enforcement. From the evidence available,
allegations of disorderly conduct, mob action, insurrection, lewd behavior, and vampirism are
sure to follow.
Now would be a good time to determine the “anti-dope!” Now, before it’s too late. The only
clue we have is a dying man’s last words as he lay on the pavement. “B-B-Beat it!” At first it
was thought to be a rude dismissal of what he deemed to be a futile attempt at saving his life.
But, was it more?
Chapter 8 - Taking Matters into Our Own Hands
The Elvis Impersonator Convention was held in Chicago in 1987. Ten years had passed since
the death of the King. At the Convention, several of the “first generation” Elvi were to be
inducted into the Elvis Presley Performers International Association (EPPIA). The reason for the
induction was to recognize these performers as having portrayed Elvis on stage before he died.
This was in sharp contrast to the legions of Elvi who joined the ranks after Elvis died and the
release of the dreaded Elvirus. On the first night of the convention, a dinner was held attended
by only the inductees and a few V.I.P.s. At one table, two veteran Elvi were seated next to D.J.
Fontana, Elvis’ original drummer. After dinner, the three remained seated, enjoying several
rounds of cocktails. The three had worked together in the past performing Elvis Tribute
Concerts. Dave and Rick were the Elvi and D.J., the drummer during Elvis rise to fame. Many
would say D.J. didn’t like Elvi in general and only worked with them for the money. In fact,
D.J. would say it himself.
“I hate you sumbitches!” he said raising his glass to the Elvi Dave and Rick, “but I guess I hate
you two less than most others. At least you’re doing it for the music, not like this other goddam
Elvi-come-lately bastards’”
“That’s the nicest thing you have said all night!” laughed Dave. “So, you’re hanging out with us
for the music?”
“Nah, for the money, of course. Said D.J. waving Dave off, but then admitted “Well, maybe I
have a little fun with you guys. But most of these assholes are god awful. It’s damn
embarrassing to even be on stage with them.”
“He’s right,” said Rick the other long time Elvi at the table. “There’s more of these bastards
every day. Makes me sick. And, they walk around in full Elvis costume, even when they’re not
on stage!”
“Filling their beat up cars at the gas pump in an Elvis Jumpsuit, stupid asses!” Said Dave getting
more upset as the conversation continued. “Did you ever notice the worst of them started being
Impersonators after Elvis died?
“Exactly,” quipped Rick, “That’s the difference between what you and I do and the rest of the
wannabes. It’s something in the quality or the attitude. I can’t even carry on a conversation with
these other jerks, always using the fake Elvis accent, I get so pissed I want to....”
“Kill them?” asked Dave with a very serious look.
“Yeah,” admitted Rick, his face also serious. “I guess I would.”
Dave looked first at Rick who was nodding his head. Then he looked over at D.J., also nodding.
“Count me in,” D.J. raised his glass again, “I hate you sumbitches!”
That night, the three of them laid out an ambitious plan that some would call a sort of “Ethnic
Cleansing” or in this case, it turned out to be “Elvi-Cleansing.”
Over the next few weeks, Dave and Rick compiled a list of the Elvi who had been performing
before August of 1977. These were to be contacted and informed of the plan to eliminate the
“newcomers”. Of the 123 Elvi on the list, all but 2 signed on to the “solution”. But, the
remaining names on the list yielded willing participants in the plan to help rid the world of the
Elvi Invasion. All had similar opinions of the new “Mutant Elvi” and recognized the need for
the drastic measures first suggested at the EPPIA Convention in Chicago. The time for talk was
now over. It was as the Elvis song suggests: “A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action
Please.”
Joey Memphis, (real name: Gerald Muritto) was an Elvi who saw a chance to make a buck and
“get chicks” as he put it by pasting on fake side-burns, donning an ill-fitting white jumpsuit
purchased at K-Mart and wailing the lyrics of Hound Dog as best he could remember them. His
first attempt at being Elvis on stage was at his sister’s birthday party in 1995. His father, Jerome
Murrito owned a car dealership in a suburb of St. Louis. Being a proud father, Mr. Murrito was
glad to provide the funds to promote Joey’s Elvi career. He spared no expense, except maybe for
the K-Mart Jumpsuit in backing his son’s attempt at making it big in show business. He did this
for three reasons. One, he was a proud father and two, Gerald was the worst car salesman to ever
walk onto a car lot and three, the manager of the dealership had discovered a hidden camera
Gerald had installed in the women’s restroom. Gerald had been banned from Murrito Motors.
Joey Memphis walked out on stage at Billy’s Nip n’ Sip Bar in O’Fallon, MO. Actually, the
stage was two wooden pallets placed side by side just outside the door to the men’s room. His
C.D. player blared the entrance tune Elvis used, “C. C. Rider”. Just as he started to sing, the CD
stuck and Joey had to slap the side of it to start it up again. He turned to his audience of 12
people and started singing. Singing may not be the most accurate description of his delivery.
What came from his mouth was ear-splitting, off-key and without any apparent relationship to
the beat. Still, the two plumpish girls squealed with delight each time Joey would approach,
drape an Elvis souvenir scarf their necks and kiss of each of the girls. Most upsetting, one of the
girls was his sister, Geraldine.
As Joey Memphis started his next tune “Don’t be Cruel”, it was obvious that he was being very
cruel to anyone within earshot. He scanned the audience for approval from anyone other than his
sister and her friend. His eyes came to rest on a familiar face. It was Dave Elvis, an Elvi of
some note as he had been performing as the King for over 3 decades. His reputation as a
professional in the business was well publicized. To Joey Memphis, seeing Dave in his audience
was a pretty big deal. Motivated, Joey skipped right to his next song “I’m so Hurt”, a song
requiring exceptional vocal skills. Skills that Joey Memphis lacked. The result was, as Joey
sang.. “I-I-I-I’m soooooo Huuurrrrt!” Everyone was hurt, hurt badly. Mercifully, right in the
middle of “Hurt”, the CD player sparked and caught fire. Even inanimate articles were in revolt
in the face of this vocal abomination.
Joey, now without musical back up executed a few more “karate moves” which appeared more
like he had been hooked up to a super powerful ultrasound device which was now making his
muscles convulse. Culminating in a clumsily performed roundhouse kick in which he
accidentally kicked his sister in the side of the head. Johnny was done. Four people clapped,
mostly because it was over. Joey sauntered over to Dave Elvis ready to receive his hearty
approval. Dave smiled weakly when Joey offered his hand. Dave grabbed his beer bottle with
his right hand leaving only the left unoccupied. That awkward situation was avoided when he
slapped Joey on the back cheerfully and said simply,
“Wow!”
“Really?” smiled Joey, “You really liked it?”
“Wow!” repeated Dave Elvis.
“Thanks” beamed the awful Elvi.
“Hey Joey” said Dave, “After your ...uh ...show, I’d like you to meet someone. I think it would
be good for your career.”
“Sure!” Joey nodded, looking around, “Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s not here,” explained Dave, “He’s just across the bridge in Illinois. He owns a club
over there and he’s looking for a good Elvis.”
“I’m your Huckleberry!” said Joey, quoting a line from his favorite western movie “Tombstone.”
“You certainly are,” remarked Dave. “How bout’ we head over there now? I wouldn’t want you
to miss out on this. You can ride with me.”
Joey couldn’t believe his good fortune. Here was a guy who had made it in the Elvi business
offering to help him. Joey couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him such a great
compliment. The guy had actually said “Wow”....twice! This was going to be great. He
couldn’t wait to tell his father about this. Joey watched the skyline of St. Louis appear as they
traveled east on I-44 then merging onto I-55. The unmistakable profile of the St. Louis Arch
appeared and Joey thought how someday he might be as famous as the iconic structure. Dave
took the exit leading them across the bridge to Illinois. Below them was the wide Mississippi
River. Joey watched a barge slowly drift towards the south, towards Memphis the Mecca of
Elvi.
“You been to Memphis right? Asked Joey.
“Sure,” said Dave as he navigated through the congested construction area.
“Me too!” boasted Joey, “Went right up to the grave. It was pretty windy and we kept getting
sprayed by the fountain, but it was worth it. That’s when I got the idea to be...you know...Elvis.”
“Right” said Dave knowingly. He had heard rumors about the fountain and stories of some
mysterious virus. He had also heard about an even more mysterious “Anti-Dote”. But those
stories had come from some “Elvis is still Alive” nutcases so he hadn’t given much credence to
those reports. As they reached the center of the bridge between Missouri and Illinois, Dave
looked down at the instrument panel on his Jeep Grand Cherokee and said
“Hell! I can’t believe it, not here!” He looked at Joey, “Sorry man, I’m overheating, gotta pull
over.”
“You want me to call my dad?” offered Joey, “He could send a tow truck.”
“NO!” yelled Dave, “I mean, we can handle it, probably just have to add some coolant. I’ve got
an extra gallon in the back. No sense troubling your dad, Joey. We’ll be on our way in a sec.”
Joey nodded and Dave pulled the Jeep over to the far right hand lane. He parked right between
an empty dump truck and a porta pottie which were part of the construction crew’s equipment. It
was after dark and the construction crew had left for the day. Dave turned to Joey.
“Can you give me a hand,” he asked “just to hold the flashlight.”
“Sure!” said Joey, “Anything for another ‘King’ ...TCB Baby!”
The words rang out in Dave’s ears like the clanging of pots and pans. He hated when Elvi would
say them. If he had brought a gun, he would have shot Joey as he spoke them. But as it was, he
had different plans for Joey, his first Elvi Elimination assignment.
“Careful when you get out Joey!” Dave warned, “It’s a long way down.”
“Right,” said Joey looking over the railing to the black water below.
Dave pulled the hood release, exited the driver’s side, went to the rear of the Jeep and opened the
tailgate. He reached in and grabbed the yellow jug of O’Reilly’s brand anti-freeze. He then
retraced his steps on the driver’s side of the car towards the hood. He had parked so close to the
bridge rail, there was barely room for Joey to open the door and squeeze his way to the front of
the Jeep. Dave opened the hood and handed Joey the flashlight.
“Hey before we get started,” Dave began, handing an envelope to Joey “I wanted to give you the
club guys info and some brochures about his place.”
“Great!” said Joey placing the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. He was still mystified why
the widely recognized Elvi would want to help him.
“Hold the flashlight while I pour in the coolant,” he instructed.
“Sure!” said an eager to help another “King” Joey, “TCB Baby!”
He had said it again! Thought Dave. As Joey fiddled with the flashlight trying to get it to turn
on, Dave looked around. A semi-truck had stopped in traffic, right next to the Jeep. They were
completely hidden from anyone’s view, but not for long. Joey had given up on the flashlight
which Dave knew had no batteries as he had removed them.
“Never mind that Joey,” said Dave, I’m not sure there’s any coolant left in this jug. Can you
look in here and see? Your eyes are probably better than mine.”
As Joey brought his face close to the opening on the anti-freeze jug, Dave squeezed the sides of
it as hard as he could, causing a spray of the caustic fluid to flood Joey’s eyes. Joey screamed
and staggered backwards towards the railing losing his balance.
“Help!” screamed Joey, “I can’t see!”
“Watch it!” warned Dave sounding alarmed. “You’re going to fall over the railing!”
“Wuh!” said Joey,
“Hold on,” Dave shouted over the noisy engines behind the stopped semi-trailer, “I’ve got you!
Dave moved forward towards the tottering Elvi. But instead of grabbing him by the shoulders
and pulling him back from the railing, Dave bent over, grabbed the Elvi’s ankles and tipped him
up and over the railing. Then, just as quickly, he released Joey and watched as he plunged over a
hundred feet to the churning waters below.
“TCB.....Baby!” Dave said, as he got into the Jeep, started it up and drove away. “One down and
ninety-nine thousand nine hundred to go!”
Dave smiled to himself as he looked down at the temperature gauge, normal. He smiled again
when he thought of the contents of the envelope in Joey’s pocket. It was a typewritten suicide
note sealed in a zip lock plastic bag, confessing his ongoing video activities at Murrito Motors.
Dave had done some research on Joey and found the guy in the Service Department of Murrito
Motors to be very talkative about Joey and his bathroom camera operation. Dave smiled broadly
now when he remembered folding the suicide note hiding the text and offering what looked to be
a blank piece of paper to Joey.
“Joey,” Dave had asked back at the Nip n’ Sip, “Can I have your autograph?”
“Sure!” said the clueless Elvi as he unknowingly applied his signature to his own suicide note.
“TCB, Baby, Indeed!” said Dave as he marked Joey’s name off the list.
Over the next several months, Dave, Rick, Peter, Johnny and dozens of other first generation
Elvi had marked off over eleven hundred Elvi. It got to be sort of a competition. They would
meet from time to time at one of their old performance venues, Condessa Del Mar at 122nd &
Cicero in Alsip, IL. Most of the Elvi Elimination Team had performed there at one time or
another. At the bar, it was a celebratory mood that dominated the group.
“Dave, said Rick, “You’re top dog, but only by 3. I’m hot on your tail!”
“It’s a tough job,” joked Dave, “but somebody’s gotta do it!”
“There’s still a helluva lot more of ‘em out there,” said Peter who was always pessimistic. It was
Peter who long ago wanted to make a rule that any Elvi had to pass a review board before
appearing in public. Everyone now knew that he had been right.
“Why don’t we just throw a party,” said Johnny from Texas “invite all them bastards and nuke
‘em!” They did everything big in Texas. Most of the team thought it was a good idea, but no
one had access to a “loose nuke”.
“Hey everybody,” announced Rick, “Dave took out 85 of them last month. He started an ‘Elvis
Impersonator University’ offering free training for the new guys. When they signed up, they
would be invited to Dave’s theater in Branson. Each of them went in the front door, but were
never seen again! But, Dave won’t tell us how he did it. I say he should share!”
The team agreed and Dave reluctantly agreed to tell them how he did it. It was true that he
started the Elvis Impersonator University. He had a website describing the Institution, complete
with fake testimonials from fake “graduates”. The truth was, no one ever graduated from Elvis
Impersonator University. It seems they all failed the “Final”. Dave even got them to pay for
training videos as part of their study.
The invitations were mailed out to every Elvi who started their careers after August of 1977.
Those responding to the “Free Enrollment to Elvis Impersonator University” emails were
scheduled for “orientation and evaluation” sessions at the theater. The appointments were
scheduled on the hour beginning at 8 a.m. and continuing til 10 p.m. Each “student” would take
the stage with only Dave seated in the audience to “assess” them. Dave would then congratulate
them for scoring highly on the “evaluation” score card (he used the same one over and over).
Dave would pretend to take notes and alternately nod or shake his head appearing to be preparing
a “critique”. Afterwards, Dave would beckon to the Elvi.
“Hey,” he would call out, “C’mon down.”
“How was it? The Elvi would ask. “What did you think?”
“Wow!” would be the oft repeated reply, “Just Wow!”
“So what now?” Elvi would ask, “Am I ready? TCB Baby!”
“Oh yes!” Dave would say, “You are definitely ready. Let’s go out to the deck and have a beer.”
“Are you kidding? The Elvi would ask as he squeezed in a few more karate moves before
jumping off the stage. He was going to the famous “deck”. Everyone knew that’s where Dave
would offer recording and performance deals over a cold beer. Dave had included that bit of
false information in his fake “testimonial” blurbs on the website.
There was in fact, a real deck. Dave had built it for a place to “chill out” after the show. It was
attached to the side of the theater and ran about 30 ft. down the side of the building ending up in
a corner where an adjoining building butted up against the wall. Dave had installed a series of
sun shade beams across the top that provided shade in the hot summer afternoons and additional
seclusion. It was his favorite place to hang out, have a beer and generally chill out. And now,
the latest Elvi sat on a bar stool across from his host. “TCB” Baby!” he thought.
As the two men drank their second cold beer from the cooler beside the table, the Elvi would ask
“What’s that humming sound?
“Oh that” answered Dave, “That’s just a grinder pump. It takes the sewage from the building
and pumps it into the city line at the street. The street is actually higher than we are here and
that’s the only way to get it into the city’s sewer lines.”
“Ick” remarked the Elvi.
“Yeah, Ick.” said Dave, then loosening the clasp of a gold T.C.B. neck chain. “Hey did you ever
see one of these?”
“Holy Shit!: exclaimed the Elvi, squinting in the sunlight at the iconic Elvis Souvenir. “Is that a
real one?”
“Sure is!” Assured Dave, “Elvis’ drummer gave it to me.” He lied. Well, not technically. The
guy who gave Dave the T.C.B. chain said he was once Elvis’ drummer as a fill in for Ronnie
Tutt. Since then, Dave had learned that to be a whopper of a lie. Still, it came in handy now. As
the Elvi looked in awe at the necklace, Dave “accidentally let the fake gold chain slip through his
fingers. The Elvi watched in horror as the chain fell through the cracks in the deck boards.
“Jesus!” He cried, “now what?”
“I don’t know!” shouted Dave although he did know. He lifted up on a section of deck boards
that was actually a trap door leading under the deck. “Maybe I can get at it through this access
door!”
Dave stretched out on the floor next to the opening and reached for the necklace which was
visible on the ground next to the open grinder tank. He cursed and finally stood up.
“Forget it.” he said glumly, “I can’t reach it. Damn, that thing was worth about three thousand.”
“I can get it!” offered the Elvi. “Let me try.”
“No! It’s too dangerous.” said Dave, “If that grinder pump kicks in, you’ll be sucked up and
ground into pieces.”
“Isn’t there a shut off switch?” asked the Elvi almost drooling over the gold chain.
“Well.....yeah, right here” said Dave as if suddenly remembering the switch. “But it’s no use, I
just can’t reach the chain.”
“You shut the switch off” volunteered Elvi “and I’ll squeeze down there and get the chain.”
“You sure?” Asked Dave.
“I’m a Steamroller Baby!” said the Elvi, preparing to retrieve the chain for his new sponsor.
“O.K., but I’ll owe you one.” said Dave reaching for the off switch.
“A Hunka Hunka ” said Elvi bending over towards the opening. “T.C.B. Baby!”
“You really shouldn’t have said that.” Dave said, as he shoved the Elvi down the opening into
the grinder and flipped on the switch. He kicked the trap door shut to avoid the expected Elvi
puree spray.
“Wait a minute.” Rick Elvis interrupted as the rest of the team stared at Dave. “You mean you
wasted a $3,000 T.C.B chain every time you shoved an Elvi down the hole?”
“That would be wasteful.” said Dave sternly. “The chains were $10 replicas, all 85 of them!”
Then in unison, the team shouted the dreaded phrase in triumph.
“T.C.B. BABY!”
The Elvi Elimination Team (EET) made their best efforts to achieve their goal of Zero Elvi
Population Growth (ZEPG - the g is silent)). Team members cruised Karaoke Bars to catch
newly infected Elvirus victims before they could spread the plague further. Peter, of EET, even
started his own Karaoke business to attract Elvi as karaoke bars were like stagnant ponds of
water to mosquitos for Elvi. Johnny, also of EET took that a step further and started a mail order
business selling Elvis Karaoke Tracks for Elvi who would then drown out the instrumental tracks
with howling, bellowing, bleating, squawking, squealing and other bestial sounds. Johnny would
use the address provided for delivery, show up on their front doorstep as the “Fed Ex” driver and
one more Elvi would be marked off the list. He told his fellow EET members that it would have
been quicker to “nuke the sumbitches” but that this “was a lot more fun”.
Rick, one of the original EET members, came up with the ingenious plan of purchasing a shuttle
bus. He painted it to be an exact replica of the ones shuttling Elvis Fans from the souvenir shops
across the street to Graceland. A sign on his shuttle would say “Elvis Impersonators Only”.
When he had a busload of them, (usually within 5 minutes) he would start across the street
towards Elvis’ Home. But, at the last second, he would turn left and head towards downtown
Memphis. He would announce that the current load of passengers had “won a free tour of Beale
Street” in addition to the tour of Elvis’ Mansion. And as a bonus prize the Elvi would each find
a specially made “Elvis” Belt in their seats. The Elvi would gleefully don the very heavy show
belts adorned with thick “gold” chains. Then, Rick would do three things: First, he would turn
the Elvis CD on causing the entire group to try and “out Elvis” each other; Second, he would
place the sound blocking headphones over his ears; And last, as the divider window closed
sealing off the passenger section, he would flip the valve diverting the exhaust from the bus into
the passenger compartment. Twenty minutes later, Rick would pull to a stop at the edge of the
Mississippi River within sight of Mud Island and the famous Pyramid adorning Riverside Drive.
He would back into a spot shielded by trees and bushes next to the water’s edge. Opening the
rear door of the van, Rick would drag each unconscious Elvi out of the van and watch them slip
silently into the muddy river. Rick would smile as each of them sank to the river bed still
wearing their new belts.
Even D.J., Elvis’ drummer, got a chance to participate. At an Elvi Convention in Las Vegas,
This convention had a new wrinkle. It was decided that the contestants for the Elvi Contest
would stay in their rooms until their performance so that there would be only one Elvi in the
showroom at a time. Dave passed out special “Olympic Style” pendants to each of the 14
contestants on the EET hit list. These pendants were designed to look like the gold medal
pendants awarded at Olympic Events. They identified the Elvi to be “singled out for their recent
entry into the world of Elvis Impersonators”. Attached to the pendants, were beepers to notify
them when it was time for their performance on stage with the celebrity drummer D.J. Fontana.
There were also 14 Elvi participating who were not on the hit list as they had been performing
since before August of 1977. Unlike the hit list Elvi, these veteran performers would simply be
seated in the audience prior to their performances. Dave had installed 14 signal-pads
corresponding with the beepers held by the hit list Elvi on each of D.J’s drum heads. Each of the
seven drum heads from snare to tom-toms contained two of the signal pads. If D.J played the
drums and avoided the pads, nothing would happen. However, each time a stick would strike a
signal-pad, a signal would be sent to the matching “beeper” triggering a small explosion. The
plan was for D.J. to strike one of the signal pads while a veteran Elvi was performing, thus
eliminating one of the hit list Elvi. In this way, at the conclusion of the last veteran’s
performance, all 14 hit list Elvi would be eliminated. The problem was, D.J. was so excited
about participating in the EET project, he performed a drum solo at the outset of the show,
hitting all 14 killer signal pads within 30 second. Afterwards, his explanation to the EET
members was simple:
“I hate you sumbitches!”
It is to be said that the EET members were dedicated to their assignments. Sometimes, to a fault.
One veteran Elvi from Arkansas recognized his own name on the hit list and dutifully killed
himself. Sadly, his entry was a typo.
However, what started as a local outbreak of Elvirus when Chester and Rusty dumped the first
cylinder into the Graceland fountain, had spread its tentacles to encircle the globe. Millions of
fans walking through the mist of the fountain had become “carriers” of Elvirus returning to their
homes to infect future Elvi. The tainted $100.00 bills had been spread to the four corners of the
earth, infecting millions of people. The tainted bills also contaminated other currency placed in
wallets and purses of unknowing victims. The truth is, even the formers of the original plot had
no idea how many ways Elvirus could spread. It was now an official Pandemic. Though
dozens’ of EET members put their heart into controlling the Elvi population explosion, most of
them weren’t even aware of its cause.
The founders of EET, Dave and Rick had stumbled onto some information about Elvirus. When
the two were driving back to Chicago for an EET conference, they had picked up two hitchhikers
on I-55 just north of Springfield, IL. They were two boys from Arkansas. To say they were
skinny would be an understatement. Had they not been standing side by side, they wouldn’t
have been visible on the busy highway.
“Hop in!” said Dave as he motioned the boys to sit in the back seat of his Jeep.
“Preeshiayte it!” said the first, while the second only nodded.
“Where you guys headed?” asked Rick who was riding shotgun.
“Far frum Arkinsaw’s we kin git!” said the first beanpole of a boy.
“What’s your name?” Dave asked.
“Chester”, said the boy, then added “Junior”.
“And yours?” asked Rick pointing to the other hitchhiker.
“Oh, that’s Rusty.” said Chester Jr. answering for his companion. “He’s a Junior too! But he
dawn’t tawk much, dawn’t tawk a’tawl, he don’t.”
“So what’s taking you to Chicago?” asked Dave assuming that was their destination.
“Lookin for that there Anti-Dope, we are!” Chester Jr. replied “Looks ta me like yew fellers are
alookin fer it too!”
“I’m sorry, what?” said Rick. “What’s an anti-dope and why would we need it?”
“Y’all really ain’t heared bout that there Elvirus? Asked Chester Jr. “Y’all looked in a mirra
laytly? Yew fellers are a spittin’ image of ‘im. Y’all could be kin, yew could.”
“What the hell is he talking about” asked Dave turning to Rick for help in translating the
hayseed’s dialect.
“Beats me!” said Rick then turning to Chester Jr. “Maybe you should just start from the
beginning.”
And they did. As the four drove up I-55 towards Chicago, Chester Jr. related the experiences of
his father Chester and his Uncle Rusty. Apparently, the boys had learned details of the Elvirus
plot and how their dads worked for Doc and the Colonel to create the Elvi Explosion. They
knew about the fountain and its role in the Pelvi-demic, but their knowledge became sketchy as
to the details about the “Anti-Dope”. Because of the resemblance Dave and Rick bore to Elvis,
Chester Jr. assumed they were also victims of Elvirus. When asked how it was that the two
young men from Arkansas were not infected. Chester Jr. explained that his father told him they
were “Myunne tewitt” because of his handling the original “tonic” dumped in the fountain.
Chester also revealed what he knew about his father’s and uncle’s disappearance and apparent
demise. By the time Dave dropped off the boys at Union Station, He had a whole new approach
to fighting Elvirus.
“We’ll never get rid of them on our own.” Dave said to the attendees of the EET conference.
“What we need is to find out more about this “tonic” or Elvirus and look for the “Anti-Dope” or
as Rick interpreted that term “Anti-Dote”.
Chester Jr. had mentioned a clue, the dying words of Monk, “Beat it”. Dave knew that one man
could unravel the puzzle. Colonel Parker.
Did the Colonel share that all important secret to ending this Elvi Scourge? Did he share it with
the young exec during that secret meeting in Memphis? There certainly didn’t seem to be any
panic at Graceland. The plan seemed to be following the course set out by Colonel Parker and
perhaps by his Dixie Mafia handlers. First, oppose the Elvi, then when a way to control them was
achieved…embrace them. Let’s examine the record as regards Graceland’s approach to Elvi.
At first, Several Elvi were taken to court and were literally scared out of their jumpsuits. As late
as 2000 an EPE spokesman smugly said,
“We represent the real thing. The impersonator thing for the public and the press…has often
been negative. When you think impersonator, you think of parody. We could never find a
comfort level in embracing it.” Six years later Graceland’s tune had changed, just as planned.
The same spokesman said,
“Over the past year we have had a lot of discussion about the Elvis tribute artist and what to do
about it.” (or how to make money from it!) “We realized it was never going to go away. It has
gotten bigger (no shit genius!) the entertainment has gotten better (really?) So, we thought
maybe if we get involved in some way, maybe we can bring attention to the most talented tribute
artists.” And their answer was …The Ultimate Elvis Artist Tribute Contest.
2005 - Branson, MO….The Elvi who had received two very different letters from Elvis and from
EPE was now working in this tourist mecca nestled in the Ozark Mountains. On this day he was
finalizing plans for a special event at his theatre. He had decided to hold Elvis Tribute Contests
every Saturday night and feature Elvis tribute artists representing various eras of Elvis’ career
including 50’s Elvis, 60’s Movie Elvis and 70’s Concert Elvis. He would act as host and MC as
well as sing a few songs though not be included in the competition. The name he chose in 2005
for the event….Branson’s Ultimate Elvis Contest!
A week after the first contest was held at the theatre in Branson, the phone rang. The voice on
the other end was curt,
“This is Elvis Presley Enterprises and we are demanding you ‘cease and desist’ conducting your
“Ultimate Elvis Contest”.
“Why?” said the Elvi. “I thought you guys gave up fighting the impersonators. In fact, I have a
document stating that you approved a fundraiser concert I performed for an Elvis Fan Club in
Oklahoma!”
“We don’t care about your show.” the voice cut in, “We don’t even care about your contest. We
just don’t want you to use the name “Ultimate Elvis Contest.”
Confused, the Elvis asked, “Why?”
EPE lady explained, “Because we have planned an event called “Ultimate Elvis Artist Tribute
Contest to be held starting next year.”
“What?” Elvi was dumbfounded by the coincidence.
“Now, we would like to offer you a chance to host the local Branson event. Events are going to
be held all over the country and the finals held in Memphis.” The chance of working with EPE
intrigued the Elvi and he jumped at the chance.
“Sure, what do I have to do?” he asked ready to follow whatever guidelines were handed out.
“All you really have to do is send us $5,000 and you can handle it anyway you like” said the
lawyer lady turned salesperson.
“I see,” said Elvi dejected again.
And he did see that it was the money all the time.
“Thanks for calling, goodbye.” He ended the call. And, he used the name “Ultimate” in his
contest events. Still, he understood that EPE had been taught well by the Colonel. Everything
was about the money. It was as if the Colonel was still calling the shots. Didn’t seem possible
because the Colonel had been dead for over 7 years.
The Colonel looked out his window on a crisp morning in late January 1997. It was only crisp
not frigid, because this was Las Vegas. He had left his residence consisting of an entire floor at
the Hilton in favor of this “off the strip” private residence back in 1985. He would be better
protected from intrusions by the press here. The last two decades since Elvis died had been filled
with questions. The Colonel was tired of explaining why he made more money than Elvis during
the last years of Presley’s career. He was tired of explaining why he wouldn’t allow Elvis to
perform abroad. It was none of their business that he was an illegal alien and lacked the
citizenship documents required to reenter the country if he ever left. He didn’t want to discuss
his gambling debts which had reached a peak of $30 million while Elvis was alive. It sickened
him to think that he made over $100 million during his career as Elvis’ manager, but now was
worth a mere $1 million. Now, his only hope was the “plan.” It had been 20 years in the
making, but the Colonel had watched it progress. The Elvi had indeed grown in numbers
surpassing even Doc’s predictions. They were everywhere here in Vegas. Showrooms, lounges,
wedding chapels, casino floors, street corners selling “photos with the ‘King’ even waiting tables
and parking cars. Why the assholes were even dropping from the sky via “Flying Elvi Sky
Divers.” The Colonel had actually made a few bucks on the Nicolas Cage movie.
The Colonel didn’t know it, but at that moment a plane carrying two amateur skydivers was
taking off from a nearby airstrip. The two cops from New York who, back in September of 1977
were critically injured in an accident when their police cruiser had been destroyed in a collision
with a hit and run truck driver, had made a trip to Las Vegas to celebrate the anniversary of when
they narrowly escaped death. Both men had been elevated to the rank of Captain. Captain
Wayne Carmenza and Captain Jimmy Princeton were flying towards the jump zone. They had
both taken up skydiving. And, they had both become Elvis Impersonators. Their contact with
Monk and Rudy had resulted in exposure to Elvirus nearly 20 years ago. On this day in January
of 1997, they were both to be inducted into the Flying Elvi club. Carmenza was a former martial
arts instructor and with his new Elvi persona, he was spinning and kicking all over the plane …
“A hunka hunka burnin love baby…”
“Sit down and quit with the karate kid routine!” barked his instructor. “Jesus, you weirdos are
all alike!”
Princeton on the other hand wasn’t spinning or kicking. He was eating, his favorite pastime. His
last weigh in put him at 335 lbs. His custom made parachute was burlap instead of silk and the
ropes were steel cables instead of nylon cord. Still, he wasn’t afraid. Elvis had been his closest
friend and Princeton knew the King would never let any harm befall his best friend and
confidant. After all, hadn’t Elvis saved him from being killed in the police car all those years
ago? Princeton wiped his chin and downed the last three ham sandwiches as they drew close to
the jump area. Carmenza was standing at the door gyrating…
“Caught in a trap, I can’t jump out…”
“Did you morons check your chutes?” the instructor wanted to know. “I hope you didn’t but I’m
supposed to ask all the same” he added.
Carmenza struck a karate pose, “TCB baby!”
“I guess that’s a yes.” the instructor rolled his eyes. “And how ‘bout you Tiny?”
Princeton was picking breadcrumbs from his mustache. “Huh?” He said finding some ham to go
with the crumbs. “It’s all good!”
The instructor didn’t know if that meant the chute was good or just the ham and mustache
crumbs. But, he really didn’t care. He was going to quit tomorrow. He couldn’t take the Elvi
creeps anymore.
These two actually tipped him already with $100.00 bills that looked like they were 20 years old.
But he didn’t care. He was getting out of the Flying Elvi business. Or, so he thought. Right
now, he yelled for the two Elvi aboard his plane to prepare to jump. Carmenza had turned quite
pale and the only thing whiter than his face were his fingers tightly gripping the safety cable that
ran the length of the plane.
“I’m n-not ready!” he whined.
“Hey I get paid whether you jump or not!” said the instructor reaching in his pocket to make sure
the $100.00 bills were still there. As he did so, he swore he could hear “Hound Dog” playing
somewhere. Probably just on the cockpit stereo.
“How ‘bout you Mr. Sandwich, you backin’ out too?”
“No, I got a guardian angel lookin out for me. He even gave me these special Elvis Sunglasses.
See it says ‘to little Jimmy P from Elvis, dated July 1978’.” The instructor wanted to remind
Jimmy P that Elvis died in 1977 but thought it useless.
“Alright, it’s just you then.” he said. “Take your position by the open door there.” Jimmy P
moved toward the door squeezing by a greenish Carmenza. “Get ready!” yelled the instructor.
Jimmy P started to make the leap but then lunged backwards,
“Wait! He cried, “My Polish Sausage sandwich! I want to eat it on the way down. It’s right
down here under the seat.” As he bent his obese frame to reach the sandwich, his formidable ass
knocked Carmenza out the door.
“Nooooooooo!” Carmenza pulled so hard on the rip cord he yanked the handle off. Reaching for
the emergency cord he found that it was gone and remembered he had snagged it on a hook in
the plane when he was practicing his roundhouse kick. Resigned to his fate, he struck another
karate pose and started to sing “I’m so Hurt”.
He had only reached the second word when he was slammed into by his 335 lb. partner whose
excess weight hurled him downwards at twice the speed of his lighter and now unconscious
partner.
“Sorry, Wayne,” Princeton said between bites of his sausage sandwich. Now Princeton reached
for his ripcord. However, his fingers were so greasy from his airborne lunch, he couldn’t get a
grip on it. As a last resort, he put the sausage in his mouth and tried to use the bun as a dry
surface to grip the cord. He forgot about the mayo. He could only watch the ground rushing
ever closer. Which caused him to chew faster.
The Colonel’s beady eyes darted to the sky to check for falling objects with sideburns. He didn’t
want to be taken out by one of the freaks whose chute failed to open. No free falling Elvi but he
did see a glorious sunrise. He wished he had his camera to take a picture. That might be worth
some money, he thought. Money, the only thing that interested the Colonel. Oh, the things he
had come up with to make money. Painting those sparrows yellow to be sold as canaries was
genius he mused. The dancing chickens idea wasn’t bad either he thought. In his carny days, the
Colonel had come up with the idea of charging carnival goers a fee to see “dancing chickens.”
Of course, the chickens weren’t really dancing. The Colonel had concealed a hot plate beneath
the chickens who now sought relief from the scorching heat on their feet by hopping from one
foot to the other as the song “Turkey in the Straw” blared from a loudspeaker. “Hey, it worked”
he thought. He had also made Elvis dance to his tune. The Colonel’s gambling debts had been
the “hot plate” that had forced Elvis to perform at the Colonel’s pace. Elvis, though obviously
not in good health, was forced to perform two shows a night in Vegas when anyone else of his
stature would only be asked for one show per night. This grueling schedule accumulated almost
900 sold out shows, a record still held by Presley. Still, the gambling debts outpaced the income.
The Colonel wouldn’t have to worry about that now, he thought. Soon the world would be
clamoring for an end to the Elvi plague. The mutant gene Elvirus continued to be dispersed by
the fountain at Graceland and from those tainted $100.00 bills. True the original currency had
mostly been taken out of circulation but not before they had been placed in wallets, purses and
pockets contaminating other more recently printed foreign and domestic money. The prediction
had been made that the exponential growth of the number of Elvi had been calculated with the
determination that at the current rate, “one out of every three people on the globe would be Elvis
Impersonators by the year 2019.” And smiling the Colonel knew that he held the winning ticket
to this lottery. Only he had the “anti-dope” and soon it would be worth millions, millions he
wouldn’t have to share with Monk, Rudy, Doc, Jon Wane or those two bumpkins Chester and
Rusty. “All dead”, he thought. “I’ve outlived them all!”
The sound of the doorbell rang, jerking the Colonel back from his pleasant thoughts. “Bastard
reporters” he cursed and started for the door. He didn’t want the noise to awaken Loann his
former secretary since 1972 and now wife for the past seven years. He threw open the door
ready to blast obscenities at the intruding reporter and almost choked on his cigar.
“Hey C-c-colonel!” Before him stood two skeletons trying to pass for men. Their combined
weight would scarcely equal half his own girth. Trying to speak, the Colonel choked out
“Chester? Rusty? I thought, I mean I heard you were dead!” Chester grinned, his yellow teeth
showing. He held up a mutilated hand and said,
“No suh, rats chewed off a couple fangers, they did. Got Rusty’s ears too but we’re awright, we
are.” The Colonel staring at the men suddenly pulled them inside. He didn’t want anyone to see
the conspirators at his door. Feigning relief he drawled,
“Ah’m so glad y’all are alive. Ah couldn’t bear the thought a what ya might have suffahed when
Doc, ah…disposed of y’all.
“Yessir, we wuz shure sooprized, we wuz!” Chester already looking around for any other
residents of the house. “The Doc wuz always sayin it wuz you we had to watch out for, turns out
it wuz him alla time!” Rusty nodded in mute agreement, the tops of his ears horribly scarred.
The Colonel shook his head in mock disgust, “Ah nevva liked Doc, he was a bad, bad man.” and
added, “Not a vera good doctor either!” He slapped Chester on the back to punctuate his feeble
joke and felt the protruding shoulder blade. “Uh, you boys want sumthin’ ta eat?” he offered the
starved looking pair.
Chester ignoring the question asked, “you live heer al’ by yerself?”
The Colonel swallowed and said, “no I uh… I mean yes, all by my lonesome!” his lie fell flat.
Rusty was slowly circling the room looking in each doorway. Returning to the Colonel’s offer
of food, Chester said,
“No Thankya, Colonel we jes com for ar pay.” The Colonel’s eyes widened,
“Money? Boys now ah don’t have your money. Doc got all the money!” Chester moved in
closer, looked down at the floor then raised his eyes to meet the Colonel’s.
“Well sir, the thang is we didn’t git payed, we didn’t. We jes want ar fair share, thassall.”
“Boys!” said the Colonel backing away until he bumped into Rusty who had moved behind him.
In his hand Rusty held a syringe.
“Boys, I don’t have any money! Elvis is gone, I’m broke.”
“Well now Colonel,” said Chester, “that jes ain’t true, it ain’t. You still git the money from all
that there soovinyear stuff they sell don’cha? The Colonel now flustered,
“Well…er .yes of course, some of it but that all goes to the casino, I owe a lot of money to some
very bad folks, you know what ah’m sayin?” Chester held up his half eaten hand,
“Nossir, the thang is we don’t want jes money. We want that there “anti-dope, we do!”
“Anti-dope? You meant the anti-dote?” the colonel replied, wondering how these two yokels
knew anything about the valuable secret.
“Yessir, that there anti-sumthin’ we know it’s worth a lot a money and we want it, we do.”
Chester now demanded. Chester had an idea of what the secret was, but, he wanted to hear it
from the Colonel. Besides, he hadn’t shared his suspicions with Rusty yet.
“Well sure, fellas, ah was always going to share it with you. Now that you’re alive again!”
“We’ve been trying to catch up with you for 20 years.” said Chester, “And we ain’t a leavin
without that there anti-stuff.” The Colonel held up his own chubby hands in defense,
“Boys! It ain’t like that! The anti-dote isn’t stuff, it’s- well it’s- oh hell,” he stammered, “it’s
information!”
“What d’ya mean informayshun?” asked Rusty, breaking his decades long silence.
The Colonel doubly shocked at the sound of Rusty’s voice.
“If I tell you will you please put down that syringe?”
“All depends, Colonel” Rusty spoke again with a voice identical to Chester’s. “I took this here
sringe deal from Doc’s bag fore he double-crossed us. I had somebody read the drections and it
sez ‘faytall inter-akshun with hart medicayshun’ now yew take that there hart medicayshun
doncha Colonel?” The Colonel instinctively grabbed his chest,
“Y-y-yes ah do!”
The Colonel looked to Chester pleadingly, but Chester only shrugged his shoulders and turned
his fingerless palms upwards. Apparently, only one of the brothers could speak at a time. Rusty
spoke yet again exercising his ownership of the brothers shared ability,
“Then yew better be tellin the truth bout that there anti-dope informayshun! The Colonel shook
his head up and down vigorously,
“Of course boys, of course. Anything, just put that syringe away.” He had seen Doc use a
syringe on Elvis, pumping him full of drugs so that he could perform and help pay off gambling
debts, the Colonel’s ‘hotplate’. “I’ll tell you the whole thing, and people will pay millions for
this, millions!”
“So tell us,” Chester now reclaimed the ability to speak from his brother, “b’fore Rusty gets riled
up an sends you to never land.”
“That’s it!” Blurted the Colonel, “Never Land!” Then leaned in to whisper the rest of the
secret.
Chester and Rusty looked at each other then back at the Colonel,
“Thassall theriz tuitt?” Asked Rusty, speech now his domain. The Colonel nodding his head
again, relieved they had come to an agreement,
“That’s all there is to it,” he repeated feeling the tension ebb from his obese frame. “Now we
can start where we left off 20 years ago…..Partners! Whatdya say boys, we have ourselves a
deal?”
“Not zakly,” said Chester now reclaiming the vocal rights. He nodded to Rusty who plunged the
needle of the syringe deep into the Colonels fat sweaty neck. The Colonel collapsed crashing
into a dinner tray with plates on it from the night before. The clattering was followed by a
woman’s voice,
“Tom! Are you all right dear?” Obviously the Colonel had been lying about a co-resident, his
wife no doubt.
Chester and Rusty, armed with their very valuable “informayshun” hastily made their exit from
the Colonel’s home. The two scarecrows darted out the back door and started across the desert
landscape. When they felt a safe distance from the house, they high fived each other. In
Chester’s case, it was more of a high 2 ½. Finally, after twenty years of searching, planning,
hitchhiking that started with crawling out of the rat infested garbage heap in which they had been
unceremoniously dumped, they had finally reached their goal of vengeance and the confirmation
of Chester’s suspicions of the “anti-dope.” They were both going to be rich now. Chester was
going to find a plastic surgeon to replace his fingers and Rusty’s ears. Then,
“We’re gonna have us some fun, we are!” The words had barely escaped his thin lips when a
300 pound Flying Elvis crushed them both as he fell to the earth due to a faulty parachute. Now
the secret, had apparently been ground into the sand along with the flattened twins. The “antidope” was gone forever, or was it?
The Coroner’s report stated that the Colonel’s death was a result of a stroke. Because of the fat
rolls on his neck the tiny puncture from the syringe went unnoticed. There was also a report on
the Flying Elvi who also died that day. One retired Memphis Police Captain Wayne Carmenza
had crashed through the roof of a martial arts school, killing himself and destroying a perfectly
good floor mat. The second Flying Elvi to perish was retired Memphis Police Captain Jimmy
Princeton. The autopsy for Captain Princeton revealed something odd. Apparently, Princeton
had compressed skeletal remains of one adult male. The impact had in fact fused the other victim
to the primary victim and thus had to be surgically separated. Examination of the secondary
victim revealed a flattened corpse suffering from acute malnutrition. Initially the remains were
mistakenly identified as a tumor on his buttocks that tested positive for high levels of alcohol and
nicotine.
“Anti-dope this!” the Graceland exec smiled as he listened to the recording. He had placed a
small wireless microphone under Chester’s hatband before dispatching the twins for their
mission. “I can’t believe the Colonel spilled his guts so easily.” he remarked to the once
attractive now surgically disfigured woman seated across the desk from him.
“He was 88 years old, not much else he could do.” She said almost remorsefully. She never
liked the Colonel, but he had served his purpose. Now the secret was theirs. Back at Graceland
where it had all begun.
She winced from the pain of a recent surgical procedure on her cheek. Everyone thought the
plastic surgery she had done on her face was because of vanity. After Elvis died, the mutant
gene Elvirus became aggressive. Anyone who came in contact with it after August 16, 1977 was
susceptible to all its Elvi related side effects, male or female. The surgery was the last step after
radiation treatment was used when the gene was first detected. She looked in the mirror one
morning and noticed a slight curl to her lip that wasn’t there previously. She had regular wax
treatments at the spa but a faint sideburn was visible on that morning. She was rushed to see Doc
who confirmed the Elvirus diagnosis. The secret “anti-dote” was applied but with limited results
because of her extended contact with a hybrid version of Elvirus. The radiation and the surgery
had stopped but not reversed the effects of Elvirus.
“You o.k.?” asked the exec. “You really have to hear this. This is great stuff! I got the whole
thing from when he first opened the door and let them in. Funny thing though, after they got rid
of him and left the house the signal went dead.”
“Dead?” the woman asked.
“Yeah, Chester was laughing, you know that stupid wheezing laugh? Anyway, he was talking
about plastic surgery- oh sorry- I uh…”
“Get on with it!” she snapped feeling her lip tug at her cheek again.
“O.K. anyway all of a sudden I heard like a loud fart or that sound when you squeeze the last of
the mustard out of the container and then…nothing!”
“Have you heard from them?” she asked. Her eyebrows would have raised but they were almost
at her hairline already thanks to the ambitious surgeon who just couldn’t stop himself.
“No not a word. Wouldn’t expect anything from Rusty, kinda creepy you know? But, nothing
from Chester either.”
“Good thing you got the recording. Now destroy it.” She ordered.
“But, this is classic! You should hear where they…”
“I SAID GET RID OF IT!” She snapped, then calmed herself and added, “We’ve got the “antidote” secret and that’s all that counts. She stood to leave and paused at the door. She suddenly
thought of something and turned her head quickly towards the exec. She had forgotten her
condition momentarily and when her head turned quickly the torque on her super stretched skin
caused her left eye to droop about 4 inches below the right and the exec nearly jumped out of his
chair at the sight.
“You didn’t tell anyone else about what’s on that tape did you?”
“No ma’am,” said the exec sitting up straight at his desk, “not a soul.”
“Good,” she said turning back towards the door. As she did, her eyes became level again.
“Damn that Elvirus shit!” she cursed and walked out. In one hand she held a wedding photo of
another famous Graceland resident’s recent wedding in 1996 to a very famous performer and
celebrity. In her other, she held a CD of the same performer who was now the famous resident’s
ex-husband. She thought to herself, “Well, we knew you’d come in handy someday but I didn’t
see this coming!”
Chapter 8 - Passing The Torch, Again
Since his death in 1977, Elvis has consistently been on the list for highest earning dead people. It
hasn’t been by accident. After ousting Col. Parker from any official capacity due to his mismanagement, EPE (Elvis Presley Enterprises) has gone through several changes in ownership,
management and attitudes toward Elvi. Jack Soden, who first advised Priscilla to open
Graceland to the public, was at the helm when Graceland was officially opened to the public in
1982. Graceland went from the brink of bankruptcy to expansion in short order. Without the
Colonel siphoning off millions in his outrageous 50% cut, there was black ink on the books. A
Judge ordered Graceland to sue the Colonel for mis-management. The Colonel filed a counter
suit claiming his rights as Elvis’ “long suffering” manager. The courts were kept busy when
EPE lawyers went to work suing everyone using Elvis’ image, likeness etc. without being
licensed by Graceland. At first, this included Elvi and their acts. That changed (remember the
“plan”?) gradually until Elvi were welcomed with open arms as long as they paid the fees. The
exponential growth of the Elvi population added to Graceland’s coffers as they began sponsoring
their Ultimate Elvis Contests across the country and later internationally. Amazing, Elvis
Impersonators performing where Elvis never could, Europe, Asia, Australia even Africa and
India! Other than fodder for comedy routines, the growing numbers of Elvi were unnoticed by
most. No one saw the imminent threat as Elvirus spread around the world. Perfectly normal
people were about to have their lives ruined be Elvirus.
Rich Wenzo was a sports nut and his family owned a liquor store in Wisconsin. His brother was
an accomplished musician who worked with many of the greats of rock n roll. Rich stuck closer
to home and besides working with the family business, he was part of a local polka band. The
band was called the Happy Schnockered Combo. As the drummer, Rich was the guy who kept
the beat on all their polka standards as well as many original polka tunes. They gained national
attention for a brief time with a song called “The Packers Bite the Big One Polka.” Everything
was looking up for the group. One evening, a patron was so impressed with the group’s
performance, Rich’s drum playing in particular, that he gave Rich a $100.00 bill as a tip. Rich
looked the bill over just to make sure it was real as it did look at least 25 years old. Satisfied, he
put it in his pocket and finished the night. At the next band rehearsal, it was Rich who brought
the lyrics to a song he had written and wanted the band to include it on the next album.
The song was called, “I Saw Elvis.” The band, seeing a drastic change in Rich’s appearance tried
an Elvi intervention but it didn’t work. Instead of staying behind the drums for the bands next
few performances, Rich came out front where everyone could see his new Elvis Jumpsuit and
hairstyle. His natural gray hair was sprayed black and he replaced the lyrics of songs like Beer
Barrel Polka with “A hunka hunka Polka.” The band tried everything to purge the Elvirus from
his system including forcing him to drink 20 shots of schnapps before each show. The treatment
lasted for only a few songs before the “King” returned to wreak Elvi Hell on the unsuspecting
Polka lovers. When Rich was found stuffed inside his bass drum with an Elvis CD embedded in
his neck, the band threw a party at Rich’s bar “Wenzo’s Really Perfect World.” They were too
drunk to notice Rich had wriggled out of the bass drum, removed the embedded Elvis CD and
placed it in a boom box. He was last seen walking down Calumet Ave with the boom box on his
shoulder singing Elvis’ “Any Way You Want Me.”
Plastic surgeons saw a sharp rise in requests for facial alterations. These weren’t the usual
facelifts or botox treatments. These were specific requests by newly infected Elvirus victims to
have their faces altered so as to resemble that of Elvis. Elvi undergoing these procedures
included Dennis from Detroit, Kjiell from Norway, Trent from Chicago, Tony from Las Vegas
and scores of other Elvi ready to join the ranks. Some even changed their names to, yes, Elvis
Aron Presley (one “a” was preferred). Some tore down their ranch homes and built miniGracelands complete with replicas of the famous Graceland Gates. In Branson, MO, an Elvi
along with his sister, purchased a property with two adjacent homes. The Elvi had a brother in
law who took up residence in one of the homes along with the Elvi’s sister. He was a multi,
multi-millionaire (his own estimate of wealth) engaged in a wildly successful international
import business. Within 6 weeks of taking up residence in such close proximity to the Elvi, the
brother in law spent several thousand dollars installing exact replicas of the Graceland Gates on
the property. Elvirus had claimed another victim. On his next business trip to Taiwan, the
brother in law cancelled all appointments with clients and was last seen in the local karaoke bars
singing Elvis songs to the Taiwanese customers.
Ralph Garristein was a hugely successful retail furniture mogul in the Chicago area. He ran a
chain of very high profile retail outlets. He also was a tour d’ force in the festival business. He
was also as the French say a “tour d’ force” in the area of drinking. He was unmatched in his
ability to consume scotch and smoke cigarettes. In 1982, all that changed, for the worse. On a
summer day of that year, he interviewed a prospective employee for a sales position. The
applicant was an Elvis Impersonator, although that fact was not revealed initially.
As Elvirus invisibly filled the office, Ralph had no idea of what his exposure to the insidious
gene would mean for his future. Not long after that, Garristein closed all but two retail outlets
and created a music festival event in Milwaukee. All for the purpose of giving his new Elvi
employee a stage to work his Elvi mischief. As 10,000 people watched the concert, Ralph
Garristein snuck into the Elvi’s dressing room, donned one of his Elvis Jumpsuits and entered the
stage right in the middle of “Hound Dog”. It was sheer mayhem as he commandeered the stage.
He grabbed the microphone from one of the female back-up singers and proceeded to render a
version of the famous song that seemed to come from the bowels of Hell. Concert goers in the
first few rows were the first to be effected by the shockwave of off pitch bellows. Witnesses said
their ears started to bleed and many went into convulsions. The original Elvi was ushered off the
stage and whisked away in a limo for his own safety. The band also fled leaving Garristein alone
on stage to face the wrath of the former audience now turned angry mob. They descended on
him and when the pummeling stopped, his attackers held shreds of the jumpsuit including
remnants of the Elvis belt buckle and one tasseled loafer. But, no Ralph. He was never seen in
the retail circuit again. However, he spent his life savings putting on spectacles like the one
described above all over the country and then, the world. He took his audio assaults and
rhythmically void gyrations to far off places like London, Paris, Rome, Egypt, China, Russia and
more until the entire globe had been exposed to this carrier of Elvirus. Although he had quit
drinking, his vocal terrorism had driven countless hordes to the bottle. In fact, Alcoholics
Anonymous sends him cases of whiskey each year in hopes of stemming the tide of horror
spread by Ralph “Elvis” Garristein. The impact of Garristein’s traveling Elvi shows was
instrumental in changing domestic and international traffic laws. No longer was it illegal to
cause bodily injury or even death to pedestrians while driving, providing the pedestrian in
question was an Elvi. Running over an Elvi was reduced to a mis-demeanor in most states and in
New York, a driver could earn credits against speeding tickets by maiming or killing an Elvi
with a motor vehicle.
This made life difficult for Antonio Robertolini, a former member of the Gambino Family now
in the Witness Protection Program living in upstate New York. Antonio (Tony) was formerly a
“negotiator” for the Gambino Family. His preferred negotiating tool was a baseball bat. Since
entering the WPP, he took a job at a local school district as a crossing guard. On a vacation to
Branson, MO, the Robertolini’s attended an Elvi show. Afterwards, they invited the Elvi to
dinner. Tony picked up the tab but the Elvi insisted on paying the tip. However, the Elvi only
had a $100.00 bill in his wallet. He asked if Tony could make change. The result was that Tony
made change for the Elvi and placed the rather worn looking $100.00 bill in his wallet. The next
day, the Robertolini’s returned to New York with memories of a nice vacation plus a $100.00 bill
tainted with Elvirus. Within a week of their return, Tony was frightening children of all grade
levels as they tried to cross the street as he performed Elvis’ song: “Stop, Look and Listen.
Things were going to get a lot scarier. The “open season” on Elvi traffic laws were passed in
New York before the school year started. Now, Tony’s Crossing Guard job became a bit more
than he bargained for. Drivers approaching the intersection at Tony’s location first slowed down
when they saw his bright orange safety vest and the children negotiating the crosswalk. Then, as
the former mobster was “made” as an Elvi, motorists would accelerate, aim for Tony and if
possible avoid taking out any collateral student damage. This deadly ballet went on for about
two weeks before two cars approaching from opposite directions sandwiched the crossing guard
crooner right in the middle of: “....I’m a Steamroller Baby, bout to roll all over you!” Elvirus
had the right of way. There were more heartbreaks ahead for anyone befriending an Elvi.
Harry Hendrix sat in the sauna on a Wednesday night in January 1987. He sat there in the sauna
every Wednesday and Saturday night. It was tradition. Sweat poured off him and he took a swig
of ice cold Busch Beer to maintain the fragile balance between baking to death and the cooling
effect of the beer. True, enough beer could take one’s mind off the baking to death, but it would
take a brewery full of the amber liquid to make him forget what was troubling him tonight. His
best friend, Dale was going through some kind of trauma. Dale had been Harry’s friend since
they were teenagers, cruising up and down the main drag of their hometown of Waukegan, IL in
muscle cars. To be clear, Harold had a muscle car in the form of a 1967 Chevelle Super Sport
with a 375 hp 396 cu. in. engine. Dale drove a 1960 Black Chrysler Imperial approximately 1 ½
blocks long not including the tailfins. The two friends were the epitome of the 1960’s Surfer vs
Greaser looks, Harry being the Surfer and Dale the Greaser. It seemed not to affect their
friendship as both had grown up together, racing cars, meeting girls, pretending to be rock stars
and drinking beer. The years had passed quickly and for Harry, of those adolescent behaviors,
only the drinking beer had survived. He had married, had children and had become more prone
to baby his classic Chevelle than race it. For Dale the racing and meeting girls had come to an
end as well as he also had married and started a family like his friend. He still drank beer but
what worried his friend Harry the most was Dale still pretended to be a Rock Star. Even more
fretful to Harry was the fact that his friend Dale had become an Elvis Impersonator, a loathsome
Elvi. Harry had gone to great measures to deter his childhood chum from this unfortunate
ending. He had chided, cajoled, teased, ridiculed, arm-twisted and even punched Dale in an
effort to save him from such an outcome. Harry had even strapped Dale to a board and drug him
face down over a bumpy, ice covered field in an effort to bring him to his senses. But when Dale
regained consciousness, he started with his dreaded “hubba hubba” singing. With his hips
gyrating and lip curled he would simply say, “TCB Baby!”
Harry knew drastic measures were needed if there were to be any chance of saving his friend.
Harry had witnessed the Elvi transformation begin when Dale returned from a trip to Elvis’
Graceland. He had been totally transformed into an Elvi and kept talking about how beautiful
the fountain was at Graceland. Harry sat in the sauna still torn over whether to take this last
potentially fatal step in trying to rescue his friend from the effects of Elvirus.
The idea had come to him when his two cousins from Germany had visited and, while in the
sauna, had commented on the drinking of beer in the superheated room.
“You drink bier in das sowna?” Kurt had asked.
“Sure,” said Harry, “why not?”
“Vell,” said Kurt, In Chermany, ve dan’t drink bier in das sowna, but ve doo sahmthing you
dan’t doo.” Harry curious now asked,
“What’s that?” Kurt smiled his Aryan grin, squared his shoulders and said proudly,
“Ve trow vodka, not vasser on ze rocks!” Harry laughed and said
“You’re shittin’ me.” Kurt looked hurt and said,
“My dear Harolt, I vood nevva shit on yoo!”
“NO, not shit ON me Kurt!” Harry laughed, beer spraying from his lips.
“Never mind.” He knew it was useless to explain the subtlety of the slang. Then Harry said,
“Did you tell Dale about this? Kurt nodded,
“Ya, ve even tried it and he luffed it!” “Harry nodded slowly and knew he had found a solution
for his friend. If it didn’t kill him.
Harry now looked at the bottle of liquid he had purchased at the liquor store. He knew Dale
would be there any minute so he had to act fast. He held up the bottle of the very flammable
Grain Alcohol and poured it into the empty bottle labeled “Smirnoff Vodka”. Harry knew Dale
was nearly blind so he would never detect the switch. Just then he heard Elvis music blaring
from Dale’s car stereo. Harry placed the bottle of Grain Alcohol on the bench and went out to
greet his buddy.
“Hey High Speed” he said cheerfully, “Go on in, I have to make a phone call. I’ll be right there.
By the way, Kurt left some vodka in the sauna for you.
“Great!” said Dale. “Hunka hunka burnin’ love, baby!” Harry shook his head and thought “you
have no idea!” Harry felt a twinge of guilt for what was about to happen but “hell, it’s for his
own good! That Elvis stuff is getting out of hand,” he thought. Harry watched from the kitchen
window of the house as Dale walked into the sauna singing
“Lawd Almighty, I feel my temperature risin....” Harry shook his head. Maybe he had waited
too long. He started back toward the sauna and was still twenty feet away when the door blew
off and flew about 15 feet in the air before landing in the swimming pool.
“Damn!” shouted Harry, “How much of that stuff did you pour on the rocks?” The ultraflammable grain alcohol had found its way to the open flame below the rocks and had exploded.
Flames now framed the doorway as Harry rushed in and pulled his friend to safety. “Dale! Are
you alright? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it. I was just trying....” Dale didn’t miss a beat,
“Higher and higher, it’s burning through to ma soul.....” Harry, disgusted, threw Dale into the
pool with the still smoldering door and walked away.
“I give up!” He said. “I guess I just have to accept it, you’re a dumbass Elvi for life!”
At 92, Werner Heffen was the world’s oldest Elvi. His transformation had started shortly after
his 90th birthday.
“I was born on Christmas Day, 1922!” he had told the bartender at the local watering hole in
Mantiowoc, WI. “And in October this year, my wife and I will celebrate our 70th anniversary!”
The bartender, Ashley nodded, he had told her the same story the last time he was there, which
was last Friday evening. Repeating more information from last Friday, “This is my son-in law.
He has his own tavern in Branson.”
“Theatre!” the son-in -law interjected “It’s a Theatre.”
“Yes, theatre”, continued Werner, “he’s an Elvis, uh...Imposter.”
“Impersonator! I’m an Elvis Impersonator!” said the son-in-law proudly.
“Yes, but he also does uh, Mickey Mantle.” Added Werner.
“Mark Twain!” said the Elvi son-in-law. “I perform as Mark Twain sometimes too.” The Elvi
had taken on the Mark Twain role recently as a camouflage when news of Elvi exterminators had
been reported. This plague had caused several local militia groups to mobilize in Branson when
a group of 12 Elvi commandeered a tour bus filled with senior citizens and caused the driver to
panic. The screaming passengers pleaded for a cessation of the uninvited Elvi serenade which
had caused some of their hearing aids to explode. The driver fearing for his own potential ear
hemorrhage had lost control of the bus sending it careening down a mountain road and plunging
headlong off the bridge at Table Rock Dam. The Elvi survived using the senior passenger’s
oxygen tanks as floatation devices. The 44 seniors perished, many with smiles on their faces as
their Elvi torment was finally over. Because of the cry for the extermination of Elvi in Branson,
the son-in-law Elvi had fled to the home of his wife’s parents in Manitowoc, WI. The wife had
previously left Branson when rumors of the Elvi cleansing had made the papers.
“Hey, how about we have one more and then go?” asked Werner. It was more of an
announcement than a question. He had made the same announcement 5 times in the last hour of
the visit to the bar. The Elvi nodded his approval. It was better to be here trying to keep up with
Heffen than to be hanging upside down over a vat of tar and feathers in the Ozarks. Besides, it
was entertaining to hear all of the old World War II Vet’s stories. Werner Heffen was of
German descent but not proud of it. One of his favorite jokes was “when I tell people I served in
the Army during the war, they say ‘which one, ours or theirs’?” But, he did serve in the US
Army during the war. First, at Fort Carson outside Denver then, ultimately in the Battle of the
Bulge. Always, modest about the Purple Heart he received, “I didn’t volunteer, I was drafted”
was his explanation.
“Did I ever tell you about that goddam Joe Quayles.” he began. “He was a good lookin guy, but
he swore like a sailor! He married a Fitzsimmons girl. She’s dead now. They had a nice house
over on 16th St., maybe it was 14th St. anyway, they had a son. He’s was kind of slow. But, Joe,
ha! He always said, ‘I can’t find any good doctors up here in Manitowoc.’ So, he would drive all
the way to Milwaukee for a good doctor. He’s dead now, dead a long time now. Anyway, he
bought a T.V. from Greenwood’s. You know Sonny worked there, that was before he married
Dar. She still smokes you know! That’s alright. I smoked too. Used to smoke those Salems.
But I quit. Those goddam things went up to 35 cents a pack! But that goddam Joe Quayles! He
called me up one night and was complaining about the new T.V. set he bought. He bought it
from Greenwood’s you know. Yeah, that’s where Sonny worked. Sonny gave me these boots.
These are pretty goddam good boots. Nice and warm. I froze my feet you know over there in
the Belgian Bulge. It was colder than a beast! Yeah, Joe Quayles. He says “I can’t turn the
sonofabitch off!’ He was talking about the T.V. You know, the one he bought from
Greenwood’s. Sonny worked there you know. We should get another beer. But Joe! He says ‘I
can’t turn the sonofabitch off!’ So, I told him, ‘why don’t you just unplug it?’ He’s dead now.
But I used to tend bar you know, over at Westfield’s bar.
Yes, the old man had character, in fact he was a character. Heffen could outlast anybody at the
bar including the Elvi who was hoping this would be the “one for the road” as promised. The
Elvi thrust a $100.00 bill into the old man’s hand and announced,
“And I’m buying this round!”
“You’re flying in town??” Werner asked, His hearing aids weren’t working very well.
“No! I am buying this round!” said the Elvis a little louder.
“O.K.” chuckled Heffen, “Then let’s make it two!” They both laughed although the Elvi
silently groaned. “Hey, where did you get this $100.00 bill? It looks like it’s about 30 years old,
are you sure it’s good?” asked Heffen.
“Sure it’s good,” replied the Elvi, “I picked it up in Memphis last year, at Graceland!”
“You had meningitis at the Raceland??” Werner still wasn’t hearing well.
“NO! Shouted the Elvi, “I got it in Memphis, TN at Elvis’ Home at Graceland.”
“O.K.” squinted Werner as he rubbed his fingers across the wrinkled bill. “We should probably
save it then!” He put the Elvirus tainted currency in his pocket and withdrew a new “Benjamin”
from his wallet. “Here, I’ll trade ya.”
A month later, Werner “Elvis” Heffen was performing “G.I. Blues” at his first Elvi show. The
show was being performed at River’s Bend Senior Home and Werner was a big hit. He was
dressed in one of his son-in-law’s Elvis suits except he had cut the sleeves off at the shoulder, the
style he preferred. He jumped off the stage while singing, “The Fräulein’s are pretty as flowers,
but we can’t make a pass...” He grabbed his wife and started swinging her to the music around
and around. “The Fräulein’s are pretty as flowers, but we can’t make a pass...” Out of the corner
of his eye Werner saw a pretty young nurse and the old Werner took over. He “accidentally” lost
his grip on his wife “Ena’s” hands and spun around to grab up the nurse. He didn’t see his wife
go sliding across the floor and end up underneath the cafeteria table cursing him. “Cause they’re
all wearin’ signs saying ‘Keepen zie - off the grass!’” Werner turned around expecting to
receive cheers from his adoring fans, but all he got was a glare from his wife now being helped
to her feet by an orderly. “You damn fool!” she said. In fact, that was the nicest thing she had
said to him that day. Seventy years of wedded bliss, snuffed out by Elvirus!
Weather reports consistently erroneous despite improvements in technology were tracked to a
respected meteorologist recently seen conducting weddings as Elvis in Las Vegas. A spike in the
mortality rates for a heart surgeon in Los Angeles were explained when a security camera caught
him singing “Heartbreak Hotel” to cadavers in the morgue. In the 90’s a famous President
tumbled from his respected position by using his “Elvis” alter ego for after-hours trysts in the
Oval Office. Marv Albert was rumored to have traded his feminine garb and cross-dressing
ways in favor of an Elvis Jumpsuit and the Elvi life. Albert’s exposure to Elvirus was traced to
his contact with Muhammad Ali. Ali of course was given a gift of a boxing robe by Elvis. Ali
and Elvis also posed together for a famous photo of the two “sparring.” Elvis presented
Muhammad Ali, training for his defense against Joe Bugner, with a robe. Ali thanked Elvis and
went directly to the Las Vegas Convention Center to beat Joe Bugner.
He did not wear the robe for the fight, but on March 31, 1974, Ali entered the ring wearing the
new robe before fighting Ken Norton. The television commentator for the fight said: “‘That robe
was given by Elvis Presley at his last fight in Las Vegas. It cost around $3000.00 and it’s Ali’s
pride and joy ‘On the back it says ‘The People’s Choice’ in rhinestones and jewels and he loves
it’. “Ali lost the fight and never again wore the robe considering it bad luck.” Or, did Ali sense
something more than “bad luck” in the robe? In the Ali Elvirus connection, the question is left:
how did Howard Cosell remain unaffected?
To say that Elvirus has permeated the media is a gross understatement. According to the Elvis
Information Network, over 200 television shows from the Twilight Zone to the Simpsons have
featured Elvis themed programs. That number is more than equaled on the big screen. From
Beavis and Butthead and Cheech and Chong to Goodwill Hunting and Forest Gump, over 300
movie references to Elvis can be found. When pop music, cartoons, board games, novels and TV
commercials are added, the result is a presence unmatched by any other individual. Despite all
this, no one is alarmed.... yet!
Chapter 9 - Stop the Presses!
These stories appeared in major newspapers this week:
ELVIS IMPERSONATORS MYSTERIOUSLY REPLACE U.N. DIPLOMATS
In New York City, the UN General Assembly was to be addressed by Prime Minister Benjamin
Netanyahu, but the he was nearly unrecognizable when he approached the podium
His expected speech condemning Palestinian rockets was replaced by his version of Elvis’ “A
Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action.” In his native Jerusalem, he was renamed
“Elvis-Not-yet-you-yahoo”
TOP SECRET MISSILE SILOS NOW GUARDED BY ELVIS IMPERSONATORS
In a remote area of Wyoming, confusion was evident as communication devices used by the
military units in charge of security became jammed with Elvis music. Two missiles were nearly
launched by mistake after a member of the unit mistook the “One for the money, two for the
show” lyrics as a countdown to missile launch sequence.
ALL CONTESTANTS ON AMERICAN IDOL TO BE ELVIS IMPERSONATORS
Idol Judges were stunned when every contestant on the season opener turned out to be Elvi.
Kieth Urban, Jennifer Lopez and Harry Connick Jr. were tortured with 15 excruciating versions
of Elvis Presley’s hits until all three resigned from the show. Ryan Seacrest revealed he had
secretly become an Elvi during season 9.
CONFUSION ON KOREAN DMZ BORDER; AS ELVI PATROL BOTH SIDES
The leader of North Korea, Kim Jong Un refused to come out of hiding after falling victim to
Elvirus. Panic set in on both sides of the 38th parallel when Elvi filled the ranks on the border.
Dennis Rodman fled the country before the scheduled basketball game and public executions.
.
INMATES IN “SUPER-MAX” PRISON -----ELVIS IMPERSONATORS
In recent months the influx of prisoners shipped to the Super-max Prison in Florence, Colorado
have been designated as Elvi. The situation has become so critical that Ted Kaczynsky was
released yesterday because of Elvi overcrowding.
MISS AMERICA PAGEANT RUINED - CONTESTANTS FROM 50 STATES: ELVI!
Donald Trump became an Elvi since his endorsement of Elvi Contests at the 4 Queens in Las
Vegas in 2006. Since his complete transformation he decided to hand pick the contestants from
all 50 states for the Miss America Pageant. The result was all 50 contests were female Elvi!
Said Trump in defending his choices, “Look, it’s better than having Barbara Walters or God
forbid, Rosie O’Donnell up here!” Barbara Walters responded with a tweet: “Elvis Trump? ,
I’m ready to die now.” And Rosie added: &%# #@&% and the horse you rode in on!”
Chapter 10 - The Committee Will Come to Order!
“This sub-committee hearing will come to order.” announced Senator Bates, a Republican from
Colorado. “We are here today to examine ways to limit the spread of a new threat to the health
of American Citizens. The Elvirus epidemic has overtaken almost every nation on earth. We
will examine the record of this administration in its responsibility to protect the American
People. So far, it appears that the President has ignored this threat as he has ignored the threats
of Isis and Ebola until it was too late. We must stop the administration’s policy of trying to stop
these threats after they have taken hold. We must establish programs both here and abroad that
will address these threats before they reach our shores. And we must elect public officials, like
myself who will take positive action to protect the United States of America. It is no coincidence
I believe, that Elvirus has its roots in Africa as did Ebola and, my dear right thinking friends, as
did our foreign born President.! At this time, I would like to start questioning our first witness,
Dr. Tom Frieden, Director of the Center for Disease Control. Thank you Dr. Frieden, for making
yourself available to this hearing. We’re all aware you are very busy, although we are also
aware you have made no progress in battling yet another infectious disease ignored by your boss
the President, an office I will be seeking at the next election.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dr. Frieden, “Was that a question?”
“Yes sir, and I expect an answer!” demanded Bates, pointing at Frieden for emphasis.
“Well Senator,” struggled Frieden, “I’m afraid I don’t understand your...”
“Ah ha!” bellowed the red faced Senator Bates, “There you have it. Another mis-step by the
President and his team of bumblers. Let me tell you something Dr. Freeman-- “
“Uh that’s Frieden” Director corrected.
“Whatever!” scoffed Bates, “Please don’t interrupt. The American People are tired of being
deceived. The American People are fed up with seeing their tax dollars spent on programs like
the CDC when they obviously don’t work. The American People want action. The American
People want fresh leadership. The American People want someone like me to be President and
take our country back!”
“Well, sir,” began Frieden, trying to get back on track, “I’m here to explain our strategy for
dealing with... ”
“You’ll get your chance Freeman!” roared Bates. “Right now, the American People want action.
Why haven’t you quarantined the 100,000 carriers of Elvirus? The American People want to
know why we haven’t banned the playing of Elvis music on the airwaves. The American People
want to know why we haven’t encircled Memphis with Federal Troops! The American People
want answers!”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you Senator,” interrupted Frieden, “The answer is...”
“Time’s up, Dr.” announced Senator Bates, “I think we’ve heard enough. This hearing is
adjourned. Would the attendants please pass out my latest election materials?”
Chapter 11 - A meeting of the minds
“It’s time.” Said Louis, the Graceland exec who had been in on the plan from its beginning. The
woman who once ran Graceland looked up from the latest reports on the Elvi situation nodded,
“Good,” said the woman, “We need a diversion from this Channel 5 Report. I never thought I
would hear the words “Elvis Presley” and child pornography in the same sentence.”
She was referring to the following Channel 5 News Report as reported by Anna Marie Hartman:
“A Mid-South attorney who pled guilty to child pornography charges was sentenced Friday.
Drayton Beecher Smith, once the attorney for the Elvis Presley estate, now knows his fate.
Smith was once a well-respected local attorney. After pleading guilty to child pornography
charges, Smith lost his license to practice law and a federal judge sentenced him to five years
behind bars.
Thirty years ago, Beecher Smith was Elvis Presley's attorney. He's been a well-respected lawyer
ever since.
"Beecher has been a preeminent probate attorney. He has been a writer, he's been very active in
civic matters around the community and he's just a well-respected gentleman," says Beecher's
attorney, Mark McDaniel.
In June, Smith pleaded guilty to possessing child pornography he viewed on the Internet.
The victims were multiple minors under the age of 12.
Friday morning, Smith was sentenced to five years in federal prison, and 10 years supervised
release, the minimum mandatory sentence under federal guidelines.
"I think he's a good person. I think he's made some very bad decisions and he had a lot of
tragedy in his life that led him down that particular path," adds McDaniel.
That tragedy includes the conviction of Smith's identical twin who is serving time in California
for molesting a child.
Smith says he was researching his brother’s criminal case online when he was lured to
pornographic websites. Smith told the judge he was truly sorry.
The judge waived the $500,000 fine associated with those charges. When Smith is released from
jail he will have to register as a sex offender.
The prison board will notify Smith where and when to report.
The judge agreed to let him voluntarily surrender himself when it’s time to start serving his
sentence. That's expected in the next four to six weeks.”
“We need to get people focused on the Elvi problem and not this scandal” continued the
Graceland Matriarch.
“Well,” said Louis “We still dominate the headlines with Elvi overrunning the world. It’s much
bigger than this local story about two child molesters who just happened to have worked for
Graceland.”
“I think you’re right. Does anyone else know about the anti-dote plan yet?” asked the woman.
Louis shook his head,
“No, even the other Graceland board members don’t have a clue. They’re still pissed about
working with the Elvi in the contest thing. They tried to vote me out!” Louis laughed, “I found
out who was going to vote with them. I took them for a walk, you know down by the fountain
and presto! They showed up at the board meeting in their jumpsuits and the vote went my way!”
The woman tried to furrow her brow, unsuccessfully, remnants of the latest anti-Elvirus
treatment. Her extensive contact with Elvis had resulted in an adverse reaction to the application
of the “anti-dote” leaving her with only the surgical treatments which left her face disfigured as
if from a face lift gone awry...
“How about the Elvi? Do any of them suspect anything?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? Those morons? Louis laughed and then struck the Elvi pose in mockery,
“They are so psyched to ‘be a part of Graceland’, they wouldn’t believe it if you told them we
were about to wipe them all from the face of the earth.”
“Good,” said the woman attempting to smile, an attempt hindered by her facial alteration. “I
wouldn’t want any last minute hitches.”
“We do have a situation, but I don’t think it will amount to much.” Louis disclosed. “There was
a group of older Elvi who were knocking off the new guys, but they only killed a couple
thousand of them.”
“I’m trying to feel bad about that.” she replied, “but I can’t. Does it affect our plan?”
“I don’t believe it will.” assured Louis, “At that rate, it would take about 50 years to reach their
goal of eliminating Elvi faster than Elvirus can produce them.” That was an understatement.
Chapter 12 - They’re Baaaack!
Dave-Elvis, one of the founders of EET was on stage at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in South
Dakota. In the audience, were bikers of all shapes and sizes sporting tattoos of every size and
shape. The smell of leather and motorcycle exhaust filled the air. Dave was performing a
special version of his Elvis show tailored to the music tastes of the Biker crowd. This wasn’t the
place for Love Me Tender or Are You Lonesome Tonight. This crowd wanted Burning Love
and Polk Salad Annie. The volume had been cranked up so that the music could be heard over
the sound of the countless motorcycles cruising up and down the street. Dave was enjoying his
break from the EET duties that had drained him of the joy he once found in performing Elvis’
music. This, he thought was much better.
During the intermission Dave was trying to sort out the Elvirus problem. He was mentally
reviewing the progress he and his fellow EET team members had made in tracking down the
“anti-dote” to Elvirus. But the sketchy details provided by Chester Jr. weren’t much help. A
week before, Rick and Dave, the founders of EET, had visited Graceland trying to find out more
about the plotters of the Elvirus scheme and about the so-called “anti-dote”. Nothing turned up
at Graceland as E.P.E. had expanded their holdings by purchasing much of the surrounding real
estate and in so doing expanded their electronic monitoring capacity. No matter where they went
on Graceland’s property, their conversations were being monitored. Each time Dave or Rick
would ask someone questions about Elvirus or the “anti-dote”, they were escorted from the
property. Dave suggested a different location for their info gathering.
Beale Street was a magnet for tourists in Memphis. Many Elvis fans visited this Blues mecca in
conjunction with their visit to Graceland. E.P.E had even opened an Elvis themed restaurant on
Beale Street, “Elvis Presley’s Memphis”. Dave and Rick now cruised Beale Street looking for
someone, anyone with knowledge of Elvirus or the “anti-dote.” E.P.E. had a presence here but
no electronic monitoring capability. Dave and Rick were free to ask questions without fear of
being ejected from this part of Memphis.
Sadly, as a result of the spread of Elvirus the traditional black blues groups performing classic
blues music, had been replaced by Elvi with their abominable wailing. The two EET founders
shook their heads in dismay when they entered B.B. King’s place and found the stage to be
occupied by the dreaded Elvi scourge. An old black man sitting at a corner table was sipping
whiskey from a water glass and tuning his guitar. But, even through the smoke, Dave could see
the tears roll down his weathered face. He approached the old man, sat down and ordered two
whiskeys, one for each of them. The old man looked at Dave and held up his hand.
“Nuthin’ I’d like betta right now than a glass of whiskey” he said in a raspy voice. “But, I ain’t
drinkin’ with the likes of you.”
“’Cause I’m white?” Asked Dave, believing he had broached some kind of race etiquette.
“Nah,” That ain’t it. Said the old man, pointing to the Elvi on what was once his stage. “You’re
one of them!”
Dave explained that he was indeed, not one of the invading Elvi desecrating Beale Streets Blues
Tabernacle, but quite the opposite. He was there to try to put an end to the plague.
“We’re just looking for some information on how all this started.” said Dave, “Did you know
anyone by the name of Monk or someone calling himself Doc?”
“Don’t know nobody by the name of Monk,” said the old man, “But I know a few ‘Docs’. There
was a Doc Franklin, he was Elvis’ vet for the animals Priscilla kept a Graceland. There’s Dr.
Nick, Elvis’ main Doc. And, there was another Doc, used to hang ‘round here back in the day.
But, he got killed by a semi-truck down by Tupelo years ago.”
“Are the other two ‘Docs’ still alive?” asked Rick coming to the table.
“Sure they’re alive alright.” claimed the old man. “Doc Franklin, he still doin that Elvi contest
here in town every August. And Dr. Nick, he in town this week, he got a show at that airport
hotel.
“A show?” asked Dave.
“He’s got a traveling exhibit of the pills he gave Elvis.” Rick explained relating the results of the
research he had done. “He’s even trying to sell his old medical bag.”
“That’s sick.” Said Dave shaking his head. “But maybe we should go see him. He might be the
‘Doc’ Chester Jr. was talking about.”
“I don’t think so,” said Rick. “I think the ‘Doc’ who got killed by the truck is the Elvirus Doc.
But we can go see Dr. Nick if you want.”
They both thanked the old black man who now returned to his sad world of Elvi torture in what
used to be a place known for the best blues music in the world. He should know. He was B.B.
King.
Now, Rick and Dave went off to visit with Dr. Nick, or as he was called, “The Doctor who killed
a King.”
“You sure this is the place?” Rick asked as Dave pulled into the lot of the Days Inn near the
Memphis Airport.
“Yep.” said Dave, “The ad for the event listed this as the venue. It’s in one of the exhibition
halls inside.”
“And he said he would talk to us?” Asked Rick. “Thought he didn’t like interviews.”
“He doesn’t” agreed Dave, “But I told him we were from an Elvis Related Organization and
would be interested in promoting his new book.”
“Book?” Rick said.
“Yeah,” sighed Dave, “Another book on how Elvis really died and how it wasn’t the Doc’s fault
and all that crap. Just act interested.”
“I still think the dead Doc was the Elvirus Doc” said Rick, “But let’s see what this one knows.”
After their two hour visit with Dr. Nick, Dave found himself agreeing with Rick. Dr. Nick
wasn’t the Elvirus Doc. And, Rick and Dave had decided that perhaps Dr. Nick was right in that
Elvis didn’t die because of his medical treatment, but in spite of it. Dr. Nick showed them
documents provided by other well respected physicians which attributed Presley’s death to a
variety of health problems ranging from head trauma from a fall in 1967 to an enlarged heart and
colon, to immune system failures. Dr. Nick explained how he had actually provided placebos in
place of the narcotics whenever possible. After hearing his side of it. Dave and Rick believed
that this Dr. Nick wasn’t the villain he was painted as by millions of Elvis Fans. And as far as
the macabre travelling exhibit and book tour, Dr. Nick explained that he had been stripped of his
medical license and had no way of making money save this tour which had been well attended,
mostly by the fans who continued to malign him.
The most telling portion of his visit revealed an important clue. Dr. Nick confided that a man
named Monk had been introduced to him by none other than Colonel Parker two years before
Elvis died. Though the Colonel did not bring up the subject of Elvirus, Monk alluded to a
scheme involving a plot to overrun the world with Elvi and then sell the solution to the highest
bidder. At the time, Dr. Nick had thought it to be crazy talk and dismissed the whole thing as a
joke. He told Monk he didn’t want any part of the harebrained scheme. In 1979, Dr. Nick said
Monk approached him again. Dr. Nick refused again. Two weeks later, Dr. Nick had been shot
in the chest while watching a football game in Memphis. At the time police said it was a stray
bullet, Dr. Nick thought it had been an angry fan. However, in the light of the sinister Elvirus
epidemic, he mused it could have been Monk or one of his associates. But the connection had
been made between a mysterious “Doc” who was promoting an Elvirus scheme and the Colonel.
Dave and Rick thanked Dr. Nick and departed. Rick set out for nearby Tunica for a string of
shows at a casino there. Dave traveled north to the motorcycle rally in South Dakota.
Dave was yanked back to the present by the sight of a 300 pound biker mooning the audience
from the edge of the stage. Dave was caught off guard as he’d been daydreaming and the sight
of the large pale ass waving in the South Dakota breeze caused him to forget what song he was
going to use to start the next set. But he took the stage and launched into “Johnny B. Goode”
leaving the memories of the Memphis trip behind. Half way through Elvis’ version of the Chuck
Berry classic, Dave’s performance was interrupted by a motorcycle as it roared across the stage.
It was a wild scene here in Sturgis. As Dave started the next song, he noticed someone
approaching him from the back of the stage. At first, Dave thought it was just an extremely ugly
guy in an Elvis suit. He had seen his share of them. But, this guy was more than ugly. His skin
hung in shreds as did his jumpsuit. His complexion was somewhere between a pale green and
gray. His eyes sank deep in his head. He walked with a stilted gait. Dave had just finished
singing Steamroller Blues, another biker favorite when the creature came closer to yell in his ear
to be heard over the noise.
“REMEMBER ME?” Spoke the raspy unhuman voice.
“JOEY?!!!” Choked Dave, the man who had thrown Joey into the Mississippi.
“YEAH IT’S ME!” Said the creature confirming Dave’s worst fears.
The Zombie Elvi grabbed Dave by the throat and started to squeeze with super human strength.
Dave fell to his knees and felt the life being choked from him. Zombie Joey’s face was just
inches from his own and Dave could see the lifeless eyes. An evil, blood chilling smile formed
on the rotted lips of the Zombie Elvi and Dave started to black out. At that moment, he heard a
sickening thud. Zombie Joey released his grip and fell to the floor. Dave blinked and sucked in
a much needed breath. He saw a very large Biker Chick wielding a metal baseball bat with
greenish liquid dripping from the end. She was dressed in a black leather mini skirt which
displayed acres of thigh below the hem. She also wore a leather vest which displayed a bare
midriff where the two garments failed to meet. Not that the exposed skin wasn’t covered. It
was. She was covered from her neck to her ankles in more tattoos than Dave had ever seen. But
as she wiped the green ooze from the baseball bat, Dave thought she was the most beautiful
woman he had laid eyes on while being attacked by a Zombi Elvi.
“Best get your ass up!” she advised, “That piece of shit won’t be down long!”
Dave struggled to his feet but not fast enough for his Biker Chick Rescuer. She snatched him up
like a sack of flour, threw him over her shoulder and leapt off the stage. In 4 long strides made
by her tree-like legs, she reached her HOG and placed Dave on the sissy seat. She miraculously
threw one of her 97 pound legs over the bike, turned on the key and thrust her gigantic gam
downward starting the Harley Davidson. In another moment, they were roaring down the street
towards I-94.
“I can take you as far as Rapid City,” Big Biker Chick said, “I’m working as a dancer at Big
Mike’s and I start at 7 pm”
“Thanks,” said Dave. “I can get a ride from there to the airport.”
“I can get you into Big Mike’s for free!” She offered.
“The airport would be fine.” Dave said.
Waiting in the airport terminal, Dave tried to contact Rick and the others to warn them. No one
was answering. At that moment, Rick was performing at The Gold Strike Casino in Tunica, MS,
just 45 minutes south of Memphis. During the break, Rick went out to his tour bus to relax. He
flipped on the news to see a report from Sturgis, SD about a so-called “Zombie Elvi” sighting.
“You see this shit?” Rick asked. “I’ve seen everything now, ‘Zombie Elvi’ Jesus!”
There was no answer to his inquiry. He tried again.
“Pauley, did you hear me?” Rick called out. “Where the hell are you?”
Still no answer. Rick walked down the hallway reaching the door to the bathroom. He knocked.
“You in there?” He asked. “Pauley, are you in there?”
Again, no answer. Rick could hear muffled sounds from inside the bathroom along with
scraping sounds on the roof. He grabbed the handle and opened the door. What he saw sent a
chill deep into his bones. There was a gaping hole where the skylight had been and only the
bottom half of his agent Pauley was visible dangling from the roof. His legs were thrashing as if
trying to get loose from something that was pulling him upward.
“Pauley!” yelled Rick, “What the hell is going on?”
“Run!” was Pauley’s muffled reply. “
Rick watched in horror as Pauley’s legs were yanked up through the bathroom skylight leaving a
gaping hole in the ceiling. Rick stood on the commode to get a better look. Just as he came
close to the opening, a hideous not of this world face thrust through the opening and he was
staring eye to eye with a zombie. And, this one had side-burns. Rick fell to the floor and rolled
into the hallway of the bus. He ran up to the driver’s seat, started the bus and lurched forward
towards the parking lot exit. In the headlights, Rick saw a virtual mob of Zombie Elvi blocking
the road. They approached with their rocking, weaving Zombie steps. There had to be over a
hundred of them. Rick threw his high beams on and saw that they were coming up from the river
bed. The same river in which Rick had dumped over 150 Elvi three months ago. They were still
wearing the heavy belts Rick had given them on the bus. Now getting closer, the Zombies all
raised their arms and pointed....at Rick! They were almost on him. Rick floored the accelerator
and the bus careened through the mob of Zombie Elvi. As he tore into the crowd, bits and pieces
of Zombie Elvi smashed against the windshield like giant insects leaving eyes, teeth, brain matter
and entrails caked on the window. Rick kept plowing through the Zombie Elvi army. He turned
the window wipers on and then wished he hadn’t. The goo was now spread across the
windshield like a greenish paste. Only a continual blast of washer fluid cleared a small circle for
Rick to see through as he kept steamrolling the last few rows of Zombie Elvi. He found the
entrance to the ramp taking him to the northbound lanes of Highway 51 and sped all the way
back to Memphis. He crossed the bridge on I-40 to West Memphis, AR and drove north on I-55
towards Chicago. At least he had escaped Rick thought.
Driving past Cape Girardeau and then St. Louis, Rick’s thoughts reflected on the activities of
EET over the last few months. Had they really been for nothing? Had they only transformed
Elvi into Zombies? The adrenaline from his narrow escape had started to ebb. He started to get
sleepy on the long stretch of highway north of Springfield, IL. Rick thought about pulling into
the rest stop coming up but then decided to turn on the radio instead. He was unfamiliar with the
radio controls as this was Pauley’s domain. Rick reached up and switched on the overhead light
to aid in his locating the radio on/off button. The light flashed on and Rick’s heart caught in his
throat. In the reflection on the windshield, he saw the ghastly image of an Elvi Zombie making
his way up the aisle towards the front of the bus. The last thing Rick needed was to struggle with
an Elvi Zombie while barreling down the highway at 75 m.p.h. The Zombie was only two feet
away when Rick made his move. He wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right and careened
across three lanes of traffic. This caused the Zombie to tumble to the left almost in Rick’s lap.
Then Rick did two things. First he yanked hard on the wheel towards the left hurling the Zombie
towards the door. Then just before the Elvi Zombie crashed into the door, Rick hit the switch to
open the door sending the creature through the opening and out onto the pavement...right in the
path of a semi-truck in the right lane. Rick heard the squishing sound as the 40 ton truck
flattened the Zombie into I-55 at the 344 mile marker. With a new batch of adrenaline surging
through his body, Rick drove through the night, arriving in the early morning hours back in his
home of Chicago. He listened to his voice messages and came to the one from Dave who had
also been attacked by a Zombie Elvi. He returned Dave’s call and together, they decided to call
an emergency meeting of EET members.
D.J. Fontana’s phone buzzed for the fifth time in 30 minutes, but he ignored it. He was on stage
in his hometown of Shreveport, LA rehearsing a segment for a special concert. In this
production D.J., Elvis’ original drummer was working with James Burton, Elvis lead guitar
player from the late 60’s through Elvis’ death in ’77, also from Shreveport. The two veteran
Elvis band members along with others would be recreating the famous “in the round” scene from
the ’68 Special where Elvis and members of his band performed in casual setting surrounded by
the audience. In the modern day version, a trap door had been installed on the stage to provide a
dramatic entrance and exit in a cloud of smoke provided by a fog machine. .The dress rehearsal
was in its final minutes when James Burton nudged D.J. and nodded towards one of the aisles
leading to the stage. D.J. looked up expecting to see an adoring fan making her way to the stage
for attention from one of the famous band members, as this had occurred many times during the
production. Instead, what he saw was very different from anything he had seen in his 70 plus
years. Heading up the aisle toward the stage were a dozen or more creatures that defied
description. They looked as though someone had dug up graves and hooked up electrical
charges to the corpses to produce jerky, halting, bizarre attempts at walking. Their faces or at
least the shredded flesh above their necks appeared to resemble Elvis in a monstrous sort of way.
They seemed to be singing, rather moaning to the song the group on stage had been performing.
Even from this distance, a putrid, acrid smell reached the performers. D.J. noticed one thing in
common amongst the onslaught of Elvi Zombies. Each had a massive hole where their chest
should be and a charred pendant swung from each mutilated neck. Could it be the “beeper”
victims from the contest?
“Move your asses!” was D.J.’s simple command to all on stage. “Those slimy sumbitches are
gonna kill us!”
There was no dissent and all on stage hurried for the trap door. A cunning D.J. hit the switch for
the fog machine which cloaked their escape in a thick cloud. Below the stage, most of the group
headed up the hallway to the lobby exit. D.J. grabbed Burton’s arm and directed him in the
opposite direction.
“Probably more of them in the lobby,” he reasoned. “Let’s go this way.”
Burton and D.J. quickly walked down the hall and into a stairwell leading to a lower level. To
his dismay, D.J. looked over his shoulder and saw the first in a line of Elvi Zombies headed in
their direction.
“Sumbitches!” He cried, “They’re after me! James, I gotta tell you ...”
“No time,” answered James, “Keep going. Down that way.”
The two men picked up the pace as they hurried down another flight of stairs to the basement.
Running through a utility access area, James Burton opened the main water valve and the
basement started to flood. He pushed D.J. towards an elevated area next to a metal railing. The
men could now hear sloshing of water as a dozen Elvi Zombie marched towards them.
“What are we going to do now?” asked a very worried D.J.
“Grab that arc welder” shouted James, “and wheel it over here.”
“What are you going to do with this?” asked D.J., as he positioned the machine as directed.
Hook that lead on the pipe, there!” directed James, pointing to a pipe that ran along the wall
under the water line. “And I’ll clamp the other to the railing. Now back away from the railing
and wait. We need them all to be in the water.”
D.J. and James moved from the railing to a laundry cart with rubber wheels and climbed in
within reach of the welder. James leaned over with his finger hovering over the on switch. The
Elvi Zombies had almost filled the room and were only a few feet away. Their horrid
appearance and smell were unbearable. The last in the group had just rounded the corner. The
half dozen Elvi Zombies closest to D.J. and Burton had started to climb over the railing.
“Now!” shouted D.J. “Do it now!”
“Got it.” said Burton, throwing the switch to the arc welder sending over 2,500 volts into the
water via the pipe.
The putrid smell became one of incineration as one by one the Elvi Zombies were electrocuted.
Low moans had become high pitched shrieks as the current shot through the walking Elvi dead.
Brownish blood, green vomit and black unknown fluids shot from every orifice Hands that had
clutched the metal railing now remained there while the arms belonging to them thrashed in the
air. In their final death throes, the Elvi Zombies defied the rules of electrocution. They actually
attacked each other using eerie slow motion karate moves while trying to sing the words to
“Kung Fu Fighting”. The singing was sort of a rhythmic grunting with projectiles flying from
their gaping mouths. As the two men looked on, D.J. made his traditional observation.
“I hate those sumbitches!”
Dave had agreed to meet with the other EET members on Monday morning. He thought he
would have time to check out the operations at his theatre in Branson, MO over the weekend
before attending the meeting in Chicago. After going over the theatres books for the last month
he was having a beer with his friend Bob on the deck, THE deck. He related the unbelievable
events he and his fellow EET team members had experienced over the past few days. Bob had
been a good friend but had his doubts about Dave’s story.
“Are you sure this isn’t another one of your marketing schemes?” Bob said, “You are an
amazing marketing guy and it just might work, so I’m in!”
“Bob,” Dave said, “This is not a marketing scheme. This is real. I wish it was a marketing ploy.
There are things I can’t tell you. But this is very real.”
“Well,” sighed Bob, “Let’s just have another beer and see if I can understand the situation.”
“I don’t know if a case of beer would be enough to understand all of it.” laughed Dave enjoying
the comedy relief supplied by his friend. “But let’s give it a shot. I don’t have to be anywhere til
Monday.”
The two friends laughed about their experiences in the tourist town of Branson. Bob was very
familiar with Dave’s battles with Graceland over the years. He took pride in the fact that his
friend Dave had acted as his own attorney and had “whipped their asses” on every lawsuit
thrown at him by Elvis Presley Enterprises. They were well on their way to finishing off their
case of beer when Dave saw the trap door above the grinder tank open. He choked out a
mouthful of beer when he saw the shadowy figure rise from under the deck.
It was obviously another Zombie Elvi but this one was more grotesque than anything he had ever
seen. All the components were there, head, arms, legs torso and other body parts. But, they
were not structured as any human’s would be. One Zombie had his head mounted at the small of
his back and his shoulders near his pelvis. One arm emanating from his hip had two hands while
the other sprouting from the top of his head, had none. Apparently, these Elvi Zombies had been
ground to pieces by the sewage grinder and then reassembled in their Zombie form in horrifying
configurations that defied human anatomy.
Bob observed what he thought was an apparition. He placed his beer bottle on the table and
stared at it as if it was the source of his hallucination. He heard the sound of a small engine
starting. He turned to see Dave wielding a chain saw, slashing thru one after another Elvi
Zombie coming up through the trap door. Bob sat back down and guzzled the next 4 beers.
After 30 minutes of chain saw action, Dave had re-dissected dozens of mis-assembled Elvi
Zombies and re-processed them through the sewage grinder. Bob still wide eyed gave his
verdict.
“You are a marketing genius!” he said, “I’ve always known it. But I never imagined you could
come up with something as wild as this. This is going to sell a million tickets to your show.
Genius, pure genius!”
Dave shook his head, knowing he couldn’t convince his friend that this was real, not a marketing
promotion. He drove Bob home and listened to him muttering over and over, “Genius, pure
genius.” After dropping his friend off at his home, Dave drove north out of Branson towards
Springfield, MO, St Louis and finally Chicago.
On Monday morning, the EET members gathered around a long conference table at a hotel resort
in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Developments overnight in Chicago forced them to change the
location of the meeting to this popular tourist destination two hours north of the city. The Grand
Geneva Resort had once been Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Club and a perfect getaway for those who
needed a secluded spot to meet. A flat screen television in the conference room revealed the
reason for the change of venue.
“Do you believe this?” said Rick. “Every freakin’ Chicago Bear is now an Elvi.”
“Well,” said Johnny, the EET member from Texas, and a Cowboy Fan, “Maybe they can win a
game for a change!”
“Your ass!” Was Rick’s retort. “The Cowboys couldn’t even score against the Chicago Elvi.”
“That’s only part of the problem with meeting in Chicago today.” Dave explained. “The football
fans are attacking Elvi on sight for taking over the team. But, it gets worse.”
“How does it get any worse than this?” asked Rick still lamenting the demise of his favorite
football team.
“For one thing,” Dave continued, “There are F.B.I. agents, Homeland Security and the CDC
arresting Elvi and detaining them in an attempt to halt the spread of Elvirus. And, there’s more.”
“More?” Asked Peter, just joining the group.
“Yeah,” said Dave, “There are state troopers from Mississippi looking for Rick. Apparently,
some of the Elvi Zombies he ran over in Tunica were former state troopers. Apparently, it’s a
crime to commit hit and run in Mississippi, even if the victim is a Zombie.”
“I’ve got something.” said Johnny. “Remember when I suggested nukes?’
“YEAH???” said everyone in unison.
“Well,” continued Johnny, There’s these ISIS fellers who are having a shitload of Elvi showing
up to fight and they just start singing so nobody’s gettin shot like they’re supposed to. The ISIS
guys tried beheading them but they just show up again all Zombied out. So these guys rounded
up some loose nukes and....”
“NO!!!!!” said everyone.
“I’m just sayin’” Johnny said feebly.
“NO!!!!!” said everyone...again.
“O.K., I think I have something we can act on.” said Rick. “We got a lead in Memphis. Last
week before all this Elvi Zombie shit happened, Dr. Nick suggested we go through the CDC in
Atlanta. He heard through the grapevine that they’re working on a solution to Elvirus there. I
think we all need to get there so we can use what they find out to finally get rid of these bastards,
Zombie or Regular, they all gotta go! Right?”
“RIGHT!!!” went up the cheer by all in attendance.
At Graceland, Louis got his report from his Graceland security people and his Beale Street spies.
There had been a couple of Elvi asking questions about Doc and the Colonel. Both of those
original conspirators were dead. But, Louis didn’t want any meddling when the plan was just
about to pay off. He called his boss, the woman who was still calling the shots.
He then informed the matriarch of Graceland of the contact he had initiated that would start the
ball rolling towards the big payoff. A package was on its way that informed authorities that an
“anti-dote was available and was now being offered to the highest bidder. Louis and the woman
wondered how their offer would be received.
In Atlanta, GA, at the Center for Disease Control, a receptionist signs for a Fed EX envelope.
It’s addressed to “Special Projects” a little known division of the CDC assigned to bio-threats
traced to terrorist organizations. It was here that scientists were already working on a solution to
the Elvirus pandemic. Several Elvi had endured a medical “rendition” and were now being held
in an isolation unit 200 feet below the surface of the earth deep within the top-secret facility.
After passing through several check points requiring fingerprint, voice recognition and even a
retina scan, access to the isolation unit is gained. The Elvirus research was a heavily guarded
project. If news got out regarding this work, the public would panic and riots would break out
around the globe. Inside the eerily lit unit, 36 “pods” were suspended by cables attached to the Ibeams that ran down the center of the room. The translucent skin of each “pod” revealed an Elvi
in a state of suspended animation surrounded by a pool of synthetic amniotic fluid by which they
were fed nutrients to keep them alive, for now. From time to time the subjects were extracted
from the pods so that tests could be performed to determine how to isolate and destroy Elvirus.
The pods were illuminated by the green “night vision” type lighting which made the Elvi glow as
if in a ghoulish spotlight in a netherworld “Vegas” lounge. In fact, if the Elvi were to be
suddenly extracted from the pods, their current grotesque poses would be identical to the ones
they had presented during their acts. Even in their semi-conscious state, their lips were curled
and their fingers extended in the Elvi “TCB” gestures. The synthetic amniotic fluid had reacted
with the fake gold plating on their stage jewelry which was now greenish like the surrounding
bath of light. Inky clouds of gold coloring that once covered their rings, pendants and bracelets
floated around the pod like a squid’s defensive camouflage.
The research had netted little in the way of a solution. Before realizing how contagious the
Elvirus gene was, several of the research scientists had morphed into Elvi while working on the
project. After those unfortunate incidents, only those in full haz-mat suits were allowed in the
lab. The current findings so far revealed that no matter what IQ was measured in the subject in a
pre-Elvi state, it was reduced to double digits when the Elvirus gene was present. Anti-social
tendencies were also manifested when the Elvi experienced the certain rejection, ridicule and
even violent reaction to their Elvi “talents.” Experiments placing Elvi in theoretical situations
where they could return to society with gainful employment, solid relationships and the respect
of the community, always resulted in the subject choosing to remain an Elvi. The phase of the
studies had moved from that of finding a cure to eradication. However, governmental agencies
had ordered that the solution needed to appear to be “natural” and not connected to the
authorities.
Dave and Rick pulled into the parking lot past the iconic blue and white sign that read “CDCCenter for Disease Control and Prevention”. A half dozen members of EET rode in the back of
the van. Dave parked the van near a delivery dock at the rear of the glass walled multi storied
building. The group of EET members gazed up at the curved structure.
“Do you think it’s true?” asked Johnny, the Texas member.
“What’s true?” asked Rick.
“That they have a hundred Elvi in the basement” said Johnny, “hanging in giant plastic bags.”
“Well, I’m not sure what Dr. Nick meant by plastic bags.” said Dave. “But he said his contact
here at the CDC said they were experimenting with Elvi in various stages of suspended
animation.”
“Kind a gives me the creeps” said D.J. who had accompanied the group. “Elvi in a zip lock! I
may never eat a sandwich again. And the CDC guys have no idea about them Elvi Zombie
sumbitches?”
“Not yet.” Confirmed Dave. “But I’m sure two thousand Elvi Zombies won’t go unnoticed for
long. C’mon, Dr. Nick’s guy said to meet him at the first delivery door.”
“You sure we can trust this guy?” asked Rick. “He might decide to make us the next batch of
Elvi Guinea Pigs!”
“He’s our only chance to get inside.” Assured Dave. “Besides, there’s nine of us including
D.J.”
“Make that eight of you plus me.” D.J. insisted, “I hate you sumbitches.”
The group waited by the delivery door as directed and soon a man dressed in a hazmat suit
opened the door and motioned them inside. He was a very thin man and the hazmat suit hung on
him like a tent. He pointed to a group of similar outfits.
“Y’all k-k-kin war them there suits ahangin there, you kin.” Said the thin space suited man.
“I’m sorry, what?” said Rick, not understanding the severe hillbilly dialect.
“He says we can put these on.” said Dave, offering the first of the outfits to Rick.
The EET group donned the protective gear hiding their true identity. Their “inside man”
directed them to follow him down a hallway to an elevator bank. He motioned for them to enter
the elevator.
“Jes hit that there L4 b-b-button,” he said as the doors closed.
Dave hit the L4 button and the car started to descend. At the same moment a mist started to rise
from the steel grate floor beneath them. The protective suits were effective against particulate
matter but not airborne contaminants. The mouthpieces wouldn’t keep out the “knock-out” gas.
The released gas acted quickly and each of the EET members began to lose consciousness. As
D.J. felt his knees start to buckle he said through his face mask,
“I hate you sumbitches!” and fell to the floor.
When Dave woke up, he looked around to see where he had been taken. The strange feeling of
floating in mid-air was soon explained when he realized he was hanging by a cable suspended
from the ceiling. The yellow hazmat suit had been removed. He scanned the room to find the
other EET members in the same predicament. D.J. was struggling with the cable, trying to free
himself and all the while cursing under his breath. He looked up to see the others observing his
futile efforts.
“Did I mention I hate you....”
“WE KNOW!” said the group in unison.
“I told you we should have nuked ‘em.” Said Johnny.
“Who was that guy who put us in the elevator?” Said Rick, “That’s the guy I wanna talk to.”
“Th-th-that’d be me!” Said their captor, now minus his hazmat suit. “Y’all kin c-c-call me
Chester.”
A new effort had been initiated at the CDC, involving cross-species studies in which other
“impersonators” were examined to find any possible genetic links. Impersonators of Mark
Twain, Abe Lincoln, Justin Bieber, Johnny Cash, Wayne Newton and others had been studied.
Findings were limited when the “impersonators” were kept separate from the Elvi. However, in
every case where an “impersonator” was exposed to Elvirus by entering the isolation units where
the Elvi pods were kept, the result was always the same. “Mark Twain” traded his philosophical
quotes like, “the way to make a thing most desirable is to forbid it.” to the Elvi standard,
“Suspicious Minds”. “Abe Lincoln” forsook “fourscore and seven years ago” for the Elvi chorus
of “in the ghetto....” Justin Bieber seemed to actually benefit from the transformation
surrendering the ultra-irritating “baby” for “Don’t be Cruel” and keeping his pompadour in the
process. “Johnny Cash” went in singing “Ring of Fire” and came out humming “Burning Love.”
However, in the case of “Wayne Newton”, no discernable difference could be detected.
A group of exhausted researchers were sitting around a conference table when the Fed-ex
package arrived.
“Dr. Bug-net?” inquired the Fed-ex man.
“BYOO NAY! NOT BUG-NET! It’s pronounced BYOO-NAY! It’s French,” corrected the
doctor as he took the package and dismissed the Fed-ex guy who looked a little like Elvis.
“Probably another crackpot” said Dr. Tyrone Bugnette. “The last one suggested genetically
altered bananas containing interferon to be served in peanut butter and banana sandwiches!”
Bugnette ripped open the envelope. “Can’t wait for this one” he said. He opened the envelope
and a DVD fell on the table. Attached to the DVD was a cryptic note:
“Similar Results Guaranteed for $20 million.” Dr. Bugnette shrugged,
“$20 million would be a bargain if it worked. But it’s probably another nut.”
“Play the DVD.” urged one of his associates. “What have we got to lose?” Bugnette inserted
the disk into the player and looked to the large screen on the wall.
“Suit yourself. But I’m not holding my breath.” The two men watched as the screen lit up with
the image of what appeared to be the former Mormon Tabernacle Choir, the entire cast now all
Elvi. As the Elvi ended an excruciating rendition of “How Great Thou Art”, the soundtrack
became garbled. The music had intentionally been altered so as to make it unrecognizable. Still,
the result was unmistakable. The first few rows of Elvi in the chorus fell to the floor convulsing.
A wave effect ensued resulting in a sea of Elvi flopping around like fish on a dock. The music
track still disguised but the audience’s reaction to the spectacle was clear. Thunderous applause
and cheers could be heard as many of the audience members could be seen removing ear plugs
worn to protect their hearing. All were rejoicing at the apparent Elvi Exorcism occurring before
their eyes.
“What is that music?” Bugnette asked. “It’s the music!” Bugnette had been a jazz trumpeter for
years narrowly escaping Elvirus when he performed with an Elvi in the 80's while in med school.
But he couldn’t make out the melody. And the words were garbled as well”
“b**& i# - j%#@ *#at..*t.”
“It sounds kind of familiar but I can’t place it” said Bugnette as the video faded to black. Then a
graphic appeared emulating the note.
“$20 million by Sunday. Our representative will contact you! NO PRESS! NO COPS! And,
NO DEA!” Elvis had been an undercover agent for that agency.
“Gentlemen, I think we have seen the answer.” Bugnette said.
“But we didn’t hear the answer!” insisted another researcher.
“Precisely,” said Bugnette, “Now all we have to do is put $20 million in the juke box!”
“Absolutely not!” The Director or the CDC was adamant. Not only was Tom Frieden the head
of the CDC, he was also the head of the Toxic Substances and Disease Registry. He continued
as part of a conference call with Dr. Bugnette and an anonymous caller from Memphis, TN.
“We’re not paying you people $20 million for something we can figure out ourselves.”
“And how’s that working out for you Director Frieden?” the caller asked.
Frieden bristled,
“Well, we’re not there yet but we’re making progress.”
“Yes, we’ve brought in Michael J. Fox to interact with the Elvi pods.” interjected Bugnette.
Frieden seemed surprised and a little confused.
“I, uh hadn’t heard about that.”
Bugnette continued,
“Well sir, Michael J. Fox has been referred to in many pop-culture circles as the “anti-Elvis.”
The caller from Memphis laughed,
“I thought that was John Denver!” he mocked. “Maybe you should haul his corpse to your lab
and see if that works! You guys are running out of time. Why not just pay us and rid the world
of these vermin?”
The Director brushed aside the suggestion.
“What do you mean running out of time?” asked Frieden.
The extortionist on the line responded,
“Have you seen the newswire this morning? The Pope gave his ‘Crying in the Chapel’ message
to the world today, The live feed from the International Space Station revealed that it is now
being manned by an all Elvi crew, The U.S. Olympic Committee has eliminated all events except
‘hip gyration’ competition, The Nobel Prize was shared by a male and female Elvis Act from
Reykjavik and the G-8 Summit was attended by 7 Elvi and one Wayne Newton Impersonator.
Not a bad start for the day, eh? Kind of makes you ‘all shook up’ doesn’t it?”
The color had drained from the face of Director Frieden. Dr. Bugnette could be heard on the line
playing a very familiar riff on his trumpet.
Frieden exploded,
“Dammit, Bug-net! Is that C.C.Rider?”
“BYOO=NAY! Director, it’s pronounced BYOO-NAY! And yes, I’m playing C.C. Rider. It
seems to calm the Elvi. Some of them have heard about the eradication plan and became violent.
It’s out of control here sir!”
The caller from Memphis, snorted,
“It’s going to get a lot worse than that unless you pay us. You’re already up to your asses in
Elvi. You’ve got 24 hours or we will accept a current offer of $10 million from no less than
10,000 Elvis Fan Clubs to destroy our ‘anti-dote’!”
A chorus of 36 Elvi could be heard singing along with Bugnette’s trumpet riffs drowning out his
plea,
“Please send help soon! I don’t know how long this is going to work! And sir...”
“What is it Bug---I mean Byoo nay?” asked Frieden.
“Well sir, I’m uh, well I’m feeling a little ‘Elvisy’ sir!”
“Good God! Get a hold of yourself man! You’re a respected scientist, not a goddam Elvi!”
The caller from Memphis laughed and clicked off the line. Bugnette could be heard playing and
then singing
“Ah wella bless a my soul what’s ah wrong with me.....”
Frieden swore again,
“Dammit! I’m coming down there!”
“No sir! ‘Don’t’. ‘Don’t be Cruel’... ‘That’s when your heartaches begin!’, ‘Don’t Cry Daddy’ I mean Director....”
Frieden hung up,
“There goes another one.” he lamented.
A thin man with a mangled hand, took Bugnette’s arm and led him toward the pod room,
“C’mon Doc, don’t you werry none, it’s gonna be awright, it is.”
As Chester guided the Scientist turned Elvi into the pod room, Bugnette, said,
“Aren’t you going to put on a Haz-Mat Suit?”
Chester held up his mutilated hand and said,
“Naw, ain’t g-g-gonna be needin that there ‘what’s a matter’ suit doc. I wuz wunna them there
Elvi for years til wunna them Flyin Elvi knocked the stuffin outta me, he did. Now A’m myun
tewitt.”
Bugnette was starting to gyrate now
It’s a one for the money...” he sang.
“Yep, it was for the money awright.” Chester continued. “But it wuz a bad deal for Rusty, ma
brother, it was. Kilt ‘im when that there Flyin Elvi landed on him. I wuz bad hurt maself but the
Elvi landed on Rusty first and just kindy shuvved me in the sand inta wunna them there
undergrownd springs, it did. They all thought me and Rusty both got squished by the fat guy,
but no, t’was jus Rusty, flatter than a tobacco leaf, he was.”
Bugnette was in full Elvi mode now,
“I did it ....Myyyyy Wayyy!” Coming out of the Elvi trance for a moment, he grabbed Chester
by the collar, “Chester,” he whispered, “Help me, I don’t want to be an Elvi. I worked for one
years ago and it almost ruined me for life! You’ve got to do something!”
“It’s awright doc.” Chester said trying to be comforting. “It’ll all b-b-be over soon, it will. Soon
as they pay up, I’ll send the money to Graace laand and I’ll tell y’all the secret, I will.”
“What do you mean, you’re working for the extortionist? Bugnette asked, still trying to shake the
Elvi takeover.
“Extortionist? Oh no doc, I kayn’t even tuch mah toes! Ahm a workin for the boys at Graace
Laand. They shure wuz sooprized when I showed up back there!” They set me up right here,
they did so’s I kin keep an eye on y’all.” Bugnette, losing his grip on reality in favor of the Elvi
Zone said,
“I’m stuck....stuck on you!”
Chapter 10 - Say What?
An old man was in the cafeteria, warming up last night’s coffee in the microwave even though
there had been a fresh pot brewed recently.
“Well, I gotta drink my coffee first and then I gotta find that hearing aid outfit.” He always
announced his activities even if no one else was around.
“Soozie!” He called for his daughter who had cared for him for many years but she didn’t
answer. She didn’t answer because when her husband Dave caused her father, Werner Heffen to
become an Elvi, she left town, moved to Sedona and opened a sidewalk cafe serving wine
spritzers and farfalla. Werner was more of a trustee here at the CDC research lab as his
advanced age posed no real Elvi threat to others. Another scientist, Dr. Joe Quayles Jr. came
running into the room
“Werner! I need your help” he said. Werner looked up puzzled,
“Weed the kelp?”
“No, Werner, I NEED YOUR HELP!”
Werner held his hands up, “Don’t yell, I can hear you!”
Joe had observed the events surrounding the call from Memphis, Dr. Bugnette’s Elvification and
the re-appearance of Chester, including his role in the conspiracy.
“You’re the only one I can trust.” he said to Werner.
“It would be fun to rust?” said Werner. Joe Quayles Jr. yelled,
“I CAN TRUST YOU!”
“Well, I hope so,” said Werner, “I used to play golf with your dad every day.” Quayles Jr.
nodded, remembering his father’s tales about his old golfing buddy Werner, but not wanting to
discuss it now.
“Quick!” he said, “We have to bring in the last test impersonator.”
“Best percolator?” said Werner looking towards the coffee maker.
“NO! IM-PERSON-ATOR” clarified Quayles.
“Oh,” said Werner, “why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Joe Quayles felt his face turning
red from agitation.
“They tested Mark Twain, Lincoln and Johnny Cash but didn’t try Michael Jackson!”
“Spikal Fraction?” Said Werner, now fiddling with the volume on his hearing aid.
“Never mind, just come with me,” directed Quayles
“Wait a while!” protested Werner pulling back. “Soozie! You gotta get me some....”
“She’s not here!” said Quayles.
“She’s got beer? Great!”
“No, Susie’s not here!” Quayles repeated.
“Floozies rot here? Said Werner still adjusting the aids.
“Forget it!” hollered Quayles. He grabbed Werner’s arm and led him down the hall to the
waiting room where a Michael Jackson Impersonator waited patiently to be tested on the Elvi.
Joe Quayles opened the door to find the Michael Jackson Impersonator leafing through the pages
of “Boys Life” magazine.
“Excuse me,” said Quayles
“Oh hi there,” said the very soft spoken impersonator.
“I’d like you to meet someone” said Quayles. “Werner Heffen this is Michael Jackson.”
“Cycle Traction?” said Heffen.
“Never mind!” said Quayles. “M.J., can I call you M.J.?” said Quayles to the tall, thin young
man.
“I’m the King of Pop, but sure, you can call me M.J. You guys are payin for this gig.” As he
spoke he spun completely around, tipped his black hat and pointed one sequined glove to the
floor. Then M.J sang, “I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it!”
Quayles put his hand up,
“Just save it for the lab M.J. Follow us please.”
“Shallow puss cheese?” asked Werner as he opened the door.
Quayles, losing his patience hollered,
“NO!” FOLLOW US, P-L-E-A-S-E!”
Werner nodded, opened the door, motioned to the two men and said
“Age before beauty! Ah ha ha! That was a JOKE!”
The three men walked down the long hallway to the first checkpoint.
“Place your finger on this pad” indicated Quayles.
“Race a zinger on your dad?” Werner said.
Quayles grabbed Werner’s hand and placed his index finger on the pad.
“I could have done that.” protested Werner.
M.J. followed suit but with his gloved hand, pushing Quayles to his limit.
“Goddammit, not with the glove!” He barked.
“My bad, my bad, you know it!” M.J. said,
Then he placed his ungloved finger on the security scan pad. As the green light came on the
door opened and the three proceeded to the next checkpoint. The guard at that checkpoint had
gone Elvi and waved them through as he sang
“I’m so lonesome tonight, and I’m high as a kite...”
Quayles held his hand up to Werner before he had a chance to translate that into Heffen-speak.
“C’mon, we’ve got to hurry! Not much time left. It’s spread to the guards.
“Bread to the retards?” Werner said over his shoulder.
Quayles didn’t respond, just waved them on.
“Hurry!” said Quayles.
At the final checkpoint, the former guard was now handing out scarves and singing,
“...Caught in a trap...”
“Ought ta take a crap?” Quayles put his hand over Werner’s mouth and pushed him through the
last door.
“Jeez Balls” said Werner as he looked around the pod room. It was his first visit to the creepy
chamber. Besides the suspended pods where the Elvi were kept in between experiments, there
were video monitors covering the west wall of the unit.
“Quayles was using the remote to try to turn off the screens to avoid being seen, but with no
success. “I can’t turn the sonofabitchin’ things off!” He said in a fit of rage. “I’ve got to call
that maintenance guy Sonny. He’s the one who installed them. I can’t turn the goddam things
off! The switch must be broken.”
“The bitch must be chokin?” chimed Werner.
“No, I can’t turn the goddam T.V.’s off!” cursed Quayles.
“You can’t get your bottom bvd’s off?”
“Goddammit! The Television screens, I can’t turn them off! The remote doesn’t work!”
“Why don’t you just unplug them?” asked Werner. The simple suggestion seemed to catch
Quayles by surprise.
“Well yes, I guess I could just unplug them.” It seemed too easy, but sure enough, one pull on
the plug and the screens went black.
Chapter 11 - Elvi Go To Never Land
Chester had completed the task of placing Dr. Bugnette in one of the pods after sedating him.
Now he watched the three newcomers from behind a bank of computer screens which had just
gone dark. Joe Quayles located the CD player used in the tests with the other impersonators and
said,
“Alright M.J., I’m going to start your background music track, so do your stuff!”
“Stew your duff?” asked Werner switching his hearing aids from right to left.
“I want him to sing a song!” Said Quayles, “We’ll then send it through this processor which will
replay it .....Backwards! We need to find out if his music played backwards will affect the Elvi.
It might be the same music that was playing on the video. If we can prove that, we get rid of the
Elvi and we don’t have to pay the $20 million. We’ll be heroes!”
“We’ll be Zeros?” Those Jap Zeros were assholes.” Werner said, but mercifully Quayles
couldn’t hear him as M.J. had launched into Michael Jacksons, “Beat It.” Quayles looked at
each pod but saw no change. He edged the volume up on the CD player and sent he signal
through the reverse processor. After a few moments at the increased volume, Quayles could hear
a hissing noise. There was a hissing, sizzling noise from one of the pods and Quayles saw the
green lights illuminating the pods start to flicker. By the time M.J. got to the second verse, the
fluid in all the pods came to a boil. The smell of the boiling liquid, and the ensuing aroma of the
Elvi being boiled alive filled the room. Suddenly fissures in the bottoms of each pod caused the
encased Elvi to be ejected on to the lab floor. Miraculously, the creatures were unharmed but
had unquestionably morphed into yet another form. The floor was covered with the remnants of
side-burns, pompadours and jeweled studs as if a serpent had shed its skin. Arising from the
quasi Elvi-Placenta were very ordinary looking men, totally devoid of any resemblance to their
former idol.
Quayles looked over at Werner who had also returned his former self, and also without any
residual Elvi characteristics.
“Heffen! You’re back to normal!” You’re not an Elvi. We’ve done it. We found the AntiDote!”
“Round Auntie’s Goat?” said Werner. Quayles laughed,
“Whatever Heffen, whatever! We’re going to celebrate. I’m gonna buy you a beer!” Werner
smiled and said
“Buy me a beer?” Apparently, his hearing was selective.
Watching the celebration before his eyes, Chester was not at all jubilant. Even as the last traces
of Elvirus were purged from him as Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” played backwards filled the lab,
Chester saw his own future worsening. Now, he wouldn’t get his share of the $20 million. These
misfits had accidentally discovered the “anti-dope”, a secret Chester had guarded with his life
and one his brother Rusty had lost his life protecting. From Monk’s dying words “Beat It”
spoken 30 years prior on that Memphis Street to the present, Chester always thought his future
was wrapped up in Michael Jackson’s song of the same name. Those two words were spoken in
fact, to Chester, the “bystander” at the scene of the hit and run on Lamar Ave in Memphis all
those years ago. Chester was riding in the truck with Jon Wane, the driver of the truck that killed
Monk only to hop out and “come to the aid” of a dying Monk. Since that moment long ago,
Chester had hid behind his backward image and hid the fact that he knew the “anti-dope” all
along.
Now, as M.J. continued singing
“....: You Better Run, You Better Do What You Can Don't Wanna See No Blood, Don't Be A
Macho Man Just Beat It....” it came through the processor in reverse...
Dave and the other EET members still suspended in mid-air watched in awe as Michael
Jackson’s catchy tune blared backwards through the speakers. The EET team looked on in
disbelief as the other Elvi dropped from the pods and rose from the slime stripped of any
resemblance to “The King”. None of the EET members were affected. D.J. looked from one,
then another and still another ex-Elvi. As he realized what was happening, a broad smile
appeared across his face. Through the hissing, popping sounds filling the lab, D.J.’s laughter
resounded,
“I hate you sumbitches!”
Then, realizing the magnitude of this development, D.J. backpedaled a bit,
“Hey fellas,” he called, “I was just kiddin’. Don’t be like that now, Hey come back here, what
am I gonna do for a livin...Come on back! We’re a team Goddamit! I NEED YOU
SUMBITCHES!”
“Don’t worry, D.J.!” laughed Rick, “There will still be some Elvi left who will need a drummer.
Just not so many as before.”
“Yeah,” said Dave still in a state of amazement. “How come that backwards Michael Jackson
song didn’t affect us?”
“I can answer that.” said Dr. Quayles. “’Beat It’ was written in 1982. Any Elvi who began
impersonating Elvis before 1982 is immune from the anti-dote.”
“So we’re all safe?” Asked Johnny, “Well hell, somebody cut me down from this damn sling!”
“Cramped wing?” asked Heffen. “What the hell is a cramped wing?”
“Let’s cut them loose,” suggested Quayles.
“Gut their goose?” Said Heffen working furiously at his hearing aid controls.
“Right.” agreed Quayles, as he freed the suspended Elvi from their cables. “Let’s gut their goose
Werner.”
Chester watched the last Elvi shed his Elvirus shell. The floor of the lab was covered in Elvian
slime, a sickening but now benign pool of muck. Quayles and Heffen were seated at the counter.
Joe Quayles made good on his promise and produced two cold bottles of beer, one for each of
them.
“Hef” said Quayles “Here’s to you, you’re a helluva man!”
“I smell like a can?” said Werner Heffen his smile revealing he was just joking now.
“We’ve got to call Frieden before he sends the money to those creeps in Memphis” said Quayles.
A voice came from a darkened corner of the room,
“F-f-fellers, Ah wouldn’t do that, I wouldn’t!” Chester stepped out from behind the computers.
In one hand he held a flashlight. In the other, he was holding a gun.
“Chester? Is that you?” Quayles squinted in the light from Chester’s flashlight.
“Yep.” came Chester’s reply.
“Well you work for Bugnette don’t you? You should be happy about this!”
“Well, I ain’t none too happy no sir. Wasn’t sposed to turn out like this here, it wasn’t.” Said
the very thin, very pissed off surviving twin.
“What are you talking about Chester?” asked a very confused Quayles. Chester waved his gun
towards M.J.
“Kin yew tell that there fella ta quit his bellerin?” said Chester feeling weak from the final
extraction of the remnants of his own case of Elvirus caused by M.J’s” performance. A
frightened M.J. didn’t have to be asked twice. He spun in a circle on one toe and then moon
walked out into the hallway and then ....beat it.
“Now what?” asked Quayles. Chester now pointed to the former Elvi,
“G-g-git those other fellers to sit on them steps over there” Chester pointed to the steps leading
to the mezzanine. The men still covered in Elvirus slime did as ordered.
“What about us?” Said Quayles referring to Heffen and himself.
“Well, I’ll have another beer!” said Heffen. He had been so engrossed in drinking his
celebratory beverage, he hadn’t realized the turn of events. “Let’s all have one!” He motioned to
Chester, “C’mer once. Did I ever tell you about this guy’s dad? I’m talking about that goddam
Joe Quayles Senior.!” Chester, wanting to stall for time until he could figure out what to do next
decided to humor the old man and join him in a cold beer. Chester thought a beer might be just
what he needed to think.
Two hours and 12 beers later, Chester heard the now familiar refrain,
“I was born on Christmas day 1922....” as Werner Steffen repeated the lines Chester had
memorized by now. Chester wasn’t looking so good. The 12 beers had turned his usual pale
pallor into a greenish hue. When he would turn his head to look from Quayles to Heffen, his
eyes took about 3 seconds to follow. “Well, we’ll have one more and then we’ll go.” said
Werner in another familiar line Chester had heard at least 6 beers ago. The skinny hillbilly tried
to stand, felt his toothpick legs buckle and prudently plopped back on to the stool next to the lab
counter recently transformed into a bar. Werner slid another bottle of Leinenkugal Honey Weiss
beer, his favorite brand in front of Chester and opened one for himself... He took a swig and
said, “Now let me tell you about that goddam Joe Quayles!” Quayles Jr. laughed, raised his own
bottle and drained it. These guys were definitely pros. The last thing Chester remembered is
sliding off the stool and falling face first into the slime that covered the floor. They say a person
can drown in only inches of water...or slime. And he would have if it hadn’t been for the two
other skinny figures who entered the room to help him to his feet.
“Git up daddy” said Chester Jr. “Y’all Kayn’t die on us now! Me n’ Rusty Jr. got here as fass a
we could, we did! Din’t we Rusty?”
Rusty nodded and helped his cousin place Chester Sr. back on the barstool. Uncle Chester
would have fallen back into the slime had the two boys not held him in place. The younger
hayseeds escorted Chester Sr. to the exit, placed him into the car they had stolen and headed to
Memphis with the bad news. Before they could get there, an impatient EPE was calling the CDC
Director demanding payment.
The caller from Memphis was clearly agitated.
“What do you mean you’re not going to pay?” demanded the extortionist.
Frieden, along with Joe Quayles, Werner Heffen, and Dr. Tyrone Bugnette sat at a conference
table as Frieden talked to the extortionist. The Director of the CDC was trying to conceal his joy
at the still secret discovery of the “anti-dope.”
“You see,” he continued, “We need to be sure this is not a hoax.” We’d like to interview one of
your local Elvi in order to establish the veracity of your offer of $20 million for the Elvirus “antidote.”
“It’s $25 million now!” growled Louis on the other end of the connection. “You’re wasting time
Doctor Frieden.”
“Ah, but it’s you sir that is wasting time.” said Frieden. “You’re not getting $25 million or even
twenty-five cents until we can verify your results.”
“You saw the video!” insisted Louis, now losing his patience and feeling the eyes of the woman
on him. The only test subject on whom the “Beat it!” anti-dote had failed.
“You could have staged that event.” Frieden suggested.
“The goddam Mormon Tabernacle Choir? Are you shittin’ me?” screamed Louis as the
unblinking woman looked on.
“Now, calm down Mr.....uh what did you say your name was?” asked Frieden, intentionally
baiting the extortionist.
“It’s Mr. Noneofyourfreakin’bizness until you pay the $30 million.” That ought to scare this
pompous ass of a Doctor into capitulating thought Louis. Yawning, Frieden poured fuel on the
fire and said,
“You might as well make it $40 million as you’re not seeing a red cent until we establish some
trust. We’re scientists Mr. Noneofyourfreakinbusiness, we operate on facts not wishful
thinking.” Enraged, Louis said,
“Look, for all I know you’ve been infected yourself and now you’re a freak like the rest!”
“Mr. None, can I call you Mr. None?” purred Frieden, “I am quite free of Elvirus as I have
placed myself in one of our Ebola Isolation units until we can resolve this rather unfortunate
problem. Won’t you please just indulge me Mr. None? And then perhaps we can do business at
say, the $15 million level?” Feeling his mark slipping away, the con-man from Memphis
swallowed. “What would the Colonel do?” he thought. Then he felt the murderous look from
the woman again and said,
“Jesus! You want to talk to one of our freaks? Knock yourself out. You’ve got 5 minutes and
then we sell our stuff to the Fan Club morons. Then you’ll be sorry when you’re buried in Elvi
shit!”
“Five minutes will be plenty of time, Mr. None. May we speak to one of your local Elvi now?”
said Frieden still trying to suppress laughter.
“Hey man, this is the King, TCB baby.” came a voice on the phone.
“And you are?” asked Frieden.
“Ah’m the damn Mayor of Memphis man! Ah’m a hunka hunka burning mayor of
Memphis....Lawd o mighty, I feel my poll numbers risin.....” Louis and the woman watched as
the newly elected Mayor Elvis King of Memphis spoke to Frieden. The Mayor had run on a
“Make Elvis’ Birthday a National Holiday” platform. 85 % of the voters had voted for Mayor
King which corresponded with the number of Elvi living in the City of Memphis.
“Mr. Mayor, could you just listen to something for a moment? I’d like to play a recorded
message for you.” said Frieden setting up the sting.
“Anyway you want me baby...you gonna play one of mah records?” asked the Elvi Mayor.
“Not exactly Mayor, not exactly.” replied Frieden as he pushed play on the CD player.
For a few moments, only the garbled sounds of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” playing in reverse
could be heard from the speaker phone on the conference table at the CDC. Then, Frieden and
the others could hear sizzling and then popping noises on the other end. This was followed by
loud cursing,
“Goddamit, how did they know? Oh God! Somebody get a damn mop in here! Give me the
phone, Jesus! Wipe it off first!”
“What’s the matter Mr. None or should I say Louis? Don’t you like Michael Jackson?” baited
Frieden as Louis got on the line.
“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” screamed Louis.
“Well, Louis, I told you we were testing Impersonators. As scientists, we take one step at a time.
And, as for knowledge of your operation, let’s just say a little bird told us. A little bird named
Chester! It seems your man Chester was quite talkative after a few beers. He told us all about
your Elvirus plot”
“Aunt Iris snot?” Werner offered.
Frieden was joined by the group at CDC in raucous laughter now. Adopting Chester’s
backwoods drawl, Quayles weighed in with,
“Chester can’t hold his beer, he can’t!”
“Mold his steer?” Heffen jumped in again.”
And the place went wild. Suddenly on the other end of the line, the hissing and popping noises
were replaced by choking and gasping. Louis felt the woman’s hands around his neck. Hands
that had been trained by one of Elvis Presley’s martial arts instructors, Mike Stone. Louis now
felt the power in those hands as well as long brightly colored nails piercing the skin of his neck.
One of those razor sharp nails now ruptured his jugular vein and he was almost comforted by the
knowledge that this would shorten his suffering as the woman continued to choke the life out of
the once promising Graceland exec. As the woman felt the spray of blood across her tightly
stretched face, she heard Werner Heffen on the speaker phone say,
“Well, let’s have one more and then go home!”
The Zelvi
While everyone at the CDC was celebrating, Dave and the EET members knew that there was
still a threat from the Zombie Elvi or Zelvi. And what was worse, Dave knew that the Elvirus
anti-dote would have no effect on the Zelvi. According to every Zombie handbook, the only way
to positively kill a Zombie, is complete dismemberment. The word kill of course is not exactly
accurate in that the Zelvi are already dead. The goal of incapacitation would remove the Zelvi
threat. Dave’s recycling the Elvi through the grinder pump had been successful. So had D.J.’s
electrocution of his attackers in that it disintegrated the brain stem and frontal lobes of the Zelvi
in Shreveport. Rick’s experience had limited success as he caused one Zelvi to be crushed on the
highway by the semi-truck and crushed the skulls of the Zelvi he ran over with his bus. Sadly,
several of the Zelvi in that casino parking lot escaped with only broken bones, severed limbs and
blunt trauma. It was time to hunt down and destroy the roughly two thousand Zelvi created by
the EET members in their quest for the goal of ZEPG (Zero Elvi Population Growth).
Werner Heffen was enjoying the party. It was a celebration in his honor recognizing his
contribution to the victory over Elvirus at the CDC in Atlanta. Werner had decided to retire on
this high note and had returned to his hometown of Manitowoc, WI. He was sitting at the bar
with his son-in-law who was a first generation Elvi. Dave, one of the founders of EET had just
ordered another round of beers.
“And don’t forget the lemon” hollered Heffen, joking with his favorite bartender, Ashley.
“She knows the drill.” Said Dave.
“She shows the pill?” Asked Heffen tapping the sides of his hearing aids.
“SHE’LL BRING THE LEMON!” said Dave loud enough to be heard across the bar.
“Oh, I knew that.” Said Heffen, “Did I ever tell you about that goddam Joe Quayles?”
“Yes, several times.” Moaned Dave, as he had heard it all before.
The two sat drinking and talking being interrupted occasionally by a well-wisher, slapping
Werner on the back and offering kudos. Dave was proud of his father-in-law who now had
something other than his purple heart attesting to his bravery. In fact, Dave chose this moment
to award Werner with a medal, shaped like a lightning bolt. The lightning bolt was the logo used
by Elvis Presley along with the initials “TCB” which stood for “Taking Care of Business”. As
onlookers watched the presentation, Werner was in perfect form.
“What does it say?” He asked squinting at the letters surrounding the lightning bolt.
“It says, ‘T.C.B.’” explained Dave.
“P.C.B.?” Werner repeated, “Ain’t that a bad thing?”
“Not P.C.B.! T.C.B.!” corrected Dave.
“D.D.T.?” Werner tried again, “That’s even worse. I got that asbestation, you know.”
“You have asbestosis!” Dave inserted, then pointed to the engraving on the medal. “Can’t you
see the letters?”
“Pee the wetters?”
“Here!” said Dave, handing the medal to Heffen for closer examination.
“Right, T.C.B. I knew that!” exclaimed Werner.
They laughed and were joined by laughter from the crowd gathered around the bar. Werner slid
of the barstool and headed for the washroom. The rest of the group continued to celebrate in his
absence. Unknown to all was that there was about to be more excitement in the men’s room than
the bar. As Werner Heffen entered the men’s room, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the
terrible smell.
“Jeez, man.” he cried, “smells like something died in here. Hey, you in the stall, use the can of
spray will ya?”
Werner was standing at the urinal when he heard the door open on the stall. It didn’t actually
swing open, but was torn from its hinges by a hideous creature with rotted flesh and bushy
sideburns. The Zelvi emitted a blood chilling moan and approached Heffen.
“Did I ever tell you about that goddam Joe Quayles?” Werner said as he turned around to face
the Elvi Zombie. “Well he was a good guy. But he cussed like a sailor. He’s dead now, but his
son is still around. But his dad, that goddam Joe Quayles. He said he couldn’t find any good
doctors here in Manitowoc so he would drive all the way to Milwaukee to find a doctor. He’s
dead now, his wife is dead too. Dead a long time already.
The Zelvi tilted his head like a dog trying to understand. But he couldn’t understand. He didn’t
understand Heffen’s reaction or more correctly stated, his non-reaction. The Zelvi was
accustomed to humans fleeing in fear. But, he wasn’t prepared for the old timer’s non-stop
narration of the past 50 years or so of Werner’s association with this person named Quayles. A
slight tremor passed through the Zelvi’s frontal lobe as he lurched forward towards Werner. The
old man’s chatter was causing a meltdown within the Zelvi’s brain.
“Joe called me up one night, “Werner continued. “He bought this T.V. set from Greenwood’s,
you know Sonny worked there. He said, ‘I can’t turn the sonofabitch off! I told him ‘why don’t
you just unplug it? No, he was a good guy. I liked the guy. Didn’t like his brother, he was sort
of an asshole.”
The Zelvi fell back against the tile wall leaving a smear of Zelvi ooze as he struggled to get his
balance. The small explosions in his brain were now blurring his vision. If the old man would
just shut up, he would just kill him and go on to the others in the bar. But the old man wouldn’t
shut up.
“I was born on Christmas Day, 1922” Werner recited the oft repeated facts. “I’ll be 92 on
December 25th. I’ve been married for 72 years! Well my wife has been married for 72 years
also. We’re both married you know. She’s over at the ....Bending. I mean Riverwalk, no that’s
not right. Rivers Bend. Yeah, that’s it Rivers Bend. She broke her hip and had to go there.
She’s got to be there so I go there every day. But that goddam Joe Quayles. He said, ‘I can’t turn
the sonofabitch off!’. He’s dead now, you know. His wife is dead too. Dead a long time, yeah.”
The Zelvi fell forward and his forehead smashed against the tile floor destroying what was left of
his frontal lobe, thereby incapacitating him for good. Werner, stepped over the Zelvi’s carcass
and started back into the bar, bumping into Dave who was on his way to find out what happened
to his father-in-law. Werner Heffen jabbed his thumb towards the washroom.
“There’s a guy in there all jacked up.” he said. “I think he passed out. Some guys don’t know
when they’ve had enough. Hey, let’s have one more and then go home!”
The next morning, after the party and inadvertent Zelvi destruction, Dave was alone with his
thoughts. A rustling in the bushes caught his attention as he jogged along the train tracks on his
pre-dawn run. The crisp fall air filled his lungs as he pushed himself onward. He had about a
mile to go and his lungs ached as he filled them with another breath of cold Wisconsin air. There
it was again, the rustling. It was still dark so he couldn’t see. But it was probably a rabbit or
squirrel scurrying across the bed of dried leaves in the wooded area next to the train tracks. It
was drowned out by a distant train whistle.
As Dave followed the curve of track he came to his favorite part of the run. He was on a high
train trestle bridge overlooking the Manitowoc River, a hundred feet below.. The row of lights
shining down from the bridge cast shadows on the tree lined shore. Dave saw that the river was
high and the strong current was visible as the river flowed towards Lake Michigan. It was a little
difficult running on the large stones next to the tracks, but the view was worth it. Such a
peaceful morning, he thought.
Suddenly, Dave heard a different sound. Not the rustling as before, but a clinking as if someone
was kicking the large rocks onto the rails. Instinctively, he turned around and looked back down
the tracks. What he saw made him freeze mid-stride. Back where the trestle bridge started was a
mob of lurching, hobbling figures. Their low moans had increased in volume when they caught
sight of their prey. Zelvi, and they were after him. Dave started picking up the large rocks and
pelting the first line of them. One of the rocks found its mark and sunk deep into the eye socket
of one of the oncoming Zelvi. He staggered and fell to the ground as his fellow Zelvi stepped
over him and continued their advance.
Dave found himself in the middle of the half mile bridge. The approaching Zelvi would soon
overtake him. He could keep pelting them with rocks in the hope that he would thin out the herd
before they reached him. But that would take up precious time. He threw four more large stones
and turned to run. As he did, another shock. At the other end of the bridge, a group of Zelvi
even larger than the one behind him was advancing in the same grotesque crippled gait. The gap
between them was now only a hundred yards or so. Dave began to hurl stones towards the new
group and each one found its target. But it still wasn’t enough. Now that the Zelvi were in
range, he withdrew his Walther PPK handgun and fired several times. He turned to repeat the
process towards the group in the rear and was shocked at how close they were to the point on the
bridge he was standing. He started to imagine being ripped apart by vengeful Zelvi when
suddenly, he heard a wonderful sound.
The train whistle he had heard in the distance now wailed at the second group of Zelvi who were
oblivious to their imminent peril. A second later, the mammoth train engine crushed the rear
guard of the Zelvi army and zombie parts shot out from under the steel wheels of the train. One
after another, the Zelvi disappeared under the advancing engine spraying zombie ooze off the
bridge and cascading into the river below. The first group of Zelvi also ignored the train and
were now only a few feet from Dave as they reached out with gray outstretched hands towards
their prey. At that second, Dave leapt over the railing of the bridge and pointed his feet towards
the water a hundred feet below him. He was hoping to miss the large rocks forming an island in
the middle of the river. The cold air rushed across his face as he hurtled downward. In an
instant he felt the icy waters surround him as he entered the river. His momentum forced him
downward until his legs buckled when he reached the bottom. His ankle snapped and his knees
popped from the impact. He started up again in strong frantic strokes until his head reached the
surface of the water. As he gasped a much needed breath, as he broke the surface which was
now a virtual oil slick of Zelvi muck. Suddenly, he was struck across the face by a mass of
rotting flesh. It was the lung of a former Zelvi who had been dismembered and summarily
dissected by the freight train roaring above. The entire army of over 200 Zelvi was eliminated
by the 8:13 Norfolk Southern train to Milwaukee.
Johnny, another original member of EET, pulled his truck up to the remote out building in the
west Texas desert southeast of El Paso. He had come to check on his brother Roy, who was a
border guard in a civilian formed vigilante group. Publicly, the group had been criticized by the
U.S. Border Patrol as being unauthorized and militant. Privately, individual members of the U.S.
Border Patrol had thanked the civilian group for their efforts. Johnny had been unable to reach
his brother by phone. He had tried calling after the events at the CDC unfolded. He wanted to
brag to his brother that he too, could thwart “foreigners”. But several attempts to reach Roy had
proved unfruitful. Johnny decided to make the trip to Texas in order to confirm his brother was
safe or find out what had happened to him.
As Johnny approached the wooden structure, he noticed the door was wide open and blowing
back and forth from the desert wind. He observed a van towards the rear of the shack and moved
toward it. Circling around the van, Johnny saw that someone was laying underneath the vehicle
presumably working on the undercarriage. He thought that strange as the van was not raised up
by jacks or blocks. He called out but received no reply. Standing over the man, Johnny kicked
the man’s leg slightly to get his attention. Still no response. He reached over, grabbed the man’s
ankles and pulled him from under the van. He fell backwards and started gagging when he saw
that only legs had been retrieved from under the van and they were in a state of decomposition.
They were here. The Zelvi were here.
Johnny quickly ran back to his S.U.V. and retrieved a shotgun he had brought along just in case.
He had just loaded two shells into the double barreled weapon when he heard footsteps behind
him. He whirled around snapping the barrels shut and clicked off the safety when he saw a
young boy around 8 years old hold out a crumpled piece of paper. Johnny’s heart was pounding
and he nearly fell to his knees realizing he had almost shot the boy.
“What is this?” he asked the youngster. “What is this paper?”
“Ees for you Señor!” said the lad. “Ees from su hermano.”
“My brother?” asked Johnny, “Roy es mi hermano, this is from Roy?”
“Si Señor” the boy nodded, “Roy.”
“Where is he? asked Johnny grabbing the young boy’s shoulders, “Where’s Roy?”
“Con Los Muertos!” said the boy looking at the ground. “Lo siento Señor.”
The boy ran off towards the shack. Johnny looked down at the paper. He recognized his
brother’s handwriting. The note said simply, “follow the boy.” Roy looked up to see that the
boy had vanished into the shack. He grabbed his shotgun along with his ammo belt and raced
towards the open door. Just as he reached it, he felt a hand on his leg. He looked down to see
the torso of the Zelvi whose legs he had accidentally torn off.
The beast was clutching at his leg trying to topple him. Gut wrenching moans were coming from
the Zelvi until Johnny silenced him with two shotgun blasts to the head. He reloaded the shotgun
and went inside.
The makeshift border checkpoint was totally empty except for a table cluttered with papers and
an office chair missing one coaster. The one room building was empty and for a moment,
Johnny couldn’t figure out where the boy went. Then he spotted the outline of a trap door in the
floor He raised the door and peered down into the opening. Total darkness. Johnny snapped on
the mini flashlight attached to his keychain and descended into the shaft. He had only gone
down a couple rungs when he heard a noise above his head. Looking up he saw the disfigured
face of another Zelvi looking down at him. The shotgun blast echoed in the shaft and Johnny
was showered in Zelvi gook and brain matter.
Once he reached the bottom of the ladder, Johnny scanned the area with his flashlight. A tunnel
leading off to the right was the only visible passage. He turned to head that way when he felt a
crushing blow from above as another Zelvi plummeted to the ground from the top of the ladder.
the gun fell to the floor of the tunnel and Johnny scrambled to retrieve it. Just as his fingers
closed around the stock of the shotgun, a rotted foot smashed on top of his hand. breaking at least
two of his fingers. The putrid smell of Zelvi rot filled the tunnel as the creature bent to grab
Johnny by the throat.
Just then, another Zelvi fell from the opening above, knocking Johnny’s attacker to the floor.
Freed from the Zelvi’s grasp, he grabbed the shotgun and pulled both triggers simultaneously
blasting a spray of buckshot into the faces of Los Muertos.
Now without his flashlight Johnny felt along the walls of the tunnel as he moved searching for
the boy. He slammed into a wall where the tunnel ended. He tried to go right then left but felt
only solid walls. His hand grasped the iron rung of another ladder and he started to scramble up
towards what he hoped was the way out of the darkness. Johnny raced up the ladder until his
head crashed into a wooden trap door. He found the handle, turned it and raised the door. The
shaft was flooded with bright sunlight temporarily blinding him. His eyes were still adjusting to
the light when he was pulled downward by a Zelvi inside the shaft. Desperately clawing the
frame of the trap door, Johnny felt the superhuman strength of the Zelvi dragging him down the
ladder. He was able to maneuver the shotgun into position and pulled the trigger. Nothing. He
hadn’t reloaded. He felt himself falling down the shaft and yet held on to the empty shotgun.
Johnny crashed to the ground but as he did, he drove the barrel of the gun through the head of his
pursuer. He scrambled back up the ladder slammed the door shut and reloaded the shotgun.
Looking around he saw that he was now a good half mile from the shack and appeared to be on
the Mexican side of the border. Peering from the bed of a pickup truck was the boy who had
given him the note. Johnny ran over to him. The boy handed him the keys to the truck and
pointed towards a gate at the end of the gravel road. Johnny hopped in the truck and raced
towards the open gate. A mile down the gravel road, he came to a group of vehicles blocking the
road. Armed men trained their automatic rifles at him as he came to a stop. One of the men
approached and peered into the open window.
“Don’t move!” he commanded and reached through the window to grab Johnny’s shotgun.
“I’m looking for my brother.” Johnny offered. “He’s with the border patrol.”
The big man laughed heartily. He walked over to the other armed men, spoke a few words and
all the men laughed loudly. He walked back to the pick up and threw open the door.
“Get out.” said the man with the rifle.
Johnny did as he was directed and the man leaned in close.
“Me llamo Paco,” he said extending his beefy brown hand.
“Soy Johnny” replied Johnny in Spanish.
“Mucho Gusto!” declared Paco.
“El gusto es mio!” said Johnny, “So much for the Spanish lesson, where’s my brother. I told you
he is with the border patrol.
‘Hombre,” he said sticking to his native tounge.“Su hermano no es Border Patrol!”
“What do you mean?” said Johnny in disbelief. “He’s been working the border for five years!”
“Si!” laughed Paco, “He works the border. But he works for us Señor!”
“What?” Johnny asked, “How does he work for you?”
“He helps us get people across.” explained the armed man.
“A coyote?” asked Johnny still not willing to believe his brother would be a human smuggler.
“No, Señor,” Paco objected, “We don’t charge money for saving people’s lives.”
“I don’t understand.” replied Johnny. “My brother told me he was protecting the border.”
“Señor Johnny,” explained Paco, “Your brother, the one called Roy, protects innocents crossing
the border from the vigilantes who would shoot them on sight.”
“Why are you saying Mexicans crossing the border are innocents? insisted Johnny.
“Not Mexicans, Señor Johnny,” corrected Paco. “These are refugees from Central America who
are running for their lives from the violence in their hometowns. Gangs, drug smugglers and
even corrupt politicians who have already killed thousands. Most of the people your brother
protects are children Señor Johnny.”
“So where is he?” demanded Johnny, “I haven’t been able to reach him for days.”
“Your brother is in grave danger, Señor Johnny.” said Paco shaking his head.
“From the vigilantes? Johnny wanted to know.
“No Señor Johnny, Paco continued, “The vigilantes are actually afraid of your brother. He has
killed several of them even as they shot at children trying to cross the border.”
“That’s why the tunnel was built.” said Johnny, gradually seeing his brother’s role.
“Si,” confirmed Paco, “But now, your brother is facing a force even greater than the vigilantes.
“Zelvi!” declared Johnny.
“Si, Señor Johnny,” agreed Paco, “Los Muertos!”
“Where is he?” asked the worried brother. “Take me to him.”
“He is coming Señor,” Paco said, “and we must be ready.”
Paco related the events of the past week. Roy had been attacked by a virtual army of Zelvi at
another remote post one hundred miles southeast of where Johnny was standing. The wily Roy
managed to escape the onslaught by crisscrossing the Rio Grande slowing the progress of his
attackers. He was able to contact Paco and his “border patrol” team to advise them of his plan.
He had expected his brother Johnny to arrive and had created a role for him to play. As Paco
finished his story, Roy arrived. He was dropped off by the driver of a pick-up truck who had
given him a ride.
“I needed a gringo!” Roy told his brother as he gave Johnny a hug. “You, my brother, are going
to arrest me and turn me in to the vigilantes.”
“What the hell?” was Johnny’s comment. “How is that going to help?”
“You’ll see” Roy said smiling. “God, I’m glad you’re here!”
The two brothers went into a nearby ramshackle saloon and sat at the bar. Roy cracked open a
bottle of Tequila and, as they emptied it, he told Johnny of the plan. At nightfall, the two made
their way back through the tunnel to the Texas side of the border. Roy silently noted the remains
of the recently destroyed Zelvi in the tunnel. He hadn’t expected an advance party this far west.
He drew in a breath as he thought of the throng of the beasts who would soon be following his
steps through the tunnel. They ascended the ladder and moved quickly towards the hills to the
north for cover. At daybreak, Johnny knocked on the door of the local “Border Guard” office.
His knock was answered by a camouflaged man pointing an AR-15 rifle at them.
“What the hell do you want?” was camo-man’s greeting.
“Got a prisoner.” said Johnny pointing to a handcuffed Roy. “Caught him trying to escort some
illegals across the border last night.”
“Hey!” yelled camo-man, “I know you! You shot at us last month. Killed four of my men!”
“How many kids did you shoot?” asked Roy, “you Neo-Nazi son of a bitch.”
Camo-man struck Roy in the chest with the stock of his rifle, sending him to the floor. Johnny
grabbed his brother’s attacker wanting to kill him on the spot. But instead, he followed the plan.
“Not so fast.” he warned. “He’s got information on a big group of illegals coming through
tonight. We need to deal with that first. Get Foote in here!”
Johnny was referring to Jack Foote, a Texan who had formed a militant group called “Ranch
Rescue”, a spinoff of the Minuteman anti-immigrant movement. Roy had shown Johnny reports
from the Department of Homeland Security identifying Foote and other Neo-Nazi types who
were engaging in violent attacks on illegal immigrants crossing the border. These attacks,
according to the DHS reports had escalated to snipers, grenades and even landmines. Johnny
had seen a brochure handed out at a Tea Party Rally in Arizona. It was published by the NSM
(National Socialist Movement). The brochure featured a picture of a landmine and the text:
“We should be actively advocating daily to mainstream America the most humane, non-racist,
fair border security plan available. Namely, A MINEFIELD!”
“Foote ain’t here.” said camo-man, “I’m Wilkes. I’m in charge.”
“Fine, Wilkes. You’re in charge.” said Johnny, “Now where can we hold this piece of shit?”
“Bring him in here.” directed Wilkes, “We’ll have a little talk with this immigrant lover.”
After 45 min. of “interrogation”, Roy revealed that there were over 200 “illegals” crossing the
border tonight. Johnny, pretending to be the anti-immigrant interrogator, knocked his brother off
the rickety chair where he had been sitting. This was all part of the prearranged script they had
planned the night before. Roy feigned reluctance to talk, but eventually revealed more details.
According to him, the border crossers would all be wearing “Halloween” disguises to confuse
the Border Guard, the civilian/vigilante version of the official U.S. Government Border Patrol.
Roy had even revealed the existence of the tunnel with its trap door, which would be the entrance
point of the border crossing “illegals”. Johnny and Roy watched as Wilkes almost salivated at
the idea of so many targets for his snipers. Roy winked at Johnny as a signal that the plan was
working.
At that moment, in El Paso, a cadre of U.S. Border Patrol Agents gathered around a desk.
Seated at the desk was Danny Boyd a sometime informant and currently on a deep cover
assignment infiltrating a local neo-Nazi group called Ranch Rescue affiliated with the
Minutemen label. Not even the Border Patrol Agents new of his real identity as an agent of
Homeland Security. Nor were they aware of his connection to Roy and his group of antivigilantes. At Roy’s request, Danny was there to perform his part of the plan. The Border Patrol
agents were totally deceived. They believed his claims as being “disgruntled” with the
Minutemen. He appeared before them demanding protection as well as payment for what he
called “heavy shit” about to go down at the border.
“They’ve laid a minefield.” Boyd said, “They’ve got 30 or 40 snipers in position with automatic
weapons. It’s going to be a slaughter.”
“When?” asked Jaime, the Border Patrol Agent. “When is this going down?”
“Tonight, at midnight.” lied Boyd, who knew the crossing was expected shortly after 8 pm.
“Good,” said Jaime, “Go back to Ranch Rescue and don’t let on that anything is out of place.
We’ll be there with team at 10 pm. We’ll scoop up their whole operation before anybody gets
hurt.”
“I hope so,” Boyd lied again, “It’s going to be a blood bath if you don’t show up at 10.”
Back at the Ranch Rescue office, Johnny continued his role as “interrogator” and “pressed” Roy
for more details on the expected crossing. Wilkes talked feverishly on his cell phone and came
back all smiles.
‘Alright,” he said, “We’ve got what we wanted, let’s kill him.”
Across the border, Roy’s men had positioned themselves behind barricades and awaited the
approach of the Zelvi army. The snipers would fire in such a way as to discourage a frontal
assault and by default force the Zelvi to follow the path to the tunnel and across the border.
There, they would be dealt with by the Ranch Rescue Minutemen. Roy’s plan was to use one
evil group to destroy another. But at the moment, his fate was in the hands of the former.
By now the Ranch Rescue Headquarters was buzzing with activities. The minefield preparations
were complete. All the sniper positions had been arranged. Firearms and ammunition were in
place. What started as a routine strategy meeting had developed into a celebration in anticipation
of the upcoming border defense action. Signs had been painted proclaiming “Take back our
country!” and “Not in my back yard” and even “Shoot first, ask questions later!” Even though
the Minutemen knew they would be ambushing unarmed immigrants, they felt the need to
bolster their courage with whiskey and tequila. A full blown party was complete when the house
band, “Elvis Hitler” started to play the Ranch Rescue anthem, “I’m Dreaming of a White
America.”
As evening approached, the Ranch Rescue group stumbled towards their positions. They
prepared for the approach of what they believed to be the same rag tag group of illegals, mostly
women and children. Just across the border, the horde of Zelvi was making its way toward the
entrance to the trap door and the tunnel. They had been directed there by selective use of sniper
fire by Roy’s group. Most headed in the direction of the tunnel.
There were some who were turned back in the opposite direction retracing their steps along the
Rio Grande. To deal with that situation, Roy had put in place a plan to redirect the retreating
Zelvi.
An armored vehicle slowly advanced from the rear of the Zombi column. Inside the vehicle
were two occupants. The driver, Joe Quayles Jr. and his passenger, Werner Heffen. Heffen held
in his hand a microphone leading to the large P.A. speakers mounted atop the vehicle. As they
observed the first wave of retreating Zelvi, Werner clicked on the microphone.
“Did I ever tell you about that goddam Joe Quayles?” he said, “He was a good guy, you know.
But he cussed like a sailor. He was married to the Fitzsimmons girl, and he owned a bar on 10th
Street. They had one son, he was kind of slow. I liked Joe but I didn’t care much for his brother,
he was kind of a asshole. He wasn’t worth the powder to blow him to hell.”
Again, the effect on the approaching Zelvi was one of complete bewilderment. All of them tilted
their mutilated heads as if trying to comprehend Heffen’s message. It was by nature
incomprehensible and therefore caused their un-dead brains to misfire.
“Talk louder.” instructed Joe Jr.
“Walk prouder?” asked Heffen, “Jesus, we’re riding in the car. How can I walk?”
“No!” said Quayles, “turn up the microphone.”
“Burn up the xylophone?” Heffen said, “I can’t burn up the xylophone. I don’t even have...”
Joe reached over and turned the volume knob himself. Werner nodded his head knowingly and
continued.
That goddam Joe Quayles, he’s dead now, so’s his wife. But he bought this T.V. from
Greenwood’s, that’s where Sonny worked. Yeah, he worked there before he married Dar. She
still smokes, well I used to smoke ....”
The Zelvi were starting to smoke as well, as their brains were now in full meltdown. The rest
turned and ran in the opposite direction. Even their feeble minds knew that a sniper’s bullet
would be quick. Still Heffen went on.
But he called me up one night telling me about this T.V. he bought. The one from Greenwood’s.
He said, ‘I can’t turn the sonofabitch off! The remote don’t work!’ I finally told him, ‘why
don’t you just unplug it?”
“That did it!” shouted a jubilant Joe Quayles Jr. “You’ve got them all on the run!”
“You have a ball on the runs?” Werner said, twisting the control on his hearing aid.
As 8 p.m. drew closer, the Ranch Rescue Minutemen lie in wait. They had their orders. They
had also been briefed on the Halloween disguises the immigrants were going to use. They
looked out over the minefield and observed the first of the illegals approach. The Zelvi poured
out of the shack and onto the mine field heedlessly walking across the valley floor. Suddenly,
explosions rocked the area. Wave after wave of Zelvi disintegrated as the mines were tripped.
Limbs, skulls, torsos and unidentifiable body parts flew high in the air. Some of the trajectories
sent them soaring over the heads of the Minutemen and soon a shower of Zelvi soup fell upon
the snipers.
Still, more waves of Zelvi advanced on the Minutemen positions. New arrivals stepped over the
carcasses and crater filled mine field to close the gaps between the two groups. Snipers now
opened fire on the Zelvi moving towards them. Some of the Minutemen were taken aback by
Zelvi who continued to lurch forward despite the loss of limbs and despite wounds so large that
daylight could be seen through them.
“What the fuck?” exclaimed Wilkes, “This is creeping me out! What the hell are those things?”
“I’m outta here!” shouted another Minuteman. “I didn’t sign up for this freaky shit!”
“Keep firing!” ordered his superior, “You run and I’ll shoot you myself!”
Another barrage of exploding mines lit up the night sky. There was only one more row of mines
between the advancing Zelvi and the Minutemen snipers. A few of the vigilantes tossed
grenades towards the undeterred horde.
“Take that you freaky cucaracha sumbitch!” yelled the Anglo-militant.
“Watch out, behind you!” cried another Minuteman.
One of the Zelvi had managed to make his way behind the line of snipers and had silently
snapped the necks of a dozen or more Minutemen before being noticed. Zelvi were overrunning
the sniper nests up and down the line. Wilkes looked around searching for a man he thought to
be an ally.
“Johnny!” he yelled, “Anybody seen the new guy Johnny?”
“Ain’t seen him since the party!” came the answer.
“Dammit, somebody go get him!” Wilkes ordered. “And get that piece of shit he brought in
here as a prisoner. Something’s wrong with this whole mess. These ain’t Mexicans. These
sumbitches ain’t even human! And those are no goddam Halloween costumes!”
Despite more explosions the Zelvi kept moving forward towards the retreating Minutemen. The
air was filled with the awful smell of scorched flesh, rotted meat and rancid body fluids. The
pop pop pop of automatic rifle fire slowed to only an occasional pop as the Minutemen ran from
the killing field. There was only one option left. Wilkes motioned to the few remaining snipers
to fall back. As a group, they all ran down the embankment and up the other side towards the
main building in the complex. Just short of the entrance, Wilkes turned to the right and ran over
the gasoline tanker which supplied the group with fuel for all their vehicles. He opened the main
valve and watched as gasoline flooded the ditch running between the Zelvi and the compound.
The clueless Zelvi began wading through the gasoline filled ditch.
“Time for some good old Texas Barbeque!” he said as he tossed a grenade into the ditch.
The blast knocked Wilkes to the ground and the flames singed his hair. He could see the Zelvi
thrashing around in a curtain of flame as their bodies burned and were reduced to charred
remains. He jumped to his feet and began dancing in celebration.
“Gotch ya! You stupid sumbitches!” he yelled. “Don’t mess with Texas, you spooky bastards!”
Across the field, Joe Quayles Jr. and Werner Heffen walked out of the shack containing the trap
door to the tunnel. They had abandoned their armored car on the Mexican side of the border.
Then they traversed the tunnel and exited to view the carnage before them.
“Holy Chri!” said Werner, looking across the crater filled area towards the burning ditch.
“Holy Chri is right!” agreed the son of his old friend Joe Quayles. “Looks like they’re finished”
“Finnish? I thought they were Mexican!” said Heffen, his hearing aids now dangled loosely
from his ears.
As Wilkes continued his victory dance, he didn’t see a group of men approach from behind him.
Agents of the U.S. Border Patrol with their guns drawn approached and issued their command.
“Get on the ground now!” came the order from the lead agent, “I won’t ask you twice!”
“What the.” came Wilkes partial reply, abbreviated by a large agent throwing him to the ground.
“You got the wrong guy!” Wilkes insisted, “I just got here! It was that Johnny guy, this was all
his idea!”
“Really?” asked Johnny who stood smiling with his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Did
you hear that Roy?”
“I hear it, but I don’t think it will fly with these guys,” said Roy gesturing to the group of the real
Border Patrol.
Still watching from across the mine field, Joe Quayles Jr. pointed to the activity involving
Wilkes.
“Border Patrol!” he said to Heffen.
“Bladder Control?” Heffen yelled because his hearing aids had fallen in the sand. “No, I don’t
have bladder control. I have to take a leak. I hope that drunk ain’t in there again.”
Chapter 12 - A Day without Elvirus
News of the Elvirus “anti-dote” was carried on all the news channels including CNN. Viewers
watched as Nancy Grace shed her side burns and Elvi hairstyle. They watched her blonde hair
return to its unusual shape. They heard her voice lose its Memphis drawl to be replaced by her
Georgia twang. Instead of serenading her guests with Elvis songs, she returned to badgering
them with inane questions about the latest victim of unspeakable crimes. America had found its
way. Not only liberals enjoyed the results of the cure. Right wing T.V. “newsertainers”
recovered from Elvirus as well. Bill O’Reilly traded his black shiny Elvis hair for his bald shiny
head. The head itself also swelled to its original beach ball size. He abandoned his easy going
Boy from Memphis interview style for his trademark “how stupid can you be you left wing
communist?” approach. There was some talk of re-infecting him.
For the most part the world celebrated its release from the clutches of Elvirus. The Emergency
Broadcast Network replaced the ear piercing test tone used in their weekly tests with Michael
Jackson’s healing “Beat It” melody. All elevators and department stores played only one
song...”Beat It”. In the next few weeks, the hissing and popping of the Elvi became as normal as
birds chirping at daybreak. Within a month an Elvi sighting was rare. Neighborhood Watch
teams scoured their neighborhoods for leftover Elvi using nets to capture them and hold them in
place until the “anti-dote” had been administered.
In a rare bi-partisan display of cooperation, Congress unanimously voted to withhold the antidote from places like Iraq, Afghanistan and other terrorist infested areas. Since the outbreak of
Elvirus in those areas, terrorist activities had been limited to an occasional murder of an
exceptionally bad Elvi. The “anti-dote” was also withheld from North Korea, parts of the
Ukraine and the city of Las Vegas. Well, it seemed the least they could do in memory of the
“King”.
Six months later, Dave one of the founders of EET walked into a tiny garage next to a small
white house in Manitowoc. It was winter in Wisconsin, and that meant he needed to turn on the
propane heater. As the red glow of the heater started to take the chill off the interior of the
garage, Dave looked around. Against the back of the garage next to the stack of firewood were
large speakers. He had traveled all over the country for nearly 30 years with them. Speaker
cables ran from the back of the speakers to the adjacent wall where a rack of amplifiers and
controls were set up. In front of the amplifiers stood a lone microphone stand. He flipped on the
switches and watched the red and green lights come on as the sound system powered up. He
sorted through a stack of mini disks containing background music of over 5,000 songs. He found
the disk he was looking for and inserted into the player. He turned the selector knob to track #23
and pressed play. As the intro started he rubbed his hands together to warm them and stepped to
the microphone. The song Impossible Dream filled the garage. Dave launched into Elvis’
version of the powerful ballad which began with subtlety steadily rising in dynamics until the
high-powered finish. As he sang, he couldn’t help but think he’d come a long way from the
stages of Vegas, the theatres in Branson and countless places in between.
Since that Sunday in the summer of 1959, it had always been the music that drew him to Elvis.
Not Elvis the star, not Elvis the sex symbol, not Elvis the King of Rock n’ Roll, but Elvis the
singer who could tell a story like no one else in Dave’s opinion. It had been the music that
bolstered Dave’s courage when he first took the stage in the mid 60’s. It had been the music that
enhanced the experience of playing before 5,000 people at one of his biggest shows only a year
after Elvis died. It had been the music that numbed his pain in his darkest hours. It had been the
music that made him feel relevant when he knew he wasn’t and would never be. He kept coming
back to the music despite all obstacles placed before him. Many times he had turned his back on
financial gain or security in favor of just singing a song.
Every major historical event during his lifetime was somehow connected with his singing career.
On November 22, 1963 when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, Dave was shaken by
the sight of his favorite teacher reduced to tears. Mr. Adams was not one to cry. He was a
fighter pilot and tough as nails. When Dave saw him crying as he told the class what had
happened in Dallas, his 8th grade world was turned upside down. That evening, when the
television was relating each tragic event over and over, Dave’s only escape was in his room,
singing along with his Elvis records.
In March of 1965, when the police in Selma, Alabama were beating the civil rights workers on
national television, Dave again retreated to his room and sang Elvis songs late into the night.
While the race riots erupted across the country in 1967, Dave was the only white guy in an all
Black band called the Soul System. The white boy was a novelty as he would sing Little Sister
after the band performed My Girl. In April and June of 1968 when Martin Luther King Jr and
Robert Kennedy were assassinated Dave again sought the refuge of Elvis’ records. By then he
was performing regularly on stage. In July of 1969 after watching Neil Armstrong take the first
steps on the moon, Dave celebrated with a live show at Great Lakes Naval Station. Included in
his show were Elvis’ new songs from his 1968 Comeback Special. In 1970 when 4 unarmed
students at Kent State University were killed by Ohio National Guardsmen, Dave was singing
Elvis’ If I can Dream a song containing a hope for peace. In 1974 when Richard Nixon resigned
in disgrace, Dave was singing in Orlando, FL. On August 16, 1977 Dave was getting ready for
an afternoon show in Terre Haute, IN when he received the news that Elvis had died. He took
the stage and offered to do a show that didn’t feature an impersonation of Elvis. But the
audience wanted Elvis and Dave delivered an emotional tribute to an American Icon, Elvis
Presley. In 1979, following the Three Mile Island Nuclear disaster, Dave took a job with
Westinghouse Corp working in a high radiation section of a damaged nuclear plant in Northern
Illinois. He did this to support his musical career. John Lennon’s murder, The Hostages in Iran,
Reagan’s near death experience and many other events came and went during Dave’s career as
an Elvi. In fact, his career spanned the terms of 10 U.S. Presidents. On September 11, 2001,
Dave and his entire staff at his theatre in Branson, MO were glued to the horrific scenes playing
out on the television screen. That afternoon, he again offered to cancel the show if it might be
perceived in bad taste. The families that had spent hard earned money to have a vacation in the
Ozark town expressed the opinion that cancelling the show would be giving in to the terrorists.
So, the show went on. Being an Elvi over half a century, Dave’s career and historical events had
become intertwined.
He remembered his ignorance of the fact that there were many others who would share his love
for Elvis’ music to the point of becoming Elvi in their own hometowns. Unfortunately, that had
been a hundred thousand who ruined it for the rest with their assassination of Elvis legacy. Their
sickening portrayals had turned what Dave had done for a living into a bad joke. There were
many, many who performed first class tributes to Elvis and it demonstrated their love for the
music, not the money or notoriety.
But, now Elvirus had run its course. Public furor had subsided but would flare up again if
anyone assumed the role of an Elvis Impersonator in public. So, Dave was content to battle the
wintery chill that filled the garage despite the efforts of the propane heater with its fan buzzing as
it tried to battle the chilly drafts. The song he was singing was nearing the end and Dave
prepared to deliver the last powerful note as if he were singing to a full concert house. And
somehow, it felt just as gratifying. Even though the only living things that heard it were Dave
himself and the chipmunks living behind the wood pile. T.C.B. Baby!
“Hey!” came a familiar voice on the other side of the garage door. “Open up, It’s the Elvi
Police!”
Dave hit the button and the garage door opened revealing the last two people he expected to see.
It was Rick and D.J.
“Didn’t expect to see you guys!” said Dave. “Figured you’d be laying low like me!”
“I see you’re set up in your garage.” observed Rick. “Me too! It’s the only safe place to sing an
Elvis song these days. I thought it would have died down by now.”
“You guys pissed a lot of people off” reminded D.J. “They hate you sumbitches!”
The three men laughed and Dave passed out some cold beers to his visitors. They reminisced
about the events since the fateful banquet when the Elvi Elimination Team had been born. None
of them could have expected all that had happened since. D.J. brought news from Memphis that
Graceland had been torn down and replaced with condos. The Heartbreak Hotel across the street
from Graceland was now a senior care residence. All the surrounding souvenir shops were
turned into medical marijuana stores. The Sirius Radio station that had once played Elvis music
24/7 now featured Hmong music. On a lighter note, B.B. King had returned to the stage at his
own club.
“So what next?” Rick asked. “Still doing your Dean Martin routine?”
“Yeah,” said Dave, “It’s fun and I’m making money, but it’s not, well it’s not...”
“Elvis?” asked D.J. “I guess I’d agree with you on that. The only gigs I’m getting are
interviews with Drummer Magazine. I miss you sumbitches!”
“Seriously,” said Rick, “What are we going to do next?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” said Dave. “Remember how people used to talk about
something called a Speakeasy?
“Yeah.” said D.J. “I remember. Back during Prohibition. They served alcohol behind closed
doors. You had to give the password before you got in so they knew you weren’t the cops.”
“Right.” said Dave. “What if we only performed at Elvi Speakeasy establishments? We would
run subtle ads in the paper using language only real Elvis fans would understand.”
“Like ‘Don’t be cruel and miss our party at so & so’s?” suggested Rick.
“Exactly!” agreed Dave, “Then only Elvis Fans would know what we were doing. We could
reveal the password in the same fashion.”
“Like what’s your favorite kind of shoe?” supplied D.J. “And they would answer...”
“BLUE SUEDE!” said Dave and Rick.
They all agreed it was a good start. Within a week, they had scheduled fifty “secret “Speakeasy”
concerts all over the country. To attract even more customers, a drawing was to be held at each
show. The prize, a $100.00 bill.
When the cash prize was suggested Dave and Rick asked where they would get the $100.00 bills.
“I’ve got a whole trunk of ‘em” said D.J. I found ‘em alongside the road a long time ago!”
“So,” said Rick “Let’s get the show on the road. Times a wasting!”
“Limes are basting?” said a familiar voice.
“Oh no.” moaned Dave. “Fellas, this is Werner Heffen, this is his garage.”
“This is a Friz Barage?” asked Heffen as he tapped his hearing aid.
A few weeks after the planning session in Werner Heffen’s garage, the first Speakeasy Elvi
Concert was held at the Lighthouse Inn in Two Rivers, Wisconsin. The Lighthouse was a
hotel/restaurant establishment located on the shore of Lake Michigan about two hours north of
Milwaukee. The venue was perfect for the Speakeasy performance. There was a large banquet
room located above the main restaurant. The only access to it was a small elevator. Inside the
elevator was an access keypad allowing the elevator to stop at the 3rd floor where the banquet
room was located. Vague ads appeared in the local paper laden with Elvis clues as to the nature
of the performance and requirements for admission. Concert goers would be admitted only after
giving the correct password. First, they would board the elevator which held a maximum of four
people at a time. Then, they would press the button for the 3rd floor. When they gave the correct
password via intercom, they would be given the access number to punch into the keypad. Only
after this had been completed would the elevator rise to the 3rd floor and open its doors for the
concert goers.
Dave and Rick decided to present a “double header” trading off stage time for the first and
second acts and taking the stage together for the finale. D.J. was on hand to play the drums for
Rick while Dave’s grandson, Devin would play drums during his segment. Back stage both Elvi
and the celebrity drummer paced around the dressing room in anticipation of what the night
might bring.
“Anybody out there yet?” asked Dave.
“Here that sound?” asked his grandson Devin as he alluded to the rising sound of people talking,
“That’s money!”
“So it’s working!” said Rick, breathing a sigh of relief.
“I guess they like you sumbitches!” added D.J.
A knock on the dressing room door startled the four. Devin opened the door a crack to see who
it might be. He turned around with a look somewhere between surprise and amusement.
“It’s Werner!” Devin announced as Werner Heffen motioned Devin back inside the dressing
room.
“Age before beauty! Ha! That’s a joke. Say, did I ever tell you about that goddam Joe
Quayles?”
“How are you doing Werner?” asked Dave.
“Everybody I can! Ha! another joke. Hey, I ordered a beer and they charged me $4 for a small
one. I asked for the large bottle and they said they didn’t have any. I had two more and the third
one they brought was a big bottle!”
“That’s great!” said Rick.
“Hell no it ain’t great.” countered Heffen. “I told him ‘wait a while, I paid $4 a piece for them
small bottles and now $4 for the big one. I think I got some money coming back.’”
“What did he say?” asked Dave
“Well, I don’t know if he was gay!” replied Heffen tapping his earpiece again, “But he said it
don’t work that way. I told him ‘I’m 92 years old, born on Christmas Day’ ....and he just walked
away.”
Dave decided to go to his car to retrieve his copy of the newspaper ads they had used for the
event. If tonight was to be a success, he wanted to save the ad for future use. Devin decided to
accompany his rock n’ roll grandfather to the parking lot. A full moon was coming up over the
lake and the pair stopped to marvel at the sight of the moonbeam dancing across the frigid waters
of Lake Michigan.
“Cool!” remarked Devin.
“Pretty cool.” Dave agreed. “But are you ready to rock n’ roll?”
“Yep!” said Devin, who had been backing his grandfather on the drums for several years.
“It’s been awhile since we’ve done a show.” commented Dave.
“Yeah,” said the grandson, “ I sure missed it!”
Dave thought it sad that his grandson had been deprived of playing the drums in his show
because of Elvirus. But, that was all behind them now. They were starting over, but in secret for
now. As the two approached the back of Dave’s Jeep, he clicked the remote to unlock the SUV..
Dave grabbed the handle and opened the rear hatch. A hulking form lunged towards him,
knocking him to the ground. The familiar sickening smell of a Zelvi filled Dave’s nostrils as he
fought back. The hideous face was only inches from his own as the Zelvi drool dangled just
above Dave’s nose. The primitive groans and grunts intensified as the Zelvi clutched Dave’s
throat. Dave was starting to lose consciousness when he felt the Zelvi’s weight being lifted from
him. In fact. the Zelvi had been yanked backwards in a violent fashion and was now being
dragged across the parking lot at a high rate of speed. Devin had grabbed a length of cable from
the back of the Jeep. He had looped one end of it over the Zelvi’s head and attached the other to
the tow hitch on the Jeep. He had scooped up the keys lying on the parking lot and jumped in the
car. Devin was now racing across the parking lot dragging the Zelvi behind. He was doing
about 50 m.p.h. when he jammed on the brakes. In the rear view mirror, he saw the Zelvi
bounce off the pavement and fly over the roof of the Jeep. The Zelvi reached the end of the
cable as it tightened and you might say the Zelvi “lost his head”. Devin saw the Zelvi’s head
plunge into Lake Michigan, while the torso lie twitching on the beach. He then ran back to his
grandfather who was just getting to his feet. Dave looked up to see his grandson’s million dollar
smile.
“Showtime Poppa!”
The show was a smashing success. Elvis fans in the audience were thrilled to see Elvis’ music
performed live albeit in the form of an Elvi. Dave and Rick with the help of D.J. and Devin
delivered a top notch, professional tribute to the King. Just before the show started Rick had
only one piece of advice for Dave.
“Don’t get too close to anyone,” he said, sniffing the air around Dave. “No offense but it smells
like somebody died and crawled inside your jumpsuit”
“You don’t know the half of it!” smiled Dave, “I’ll explain later.”
During intermission Dave told Rick about his encounter with the Zelvi.
“Holy shit!” Rick exclaimed, “I thought we got rid of all of those creeps.”
“Couldn’t be that many left.” Dave observed, “But the few remaining ones will be after us for
sure. We’ll both have to be looking over our shoulder for a while.”
As Dave and Rick talked backstage, Devin and D.J. were drawing numbers for the grand prize.
“And the winning number is” began D.J.
“5-2-2!” announced Devin.
A cheer went up from the audience as a nun from Holy Family Hospital came forward to claim
her prize. D.J. withdrew an old $100.00 bill from his pocket and handed it to the beaming
woman.
“Bless you! Bless you!” was her response.as she tucked the bill into the folds of her habit.
Oddly, the same nun was observed leaving the show dancing in a way that could only be
described as “gyrating” while singing
“A Well a Bless a my soul, what’s a wrong with me,......I’m all shook up!”
Neither Dave nor Rick or even D.J. were aware that the $100.00 bills had been responsible for a
great deal of the spread of Elvirus. And, the airwaves were now filled with the broadcast of the
backwards “Beat It” anti-dote. Radio stations world-wide with the exceptions already noted
were required to broadcast the anti-dote daily as a Public Service Announcement. The effect was
that whatever start Elvirus got through any remaining tainted $100.00 bills would be countered
by the PSA broadcasts. That meant that the nun from Holy Family would enjoy her temporary
career as “Sister Mary-Elvis" and then return to normal after hearing one of anti-dote broadcasts.
“T.C.B. Sister!”
Over the next twelve months, the Speakeasy concerts continued to draw large crowds but
somehow remained below the radar of Elvirus hunters. There were militant Elvi haters that were
still on the hunt for Elvi. When they came upon one, they would first play the anti-dote “Beat It”
music. If that failed to work, they would resort to more violent means. Because of the EET
members’ involvement in the ZEPG mission, the first generation Elvi were in great danger.
Dave reached out to them in order to advise them on the success of the “Speakeasy” concerts.
Soon, these “password protected” events were being held across the country. The participating
Elvi remained safe, except for a few isolated Zelvi attacks.
Epilogue - This is It!
Yes, the world was indeed a better place without the scourge of the Elvi. A great debt of
gratitude was owed to people like Dr. Tyrone Bugnette, Joe Quayles and Werner Heffen. We
must not forget Michael Jackson on our list of heroes who told the Elvi to “Beat It”. Last but not
least on that list is M.J., the Michael Jackson impersonator who bravely entered the Elvirus
infested lab where he was exposed to the genetic enigma.
Sadly, like Spielberg’s E.T. and the “Green Mile’s John Coffey, M.J. absorbed, not destroyed the
malady he sought to cure. Despite the power of Jackson’s “Beat It”, M.J. was infected by
Elvirus that day at the top secret CDC research lab. The pod experiments had actually created a
hybrid strain of the insidious gene which found a host in the brave but unwitting M.J.
When M.J. left the CDC, his next stop was in Detroit at the B.E.T. Channel’s Gala honoring
Berry Gordy of Motown Records. The new strain of Elvirus (WackoJackovirus) made its debut
at an event attended by over 10,000 unsuspecting targets. At the reception table on display was a
collection of letters from Michael Jackson to his new bride at the time, Lisa Marie Presley. They
were all signed “Love, Turd.” M.J.’s travels took him next on a World Tour retracing the steps
of his idol who unlike Elvis was able tour circle the globe with his talents. At each stop on this
World Tour, the new wackojackovirus or turdvirus became more virulent. Shortly after his
performance in Las Vegas, the Cirque organization abruptly cancelled their production of “Elvis
Cirque” and launched a production of “Cirque Michael Jackson. ”This was out of necessity as
the entire cast of “Cirque Elvis” had morphed into Wacko Jacko Impersonators.
Michael Jackson has been dead only five years, yet the number of Jacko Impersonators has
swelled to tens of thousands. That rate of growth dwarfs that of the Elvi Explosion of the late
1970’s. Add to that the recent activities of one Dr. Conrad Murray, Jackson’s drug pushing
supplier of the fatal Propofol. Propofol was designed to be used on patients who were on
ventilators or for procedural sedation. Governor Jay Nixon had to scramble to find sources for
the drug when suppliers withheld shipments to Missouri because of its use as a form of lethal
injection in that state. Yet this protégé of Doctor Nick kept Michael Jackson well supplied with
the drug including the fatal injection which Murray himself administered. Sources revealed that
secret meetings between Murray and Jacko Impersonators have been held. The plans hatched in
those meetings mirrored the meetings between the Colonel and Doc when they formulated the
Elvirus´ plot. This time the pot of gold is not limited to the income generated by Wacko Jacko
Impersonators, but a much bigger treasure in the form of the rights to Michael Jackson’s music
and another blockbuster catalogue recorded by an obscure group called....The Beatles.
Michael Jackson, before his death outbid his former friend Sir Paul McCartney when the rights
to the Beatles material was on the auction block in 1985. Dr. Murray and his fellow conspirators
must act fast because the 1976 U.S. Copyright Act provides that after 50 years all rights to songs
revert to the songwriter. Since the purchase in 1985, every time Paul McCartney sang “Hey
Jude”, he had to pay Michael Jackson. That’s all about to change. That is good news for Sir
Paul, but bad news to an unsuspecting public who will soon suffer an onslaught of
wackojackovirus that will make Elvirus seem like the common cold. In fact the wackojackovirus
will give a new meaning to the phrase “We are the World!” Heed this warning or someday when
you get up and look at “The Man in the Mirror”, this is what you’ll see!
A word to the wise, don’t throw away those old Elvis records yet, or as Werner Heffen would
say: “Pelvis Checkers are Wet?” Oh, and one more thing. There was a group not affected by
the anti-dote and, a few of them are still out there!
THE END
Author’s Notes
There were no Elvi harmed during the writing of this book. All references to persons living or
dead are purely hysterical. All historical references were made for the reader’s amusement and
not meant to be taken literally. As Mark Twain once said, “History does not repeat itself, at best
it just rhymes.” Opinions and descriptions of the quality of Elvi acts were presented as
humorous sketches and not meant to be interpreted as serious review. (Except Joey, he really
sucked!) Generalities presented concerning Zombies regarding their appearance, odor and
personal hygiene were based on anecdotal reports and not based on scientific research. The
depiction of all Graceland employees and staff were offered without malice and with tongue
firmly in cheek. Graphic descriptions of violent events were included to attain minimum word
count and not to enhance the quality of this work. Portions of this book deemed scurrilous
towards any particular religion are misinterpreted as all listed have borne equal responsibility in
the demise of civilization and spread of violence worldwide. Any suggestion inferred by readers
of this book as to the connection between Ultra Conservative Tea Party type groups and the
violence inflicted on innocent children crossing the U.S. Border is discouraged as that inference
would be inadequate. The CDC and its personnel have in no way exerted improper influence as
to the credit they were given in this book. Any resemblance to real members of the Memphis
Mafia depicted in this book is purely coincidental, because everyone knows there no such thing
as the Mafia.. Any suggestion that said members of that group were responsible for the death of
Elvis Presley was grossly understated. Any conclusions to which the reader may be drawn as to
the underlying motive of greed behind every action taken by the caretakers of the Legacy of
Elvis is too generous on the reader’s part. The members of the House and Senate participating in
the Joint Hearings on Elvirus were mentioned only to demonstrate their purely self-serving and
partisan motivation in pretending to serve the Public. All references to so-called News Stories
quoted were fabricated for the reader’s enjoyment. (Except Donald Trump and Wayne Newton
really are Elvi) Also, nefarious is the account of Colonel Parker’s role in his dealings with Elvis.
He was far worse than described herein. And finally, the following is a verbatim account of a
conversation with Werner Heffen as the author thanks him for his contribution to this story:
“Hello?”
“Werner, this is Dave”
“You want me to wave?”
“No, this is DAVE!”
“Hold on, I’ll get him”
“No! IT’S ME, DAVE, ON THE PHONE!”
“You want me to shave down to the bone?”
“Have you got your hearing aids in?”
“Hold on, I’ve got to put my hearing aids in.”
“O.K., tell me when you’re ready.”
“You want to talk to Freddy? There’s no Freddy here! I think you’re full of hops!”
“I SAID, I’LL WAIT TIL YOU ARE READY.”
“Oh, right, hold on I have to ....what was it I was going to do?”
“PUT YOUR EARS IN!”
“Right! Wait a while. I gotta find those outfits.”
“They’re on the kitchen table.”
“Bitchin’ Mable?”
“Have you got me on speaker?”
“Who’s a leaker?”
“Never mind. I just texted Susie to bring you your hearing aids.”
“SOOOZIE! Somebody wants some cheering braids. What’s this? Oh, my hearing aids. Thank
you dear!”
“O.K. so, you can hear me now.”
“Perfectly!”
“Great, I just wanted to thank you for your help with the book.”
“Spank me for my whelp with the crook?”
“Werner!”
“Yes? I can hear you!”
“Let’s try this. Do you want to go pout with the deer?”
“Go out for a beer, GREAT!”
“Pine, I’ll be fight rover.”
Please check out the author’s first book available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords
If I Can Dream, The Story of Being Elvis for 50 years
The year 2017 will mark 40 years since Elvis Presley died and 50 years since the author
performed his first Elvis Tribute Show. This is the true story of that journey as it intertwined
with the life of the World's Greatest Rock n' Roller. A 3 year old boy sings into an imaginary
microphone (hairbrush) and grows up to spend a half century “being Elvis”, performing during
the terms of 10 U.S Presidents. This story includes wild road trips, clinging women, lost love,
found love, lost friend, midnight visits from the mysterious “Ava”, advice from Elvis on being
Elvis, schmoozing with Oprah, battles with drugs and alcohol, intentional exposure to nuclear
radiation, an interrogation by the Secret Service and “being Elvis” through it all. Along the way
the reader will encounter a father crawling up a dirt road with his throat nearly slit, a teen beaten
to a pulp by a violent gang, buddies engaging in life-threatening horseplay, an unfulfilled
romance spanning 30 years, international intrigue, shady talent agents, haunting midnight
visitors, a homicide, an attempted car-jacking thwarted by side-burns the bedside account of the
deaths of a father and a mother, the character morphing from Elvis to Mark Twain, spending
time with the Chicago Bears and playing basketball for the Chicago Bulls. The book also
contains many images and links to videos relating to musical performances as it has been
designed to be read on e-devices as a multi-media product.
Look for the author’s next book available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.....
Lethal Lecture, The Lincoln Library Murders
Professor Elkhart is a respected authority on Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War. He travels the
country giving lectures at Public Libraries as the 150th anniversary of Lincoln’s Assassination
approaches on April 14, 2015. As the date gets closer, Professor Elkhart starts to lose his grip on
reality. He abandons his Ivy League Jacket with the elbow patches and appears at the podium in
full character complete with Lincoln beard and stove pipe hat.
He insists the effect is for authenticity but things are just not right with the good Professor. He
grows increasingly agitated at any “uncomfortable” questions about Lincoln’s Presidency. He
lashes out verbally at audience members who raise any doubts about the “Pure Character of our
16th President” or have the audacity to suggest he might bear part of the blame for a war that took
600,000 American Lives. When those asking the tough questions start showing up dead, two
things are certain. Attend one of Professor Elkhart’s lectures and you’ll learn something. Ask
the wrong question, and you’ll die!
Also available soon at Smashwords:
Libraries Across America
One Educator Visits 1,000 Public Libraries in the USA
Are libraries obsolete or more valuable than ever? This book attempts to answer that question by
virtual visits to Public Libraries Across the Country. In Big Cities or Rural Communities the
Library is shown to be an American Treasure, an Anchor for the Community. Architectural
Wonders or Store Front locations all serving the residents in need of knowledge, entertainment
and cultural enrichment. Take trip down Library Lane and enjoy the beauty, wonder and endless
possibilities of Libraries Across America.
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