Doritos Reveals New Human Tracking Chips

orrowing a page from every cautionary future tale ever written and 60% of all science fiction films to date, the Frito-Lay Corporation today unveiled Trakos, a new line of Doritos brand “human tracking chips� designed to thwart kidnappings and various other ugly crimes in four delicious varieties.

The new chips, offered in Ranch Attack, Hellapeño, Nacho Bacon, and Four Course Meal flavors, use cutting edge technology to embed edible microchips into the snack food. These microchips can then be tracked by satellite and hand-held scanning devices worldwide, providing a huge aid in missing-persons cases involving recent snack chip consumption. The high-tech snacks are being offered in response to recent public demands for improved homeland security and a snack food that tastes like nacho-flavored bacon.

“The public has been resistant to this tracking technology for years, but now we’ve made it delicious,� explained Doritos head Ken Abenly.

“People may balk at the idea of being implanted with a tracking device, but we think the time has come to put those outmoded fears to rest,� said Abenly. “The threat of an embarrassing public death at the hands of some crazed terrorist or your cheating husband is just too great these days. Criminals may still resist the concept of being tracked through microchips floating around in their bile, but we’re confident we’ve made these chips delicious enough to overcome any objections.�

Chip-hating privacy advocates have protested the trend, citing fears of a Big Brotherly government agency using the American public’s weakness for tasty snack foods to create a vast surveillance network, leading inevitably to political oppression and embarrassing high-water jumpsuits for all.

“The rest of our chips have been known for years to be major contributors to obesity, heart disease and stroke, yet that hasn’t stopped anyone from pounding the things like they were going out of style,� continued Abenly. “So we don’t foresee privacy concerns being a major deterrent. After all, which would you rather have: A tiny, painless microtransmitter in your gullet, or a spaghetti tangle of gross heart tubes coming out of your chest? Yuck. Sounds like a no-brainer to me. Plus we made sure they taste like nacho-flavored bacon, which the people seem to love.�

Despite protests, the technology appears to be a likely hit. Plans are already in the works for several other tracking foods, including Grandma Come Home pitted prunes from Sunkist and Ralson Purina’s upcoming Trackin’ Wagon dog food to aid in the search for missing pets.

Sadly, the technology has not yet advanced to the point of aiding in the search for pets or loved ones who are already missing, though unsubstantiated reports have Hershey Foods working on a time-traveling chocolate bar that might allow consumers to go back in time and feed tracking foods to their currently missing pets before they disappear. Dim-witted focus groups have also drawn attention to the need for intelligence regarding what kinds of snack foods car keys might enjoy, so that they can be fed tracking snacks and never be lost again.

Conservative Woman Found

Fox Disappointed by Desperate Alien Prison Escape Ratings

Congress Lobbied for More Material to Complete Brando Memorial

Impotent Landslide in China Kills Only Micro-Fraction of Glorious Population

Can you believe those cheap ass pants-handlers at the commune? I just found out they're paying us the same this year, despite the double-barreled workload increase that comes with the switch to the weekly schedule. That is the Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger of bullshit. If I'm going to be doing twice the work this year, I demand at least an increase in the number of surplus novelty calendars we get to take home every month. Like the saying goes, "Time is calendars," and you know I deserve to be compensated for mine.

And then to add insoles to injury, I accidentally emailed that last paragraph to Randy "Machoman" Savage yesterday, while writing one my weekly emails about how he sold out when he stopped doing Shakespeare and joined the WWF (sue me, panda-fuckers). Goddamned Windows is all I can say about that. If you're gonna put the "send email" button right next to the "kill" button on Minesweeper, shit like this is just going to keep on happening to good people. And I was pissed about that times two, since not only did I send Machoman the beginning of my new column, which was likely going to sell for hundreds on eBay within the hour, that also blew a golden opportunity to break my Minesweeper record for blowing that little guy's ass up in under a second.

Weirdest thing of all, though, was that Machoman actually wrote me back. For the first time as far as I can tell, unless his previous messages got smurfed by my spam filter. Whatever happened, this one got to me and really put my colon in a twist. That meat mountain actually had the balls to suggest I've got an easy job, then he pressed his luck all the way by asking what in the hell I do the rest of the time if I've only got one column to write a week. What do I do? Shit man, what don't I do?

Who do you think writes Quentin Tarantino all those letters about how he never puts backwards-talking midgets in his movies any more? That's right, Roland McShyster. But who do you think mails that shit? Bludney Pludd, usually. Stay with me here. Who do you think covers the stairwell in grease-coated marbles before all this happens? Omar "Don't Tell Me You Didn't Know It Was Greased Marble Day" Bricks, that's who. Didn't think about that when you were so busy laughing at Bludney Pludd's hilariously broken body, did you? Somebody's got to put in the work behind the scenes to make this world go around, man.

Damn, that Machoman chaps my ass. Leave it to an ex-Shakespearean actor to underestimate how much this extra column cuts into my prank-calling time. I had to abandon an elaborate plan to sell Rok Finger the deed to a Nigerian gold mine just to give me the time to procrastinate about writing this column. And it just doesn't sit right with me, the idea of Finger spending his commune paycheck on bread and electricity instead of the commune in-office scam of the week, or Griswald Dreck's 1-900 answer line. Fucking Machoman.

It's time Omar Bricks proved to the world that he earns his paycheck, times two. I don't care if it takes a fake beard, fake tits, or imitation Alaskan king crab, Omar Bricks is going to find a way to get paid like he was two people, while maintaining the workload of a small child. This victory shall be my crowning achievement, making up the bulk of the text in my eventual obituary, and helping to pay for the ski jump I've been wanting to put in my back yard. Even better, the effort will likely kill the rest of the down time until they finish building my neighbor's new house and I can get all up in that biatch. Bricks out.

º Last Column: The Basement Tapes
º more columns

The anniversary of the September 11 attacks was Thursday. I see no better time to tell you, the reader, the necessity of talking to your kids about the catastrophe and what it all means to them.

First thing is first. Some younger children, the stupid ones especially, may think with all the news coverage that the September 11 events are happening now. Assure them that they have missed it, that it has already happened. If possible, try to make them think it was a lot cooler than it actually was. Tell them everyone was there and there was weed and free beer. This will ease the pain of thinking we all went through hell.

It is important the children know the truth about what happened to the United States on that day. But then again, what is truth, really? Make sure they know the U.S. was doing its part to make the world a better place for everyone when out of nowhere, without provocation, the devil's lackeys swooped down and destroyed several expensive buildings—and more than that, they destroyed our spirit. And though all those directly involved were instantly killed in the collisions, we will not rest until we find those indirectly responsible.

To kids, terrorism seems like a big, unstoppable thing that is faceless and too complicated to kill. Make sure they know that's not the case. Show them pictures of terrorists, like Osama bin Laden, and tell them who they are. Then make fun of the stupid way terrorists dress and those things they wear on their head.

The total number of casualties from the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks, as well as the Pennsylvania crash that claimed Flight 93, are continually being re-figured. An accurate count is impossible. Just guesstimate when you tell your kids how many died. A number between 2,000 and 30 million is usually considered pretty close.

It's important that kids know the government is doing everything to keep them safe. When kids ask how we're stopping terrorism, show them the little color chart on the bottom of the Fox News screen with the different color. The yellow means we're close to safe. Show them the elevated security at airports, and how pulling black or brown people out of line to be frisked means everybody else is terrorism-free. If you can manage it, tell them how our invading Iraq helps stop terrorism. And then send a letter to the president—I'm sure he'll appreciate it.

Your kids may ask questions like, "How could God let something like this happen?" Kids ask quite a few dumb questions. How you deal with that is your business, I'm not foolhardy enough to lecture you on religion. But if you need any help, tell them that God allows people to do what they will with free will, and that it's our job to make peace with each other. I don't buy it either, so if they think it's crap, tell them God is lazy. Sometimes things like that make children cry, and if you don't think children crying is funny, then try this old time-tested favorite: God lets people die because he really likes those people and wants them with him in Heaven. Thus if your children are still alive, God doesn't like them. Now that ought to be pretty funny.

If your children still don't understand, then there may be something wrong with them. It's easy enough to figure out—something extremely terrible happened in 2001. So terrible, in fact, the media can dig into the graves and feast on the juicy, succulent fear and grief once every year now, when the news is particularly dull. Mmmm… suffering!

º Last Column: Mars Needs Foreskins
º more columns