Meet Krissa. She was once known as the “Queen of Fine Cuisine” worldwide. She attended the world’s finest cooking schools, worked in five star kitchens alongside some of the most notorious little a**hole chefs you can think of in half the cosmopolitan cities on the globe. She slept with a few of them, developing a foie gras fetish that we’d best not discuss here. As her skills matured, so did her style. Her looks and skill eventually landed her some television appearances, which then led to a cookbook, and then another until she had racked up 8 best-selling cookbooks. Her haughty delivery, combined with endless connections and accolades, made her an object of utter fascination and intimidation. It is said that she was the first to introduce foams into the New York restaurant scene. She made a few careers but broke even more - her empathy conversely shrank as her fortune grew. She hobnobbed with the rich and famous (even flying with Epstein a few times - oops). She had become a household name! Then one day she was making a routine appearance on the Today show, giving Savannah Guthrie her customary icy treatment as she walked the audience through the proper way to make a tart. And that’s when it happened. In a momentary pause, on live national television, Krissa let out a protracted, cacophonous fart. Krissa froze. Savannah froze. Nobody spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Krissa tried to continue her segment but the damage had been done. It trumpeted a flatulent fall from grace from which even she could not recover. The clip went viral, trending on Twitter, Google, Facebook and everywhere else, drifting unavoidably to every corner of the earth. She was now known as the “Fart Tart” and had become a punchline overnight. Things were never the same. A decade later she would be the answer on Jeopardy under the category ‘Flatulent Failures’. Krissa retreated from the public eye, purchased some land in North Carolina, and now runs a popular organic farm with a Farm Stand named “The Magical Fruit”. Her favorite song is “That Smell” by Lynyrd Skynyrd.
As Courtney was handed the rule pamphlet, she swore she saw the Da Vinci code. Symbols swirled around, English words became foreign and strange. She somehow now knows how to set up a VCR after reading them, but still does not quite understand how to win atMahjong.
Last week she ordered each of them one of those gadgets that shatters your car window in case of a full water immersion. She also ordered a wind up radio. You know, in case the power grid goes down. She changed the air filters in the house last month, and commented that Olive Garden is a heck of a deal if you get a family sized pan with a five dollar take-home add-on. She’s been cracking open a Bud heavy after yoga class lately, and finally decided to try out a MyPillow.
But here she sits, six years after her appointment with WIDK reporting on milk prices, beauty pageants, the occasional car theft, Alderman election scandals, and downtown green space clean up efforts. This stupid little town doesn’t deserve her. She’s meant for greatness, and she despises their perky greetings on the streets....
