Goodbye to the Little People

Fellow Horror Worldians, it is with tear-filled eyes and a trembling lip that I compose this missive to you. You know how much you mean to me, every one of you. Even the one dude who always ends up in front of me in convention lines and who hasn’t washed his ass since 1994. So I find it quite heart-rending to have to deliver the dire news that even now fills me with despair.

In fact, it occurs to me that perhaps I should ease into this. The shock of my devastating announcement may perhaps cause damage to the psyche of the sensitive reader (which is covered by The Goddess of Horror World’s insurance, by the way, so please see her if you have a claim).

Why don’t I relax you first with a joke?

As an airplane is about to crash, a female passenger jumps up frantically and announces, “If I’m going to die, I want to die feeling like a woman.”

She removes all her clothing and asks, “Is there someone on this plane who is man enough to make me feel like a woman?”

A man stands up, removes his shirt and says, “Here, iron this!”

Ha ha. There’s nothing quite like plane crash chauvinist humor, is there?

How do you feel? Calm? Buoyed by the sweet sensitivity of my comedy?

Good. Then hold on tight. Here it comes.

This is my last column for Horror World.

Please, no shrieking, wailing or gnashing of teeth. Don’t gnash the cat, either.

Calm down. Get  hold of yourself. Bad stuff happens. I know you feel as though a vital organ has been torn from your body by vicious computer generated wolves right out of a Liam Neeson movie.

You’re probably thinking “I bet it’s a contract dispute. Or maybe the Goddess fired him for failing to get that Joe Hill interview for Pod of Horror.”

Wrong-o, pal. I’m quitting on my own, for one simple reason. I have landed the greatest job in writing. This is the pinnacle of literature. The top of the writing heap. The gig that makes winning a Pulitzer seem like getting a coupon for a Little Cesar’s pizza.

Of course I’m talking about writing the script for a SyFy original movie.

In case you’ve been living in a country that is cut off from all developments in highbrow culture, the SyFy channel has been producing quality motion pictures that deconstruct the human condition in an effort to call attention to the shifting paradigm that serves to alienate us from our emotions. This cinematic experiment has been examined over the course of several significant films, including Mega-Python vs. Gatoroid, Mega-Shark vs. Giant Octopus and, of course, the stirring, deeply emotional Mansquito.

And by “landed” I mean “SyFy doesn’t know who I am but when they read my script they will throw mountains of moolah at me”. I know that sounds cocky. Maybe even arrogant. Yet when you have an idea this good, we call it “confidence”.

You see, the ingredients for a SyFy original movie are simple: a title that will stand out, a cast of washed-up TV actors and computer generated effects that could have been created by your nine-year-old niece on her iPhone.

Since you are my peeps, I am going to share my SyFy original move idea with you. I know you’ll keep it between us.

I call it Mega-Duck-Billed Platypus vs. Ginormus Hemorrhoid. It’s the story of a semi-aquatic mammal that grows to massive size, thanks to harmful exposure to the dangerous emanations of Fox News. This enraged, misunderstood creature escapes the zoo, crushesDes Moines and does battle with an oversized walking rectal fissure made ambulatory by the machinations of an oxy-addicted proctologist.

The cast includes such acting stalwarts as the guy who played Horshack on Welcome Back, Kotter, Joanie from Joanie Loves Chachi and Happy Days, the fat chick from Facts of Life, Mama from Mama’s Family, and Mr. Belvedere, with special cameos from Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich as the Ginormus Hemorrhoid.

As you can see from that brief synopsis and cast list, I have captured the Zeitgeist, if you will, of the tragedy and nihilism evident in the best subtitled, black and white foreign artsy-fartsy films. For example, take this scene, which sums up the pathos and ennui I am going for:

EXT. SARAH PALIN’S HOUSE INALASKA. IT’S LATE NIGHT.

NEWT GINRICH, DRESSED IN A GORE-TEX COAT, STAINED WITH BARBECUE SAUCE, CLIMBS THE STEPS TO THE FRONT PORCH AND KNOCKS ON THE DOOR. SARAH PALIN OPENS THE DOOR. HER HAIR IS DISHEVELED AND SHE’S WEARING ONLY A TINY T-SHIRT AND PINK PANTIES.

Sarah

By golly, with you standing there I can’t see Russia no more!

Newt

Who cares. Wanna f***?

*Sniff* Excuse me. That chokes me up every time I read it.

Now all that’s left for me to do is to make room in the driveway so the Brink’s truck can back up to my door.

I will miss you and all the other little people whose calls and emails I will no longer answer. I will also miss the potty mouth of the Goddess of Horror World. If I miss it too much, I’ll just call up my cousin, the sailor.

The next time you hear from me, it will probably be during one of my acceptance speeches at the awards shows. I’ll be the one in the Pod of Horror thong.

Of course Mark Justice isn’t quitting this lucrative gig. And, by “lucrative” he means “I’m paid in Little Cesar’s coupons”. He blogs about his life here