K.F.C.C.C.P.

When I was a boy in the Iowa cornfields (actually we lived in a house), the making of fried chicken happened with blissful regularity. My sister and I would be whisked from kitchen to kitchen to consume fried chicken. I have a distinct recollection of telling Lula that her chicken tasted better than the Colonel's.

Immortality achieved.

With this as a background, I must admit that since those bucolic days of yesteryear until only very recently, I had not paid a single visit on Colonel Sanders (now a license rather than a name) or Kentucky Fried Chicken (as we once knew it, now a mere abbreviation, KFC). During these more than 30 intervening years, this purveyor of extra crispy and coleslaw was off my Fast Food Radar (which, by the way makes, the Hubble Space Telescope look like a Kinder egg sneak-a-scope).

And then the Colonel came to Serbia.Unfortunately, back in Kentucky, the good old marketing boys at KFC had neglected to read newspapers during these 30 years. No one told them, for example, that cold war had ended, that the Soviet Union had fallen, that communists were not the biggest global annoyance any more. I suppose it did not seem to matter with your feet in the blue grass.

But then someone had the Bright Idea to send KFC abroad. By the time they had come to the S's on the list, seen Serbia, called in an expert geographer to show them where it was on the map, figured out that it used to hide inside of Yugoslavia (in the Y's much further down), the world had changed again many times over.

The good old marketing boys, however, had been busy. They invented KFCommunism. They reckoned it would be useful for all them there commie-countries over there east of England (i.e., everything else until Japan).

Before you start calling this in as a hoax, dear readers, I invite you to visit KFC here in New Belgrade.... Lights, please?

            (Fade in - KFC counter - Delta City)

- Can I help you?

- I would like a Picnic bucket

- Ok

- With only dark meat please

          (cue Scary Music - maybe from Scooby Doo)

- Only dark?

- Yes please.

- You can't have that.

- Why not?

- I don't know... Let me get the manager.

           (Exits left, running)

          (Enter Manager left - cue Imperial March from Star Wars)

- What seems to be the problem? (heavy breathing through black strap-on asthma inhaler)

- I ordered a Picnic bucket with all dark meat.

- No.

(Pause)

- No?

- No you cannot have that.

- But I ordered it. You have the chicken don't you?

- Yes (breathing), we do.

(Pause)

- Then can I order only pieces?

- Yes.

- Good. Then I will have three drumsticks and three thighs please.

- No.

Several hours later, a young man looking nervously at me called me aside and explained what was going on. I could NOT buy which ever pieces I wanted because there were not enough of them. But, I pointed out, I can SEE THEM SITTING THERE! Yes, he told me, there are enough in an Absolute Sense. But there are not enough to go around.

Light dawned.

Under capitalism, I could order every last piece of chicken, every cole of slaw, and the manager's pointy hat if I wanted (maybe even the inhaler to boot). And they would sell it to me. But under KFCommunism, I must think about the Collective. What would happen if, say, three hours later a young couple came looking for a Picnic bucket and found ONLY WHITE meat? Imagine their shock and despair! No, as a consumer under this regime, it is more important to think for the society before yourself. My allotment of dark meat is two (maybe three if you play golf with the party boss).

I should NOT be so selfish. I should NOT think only of what I want... Do you want this to turn into the bedlam of a Consumer Society?? Certainly not! Back in Kentucky, the good old marketing boys had thought of this. They were probably strumming the banjo in glee right now to see how well their KFCommunism worked.

In the meantime, I consulted my watch, noticed that it was the 21st century, and came up with my own cunning plan:

           (Enter Me, again, stage right)

- May I have one chicken leg, to take away, please?

- Yes.

- Thank you.

           (Pays, exits right)

(Pause)           (Enter Me, again, stage right)

- May I have one chicken leg, to take away, please?

- Yes.

- Thank you.

           (Pays, exits right)

(Pause)           (Enter Me, again, stage right)

- May I have one chicken leg, to take away, please?

- Yes.

- Thank you.

           (Pays, exits right)

I did this ten times, got what I wanted in the end, and headed home. When I got back to my flat, with the chicken now on a descending scale of coldness, I immediately called three or four major American dailies and subscribed the Colonel and his minions to each.

It is time for the fall of the KFCCCP. The Cold Chicken War is gone.