Friday the 13th: The Missing Chapter

In writing a book, a lot of things end up in the crap heap, never to be read and usually for good reason.

The following exclusion, however, is an homage to my teen and pre-teen love of slasher flicks and horror movies that didn't make it into the book, but isn't half bad. No better time than Friday the 13th to share this ghastly flight of fancy.

The Return of the Living GRID

Return of the Living Dead not only entertained the most morbid corner of my humanity, the movie also inspired my first post-diagnosis inner-dialogue of resurrection. Maybe, just maybe, if AIDS struck me down I too could come back from beyond the grave to extract a little revenge on those who were free to live a life of debauchery. As my teenaged peers dreamt of making sweet love to the Playmate of the Year after a hot date, I fantasized about eating her brains after a brisk chase through an eerie, decrepit cemetery.

Even as a flesh-eating ghoul I wouldn't be able to take Heff's Mansion alone. Which lead me to another thought–If I were to come back from the dead, who would listen to my pleas and join my crusade?

When I was diagnosed with HIV people with AIDS were viewed as monsters, not unlike the decaying flesh-eaters of the Dead films. It's one of the reasons why Rock Hudson was shunned in Hollywood, Liberace's name was dragged through the mud and I was kicked out of public school. So who better to aide me in my AIDS-revenge fantasy?
And since the impending fantasy sequence takes place in the 1980's, it's important for us to come back in an attempt to change how people with AIDS were perceived and… nah, that wouldn't work.

If I died a virgin there would have to be bloodshed.

Though I wasn't particularly impressed with his music, Liberace shared my sense of vanity. Hey, I was a preppy teenager and, yes, this is shallow, but I was entering junior high school at the time and my looks were very important to me. If I were in a state of rapid decomposition, Liberace could help me look better than I did when I was alive–a kind of Queer Eye For The Dead Guy. As for Rock Hudson, well, nobody could handle a guy called "Rock." And since so much was made not only of Hudson's diagnosis, but his sexual orientation as well, The Enquirer would definitely be on our hit list.

But not before we cleaned up my town first.

We'd initiate our attack on the boys. This would not only eliminate my dating competition, but also endear me to my new friends. By targeting the hunky football players' dressing room, we'd attract the unsuspecting meatheads with Ace's enchanting piano music and sparkling sequined outfits. Nakedly lured from their showers to the 50-yard line of the dimly lit football field, they would come closer… closer… closer still…

Bam!

From behind the bleachers Rock and I strike with an onslaught that could only be described as jock and awe. The athletes finished, we'd move on to the band geeks, whom we'd easily destroy without resistance. Left to fight over my affections, the cheerleaders would plead their cases with the visions of carnage I'd masterminded not too far from the frontal lobes of their brains: the savory treats of my loyal, brooding cohorts.

Positively Yours,
Shawn

PS... Bloodlust not satisfied? Check out this compilation of every death scene in Friday The 13th. Enjoy! And Happy Friday the 13th!

Shawn Takes Manhattan: Support him in the NY AIDS Walk! Ch-ch-ch-ah-ah-ah.