A head above: Don’t be cruel, we’re all shook up

Every now and then there comes a time when a man must peer deep within his Soul, and ask:

Should I spend $249.97 plus tax on a robotic rubber Elvis head?

Your Soul, of course, will try to lead you astray.

He will tell you to hold onto your hard-earned money. Or he will try to convince you to give that money to the poor and help make the world a better place.

“Are you completely insane?” your Soul will mostly say.

But if you are a strong enough dude, like me, you will tell your Soul to shove it.

After all, what does a Soul know about a WowWee “Alive” Elvis head that actually moves his eyes and mouth and even does the lip curl while singing eight of his hits?

Or that your “animatronic Elvis consists of 10 precision motors housed in an efficiently designed mechanical bust that conforms to the synthetic skin likeness of Elvis!”

And so you will grab that big box off the high shelf. You will ignore the stares and snickers of other, less intelligent shoppers as you tote your prized Presley to a checkout station.

“Whoa,” said the checker, when the Elvis head rolled up to her on the conveyor belt.

“WHOA!!” she said in a much louder tone after a scan of the box revealed the price.

I don’t want to be selfish. I can’t take all the credit for this new addition to the Clark home.

It was my lovely wife, Sherry, who discovered this Christmas gift of the Elvi.

It all happened at Wal-Mart one week ago. We went there to pick up some photographs of our daughter’s wedding that we had e-mailed to the store for processing.

So there I was, mulling around the CD section, when Sherry came bustling toward me with the look of discovery in her eyes.

“Come here,” she said. “I have to show you something.”

Sherry led me to an area stocked with bedding supplies.

Sheets. Pillows. Not really in my wheelhouse, I thought.

“Look up,” she told me, pointing a finger.

I followed her gaze. And gasped.

The weirdly rubberized face of The King stared down at me from on high.

Lord a’mighty.

“It sings and moves,” said Sherry, who had already read the box.

I asked myself: What would Elvis do when faced with an opportunity such as this?

He’d take care of business. That’s what he’d do.

And so Elvis left the building with us that night. We set him up on a table in the living room. We put a Santa hat on his head so he’d blend in with the Christmas tree.

This is the handsome, black-jacketed Elvis of his ‘68 Comeback Special. (I would have preferred the bloated, girdle-wearing, sweaty Elvis in a jumpsuit. But, hey, that’s just me.)

Like good parents, we’ve been studying the operating instructions. Pushing certain buttons on the plastic microphone-shaped remote controller will make Elvis utter actual soundbites like, “I won’t move anything but mah little finger.”

Or, “Don’t criticize what you can’t understand, son.”

He sings classics such as “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Heartbreak Hotel.”

There are responsibilities that come with having your own Elvis.

“Do not pull on Elvis’ eyebrows, sideburns or hair on the head,” we were warned in the “Taking Care of Elvis” section of the user manual.

“Do not put your fingers inside Elvis’ mouth. …”

He’s so lifelike. Except for not taking drugs, our Elvis does almost everything the real King did.

We put a notepad on the table so that our friends and visitors could jot down their reactions.

“I find his rubber lips alluring,” wrote one. “Is that wrong?”

“Elvis rocks!” wrote another.

“He’s no Tom Jones, that’s for sure,” griped a skeptic.

Sorry, Linda. Even Elvis couldn’t please everybody.

Sure, 250 bucks is a lot to spend.

But consider this: Twenty or so years ago, the technology it would take to construct an animated Elvis would have probably cost you a million dollars.

That science has advanced to the point where an ordinary working couple can walk into a Wal-Mart and walk out with a robotic Elvis head tells me something.

The end of the world has to be near.

We do so love our new Elvis. Already he has brought us such joy. I thought about leaving him on my desk at work, but I’m scared he might get laid off.

But all kidding aside, I will forever hold dear the precious memory of the moment we freed Elvis from his jailhouse box.

Sherry, sitting on a couch, held Elvis upside down. The King was facing me as she began sliding the eight D-batteries into the plastic base.

As the last battery clicked into place, we heard the whir of tiny motors. Suddenly, upside down Elvis opened his eyes and spoke.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen.”

I’ll be honest. I almost wet my pants.