by ARTURO BIGBANGBOOTIE, Alternate Reality News Service Transdimensional Traffic Writer
When somebody says, "It's like he vanished into thin air," what they're really saying is usually, "When it came time to pay the bill, he scarpered." When a police liaison representative says, "It's like he vanished off the face of the earth," what she is usually saying is, "He's either dead and buried in a shallow grave somewhere or he has skipped the country - either way, we don't have the resources to look for him."
Lakaida "Bunny" Chan Aikida vanished off the face of the earth into thin air. That is not a metaphor. It is not a euphemism. He disappeared in front of a dozen people, at least three of whom were not completely demented.
Lakaida, who was 87 years-old, was living in the Chairman Mao Rest Home and Dance Studio. He spent most of his days sitting in a corner of the common room, looking at the window and talking loudly about an incident in 1947 when, in order to teach Chang Kai Shek a lesson about the re-education of the ruling classes, Lakaida spit into his beer.
"The first thing I noticed was the room got an awful lot quieter," Nigiri Seet En-lo, another resident of the home, stated. "I enjoyed the quiet - it gave me time to plan how I was going to smuggle the contents of my pants past the guards at the front door. After a while, I got a little...unnerved by the quiet, and, looking around, I noticed that Bunny was not in his chair."
Security tapes, verified by police experts, show that one moment Lakaida was sitting in his chair, the next moment it was empty. Empty, curiously, save for 27 American pennies.
"Oh, he didn't disappear," Koari Watanamaker, Chief Obfuscations Relations Officer of the Chairman Mao Rest Home and Dance Studio claimed. "Our residents often wander off on their own, unattended, without anybody really knowing where they are. But, they always turn up, so there's nothing to...worry...a...uhh, could I maybe rephrase that answer a bit?"
What about the tape? "Oh, pfah!" Watanamaker waved her hand dismissively. "The police have investigated the Rest Home and Dance Studio several times for code violations, and they never made a charge stick. Well, okay, except for that one time. But, my point is that I wouldn't trust the judgment of the po - police...umm, you know, I think I need some time to think my answer to this question through more carefully."
What about the pennies found on Lakaida's chair? "Oh, we don't allow residents to have money," Watanamaker stated. "The orderlies will steal anything of value from their rooms. So, we tell their families not to let them have - you know, today is just not my day."
Not impressed with Lakaida's vanishment? Consider this: he had a C-chip implanted in his skull. The C-chip was, of course, designed to be implanted in youngsters to give parents the comfort of knowing that if their children were kidnapped and killed, authorities could recover the bodies. Oddly enough, parents were not comforted by this thought, and their protests effectively killed the programme.
The company turned around and sold the C-chip to old folks homes (changing the concept from "Child-chips" to "Coot-chips"). The tag line for the company's ads in Septuagenarian Care and Mortuary News Monthly was: "You keep track of your residents, we don't have to deal with obstructionist lobby groups - it's a win/win!"
Lakaida "Bunny" Chan Aikida's C-chip stopped sending out signals the moment he vanished.
Could Lakaida's C-chip have failed the moment he disappeared? "Oh! Oh! I know the answer to this one! Ask me! Ask me!" Watanamaker shouted. I nodded my head, and she responded: "The whole point of the C-chip is to locate bodies after they have...become bodies. So, it is highly unlikely that the C-chip would stop working."
Clapping her hands, Watanamaker added: "That was the right answer, wasn't it? Oh, I'm good - I'm really good!"
Beijing authorities, sensing that this was over their heads, called in the Multiverse Police Force. Blue Officer Chiang Ku Lio, who has been assigned to the case, stated, "We were asked to investigate the possibility that Mister Lakaida had been kidnapped to another universe. We will be happy to answer any questions that reporters may have."
Why kidnap an 87 year-old man?
"No comment," Chiang responded.
Had there been a ransom note?
"No comment," Chiang answered.
What's up with the pennies?
"No comment," Chiang replied. "If any further questions occur to you," he added helpfully, "please feel free to ask."
The investigation continues.