So why put out a third volume? Why not keep rolling out the excuses until the day I die?
Honestly, I'm not sure that I have an answer for that one. Maybe it's because I grew up with a punk rock attitude, or maybe I'm just too damn stupid to do the intelligent thing. Or maybe, just maybe, I figured I could take the son-of-a-bitch, and give him a piece of what's comin'.
In the months following the release of Zombie Tales Two I spent a lot of time in the hospital. My leg, which was in terrible shape, endured three separate operations. The first was an emergency operation performed hours after my attack. During the second surgery, which was completed a few weeks later, I had part of my leg amputated in preparation for the third operation----a procedure known as osseointegration.
Osseointegration is a new way of attaching an artificial limb to a body. Up until recently the 'stump and socket' method was used, causing significant pain to the amputee. This new 'direct attachment' method works by inserting a titanium bolt into the bone at the end of the stump. Several months after the operation is complete the bone will bond itself with the titanium. Once the bone and the titanium are connected an abutment is fastened to the bolt, which extends from the stump. The artificial limb can then be fastened securely. Some of the benefits of this method include better control of the prosthetic, the ability to wear the prosthetic for an extended period of time, and the ability to do things like drive a car, or in some instances, play a musical instrument.
I had this new procedure done twice: once for my arm and once for my leg.
Afterwards, I healed.
I watched a thousand movies while I was being restored back to health, nothing too dramatic. Comedies mostly.
Comedies, Disney, musicals... Evil Dead 2...
In the movie Evil Dead 2 the main character----a klutz named 'Ash'----attaches a chainsaw to his severed arm.
I decided to do the same thing.
And get my revenge on Lovecraft.
My tool of choice was a Poulan Pro, 42cc, 18-inch, gas-powered chainsaw. The Poulan Pro is a pull-start model with a Duralife engine that comes with a tool-less chain tensioning system, an anti-vibration handle, an air-filter system, an automatic chain-oiler, a carrying case, and a two-year warrantee... all for the low, low price of $239.99. The only problem with the saw is its weight. The Poulan Pro weighs in at 11.8 pounds before gassing-up, and 13.1 pounds after.
The saw wasn't my only expense.
The cost of my two prostheses was just shy of $80,000, but thanks to health care and my insurance company I paid a little less than a thousand bucks. However, with my third prosthetic, an arm that was immediately disassembled and used for parts----and deemed unnecessary by both the government and my insurance company----my cost skyrocketed to nearly $25,000.
For weeks I avoided buying that extra arm; I thought for sure I'd be able to find a way around it. After all, Evil Dead Ash seemed to have no problem sticking a chainsaw onto his arm with nothing more than a roll of duct tape and a screwdriver; he made it look easy. Things were different for me, though. In the end, after weeks of trying, I couldn't get the chainsaw fastened to my limb. After countless hours in my workshop, trying to make the impossible possible, I did what
I had to do: I dug deep into my pocket and ordered the extra prosthetic arm from a company called CR Equipments. I then waited eleven days for the equipment to be shipped, and dismantled it a few hours later.
Around 7pm the next day everything was set. The chainsaw was modified and fastened to my abutment, which was connected to the titanium bolt, which had been directly fused with my bone.
Everything was perfect.
I wore the chainsaw day and night. Not wanting to be seen in public with this new modification, I had all my food delivered, I never invited company over for a visit, and I never left my home. I wore the tool to bed too, even though it was a bitch to sleep with and it leaked gasoline all over my sheets. In a perfect world I would have worn the saw every last minute, but the world isn't a perfect place, and occasionally, I was forced to take it off.
You see... I couldn't wear it in the shower.
And I was in the shower when Lovecraft came to visit me.
He was pissed.
~
I heard the loud BANG as the bathroom door was kicked open. The shower curtain was ripped from the rod before I knew it would happen. I stood there, naked, confused, and cursing up a storm with a glorified plastic bag wrapped around my prosthetic leg----a bag that I purchased from CR Equipment for a measly $345.95----and a second glorified bag wrapped around the stump of my arm, which, for the record, cost a few dollars less.
Hiding my manhood with my only hand, I was about to say, "What the hell is going on here?"
But then I saw him.
H. P. Lovecraft.
My chainsaw was sitting on the toilet seat.
And I was in deep trouble.
I looked left. I looked right. I looked at the chainsaw, which suddenly seemed to be very far away and completely useless to me. I thought about pushing my attacker away, I thought about screaming, I thought about begging for my life, but begging didn't do much the last couple of times that I saw the man, so why would it be any different this time?