I'VE NEVER BEEN much of an Elvis Presley fan, so it didn't come as much of a shock to learn that I wasn't exactly his favorite hound dawg. But I was somewhat surprised to discover that The King is keen on Al Gore, still shuffles about in blue suede shoes and is finding grits hard to come by these days.

For someone who would now be in his mid-60s, Elvis looks remarkably well preserved, rosy of cheek and firm of jaw. Maybe it's the turban. Also, he's dropped a lot of the excess avoirdupois he had amassed by the time he popped his clogs a couple of decades ago. The Medellin Connection evidently hasn't plugged into the Other Side as yet.

Now call me a cynical old stick-in-the-mud, but I really don't buy the idea that that Elvis Presley is hanging around dishing out Chicken McNuggets in a Tupelo eatery, working as a transvestite barkeep in Boise, Idaho, or even about to land at second base in Yankee Stadium aboard a flying Havana stogie from the planet Zog.

Still, trained skeptic that I am, I also tend to doubt the doubters. With that in mind, I went searching for some indication that old swivel hips might indeed be lurking out there somewhere, and cyberspace - the Internet - seemed as good a place as any to look.

The World Wide Web can tell you how to use pond life to fuel your car, solve the Rubik's Cube in a nanosecond or three and provide directions for getting from New York's 61st street to East 42nd by car in the same day, so it should be able to trace the spirit of one well-decayed Memphis minstrel without a lot of bother.

And hey, presto! There on my screen was the main man himself, turban and all, at a Web site flashing its sign: "Ask The King (http://www.mgm.com/elvis/ask/index.html). More specifically, I was invited to "ask The King's advice on all matters of importance in your life," and the hook: "Maybe you'll catch a tip or two that will make a difference."

So was an opportunity for an interview in cyberspace with Elvis Presley. To be sure, there were limitations, such as the fact that the questions had to be of the yes-or-no variety. So there was no getting him to expound on "Tutti Frutti" as a metaphor for life without chewing gum, whether "Teddy Bear" bore a hidden agenda for forbidden love, or whether the word "banal" had ever even once occurred to him.

Okay, so onward. Seeking a tip that might make a difference, I asked that most important of all questions on a Saturday night in London: "Will I win the National Lottery?" I typed. Back came the rather sarcastic rejoinder: "How the heck do I know?"

That was neither a good nor particularly helpful start. I tried another tack: "Could I make a fortune by becoming an Elvis impersonator?"

"I think you're right," he replied. That was more like it, and I was eyeing my own guitar with renewed interest, until my wife Elizabeth reminded me that I am gray-haired, I look more like Woody Allen the Weedy than Elvis the Pelvis, and my guitar-playing traumatizes the cats.

Let's try something a bit more meaty. Like politics, for which Presley did display some acumen. ("Hound Dog," for example, certainly qualified as a worthy polemic on politicians in general.) So did he think George Bush would win the presidential race?

"You're putting me on," came the reply. Well, let me tell you, that came as a distinct surprise, because Elvis was once a buddy of Richard Nixon and I thought he was decidedly in the Republican camp. After all, didn't Tricky Dick finagle J. Edgar Hoover into making him an honorary G-man, or somesuch?

I was even more amazed by the reply to my follow-up question: "Do you, Elvis, think Al Gore will be the next president?"

"Whoa," Elvis Presley blurted out. "You just said the magic word. . ."

Now coming from the Other Side, as it must assuredly seem to, it must give Dubyah something to think about, and old Alabaster-Face Al a moment's pause for rejoicing. Then again, Elvis is/was from Memphis, whose lone previous contribution to national politics was one Estes Kefauver, notable solely for making the coonskin cap a fashion item for unusually silly politicians.

How did he view Bill Clinton? "Seven years' bad luck," came the reply. Well, one year off isn't bad. So how about Hillary, then, in the New York senatorial race - can she win? "I think you're right," Elvis said after a few seconds of pondering.

Good stuff, I thought, visions of a Pulitzer Prize slowly beginning to dance from the screen into me head. Now for yet another change of tack. Get at the personal stuff that tugs at the heartstrings.

"Are grits available on the Other Side?" I asked. "You gotta be kidding," came the sour reply. Well, how about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - surely any Hereafter worthy of the name has an ample supply of those?

"How the hell do I know?" came the frustrated outburst. I was beginning to panic. The interview was getting out of control, and I could sense Elvis's turban slipping dangerously, threateningly . . .

"How about blue suede shoes - are you wearing them these days?" "Absolutely, yes, sir," he replied. Better, so I pursued: "How about guitar strings - got enough of them these days?"

"You've got a dirty mind," he replied, again ominously. It was all slipping away. I blurted out, typing: "Do you like me?"

"No, no, no," came the abrupt reply. That left me all shook up. Elvis obviously viewed me as the devil in disguise. I felt any question from here on would be a case of return to sender. It was too much, I got stung, so I messaged, "I'm leavin'," and promptly clicked off the Internet.

Anyway, I was distressed about that business of no grits in the Hereafter.

Thought for the Week: A fool and his money are a girl's best friend.

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