The DVD release became a de facto target date for terminating this wretched exercise, but a stay of execution was granted until September (the idea being that our core audience would return to school and buy up the remaining copies).So these are the final posts. It's decided. Expect a special sign-off from Scott, and perhaps a couple surprises. And that's that. Chapter The Last.
As killerweedmovie.blogspot.com marches slowly, proudly to death, it's a prescient analogy to my private life, as I was recently...
STABBED IN THE NECK!
This is a true story. Thursday, August 23rd I was returning camera gear and production supplies for a commercial
I'd crewed the day before. Easy-peasy, finished around 11:30 am and by noon I was gassing up my cube truck before returning it to the rental place across the street. Some hood was loitering by the gas pumps, and I should've known by his demeanor that he wasn't there to buy ho-hos. He seemed to have his dark eyes trained on anything and everything, looking for an easy mark.I tried ignoring him as I stood by the pump. But the kid approached me, muttering something I couldn't hear.
I leaned in, asking him what he was selling, and this time heard quite clearly his words:"You got three seconds to give me your money, fool!"
I noticed a triangular box cutter in his left hand. Instantly, (or almost instantly, but clearly in blatant violation of the stipulated three-second grace period) he rammed the blade in my neck! I was shanked!
The little punk turned and fled. Standing there, stunned, wondering if this indeed just happened, wondering if I'm about to die, my life flashed before my eyes...
age 2: growing cynical, disillusioned with world after onset of potty-training
age 6: aloof, distant from peers; already balding
age 9: swore off knee-length shorts forever
age 12: frequent erections
age 14: feeling blue in wake of Brown/Goldman murders
age 18: slept in a lot
age 19-26: gave shorts another shot and found them comfy
age 27: stabbed in the neck!
Snapping to my senses, I realized swift action was in order. Now, one would think that by telling a gas station clerk you'd just been chibbed in his parking lot, his next move would be to dial 9-1-1. Thanks to the helpful bystander who got that train in motion, because I wasn't in any condition to field details. But never lost consciousness. Never saw a white light. Never saw my grandfather telling me my time wasn't up yet. Just as well 'cause I would've told him to go back to playing canasta with JFK and Robert Reed. My work here's not done.Fire department came. Paramedics. Police. Had to give the story a hundred times over. Went to the Cedar Sinai's E.R. where they patched me up. Stayed overnight for observation, got an I.V. drip and I have to say, I'm considering getting one for private use. Not for any medical reason, mainly as a time-saver and nutritional failsafe.
Two stitches later, I'm back home and nearly 100 percent. Everyone says I'm extremely lucky. So far no news on my assailant, and it's likely they'll never catch him, the bastard. But criminals take heed, for justice has a new face...
If I've learned anything this week, it's that I'm impervious to injury! So I'm in the exploratory phases of forming a meta-human action squad purposed with finding, capturing, and paralyzing the piece of shit who did this to me. I'm not kidding, you dirtbag; I'm going to put your brain in a sling. Expect full-blown retaliation from my team, a sweeping bushwhack blitzkrieg on your friends, family, your family friends, acquaintances, pets and plants, your extended family and any overseas relations. Then we'll dig up your ancestors and smash their bones with a hammer-claw. And when there's no one in your scum-ridden gene pool left to defile, we'll track you to the depths of Tartarus and join Satan in pouring scalding porridge in your rectum.signing off,
Matt
