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?
Lovecraft said, "Another zombie book? You have gotto be kidding me! You've got balls... kid. I'll give you that."
"Wait!" I shouted. "Please... God, just wait!"
"No. There will be no waitingthis time, you injudicious, ill-advised, imprudent, accretion of Homo habilis defecation... you inconsequential, negligible, trifling, paltry, stump of----"
My mouth opened and closed. Arguing with a man that memorized the dictionary is a skill I have not yet mastered.
I said, "But----"
"But nothing!" Lovecraft barked. Then he raised his hand and I saw it:
The axe.
The fucker had an axe with him.
I stepped back, away from the maniac, and slipped on my prosthetic limb bag. My back slammed against the wall and I fell, landing in the tub. At the same time Lovecraft brought the axe down hard.
And missed.
I found myself beneath him, looking up. My arms and legs----or what was left of them----were thrashing about like I had been electrocuted. Panicking, an image came to mind: an overturned turtle, lying on its shell, feet moving uselessly in the air.
Lovecraft raised the axe again.
"Stop it!" I shrieked, still thrashing about. "What's wrong with the second zombie book? There was nothing wrong with it! Zombie Tales Two is good! IT'S GOOOOOOD!"
Holding the axe high, Lovecraft unleashed, "I don't care if it's good! That's not the point! No more zombies!Do something original! Do something better!"
"But I am! I've done a Best New Vampire Tales book and I'm about to release a Best New Werewolf Tales book! Do you know about those?"
Oh my God. I thought he was mad before, but the anger that consumed his pale and oddly shaped face doubled, becoming a 9.9 on the wrath scale. I had never seen anything like it.
"Werewolves?" he mumbled, offended by my words. "Vampires?"
"Yes," I whispered, trembling, knowing I was in worse trouble than before.
"You've missed the point, you despondent and miserably dejected wad of cephalopod tentacle! Do you really think that werewolves and vampires are original?"
"Uh..."
" Do you?"
What could I say? He created Yog-Sothoth and Cthulhu and I created... no, not created... rehashed----he created Cthulhu and I rehashed werewolves, vampires, and zombies... again. I was up shit creek with the words 'yes - I think werewolves and vampires are original' written across one paddle, while my other paddle announced: 'no - I don't think werewolves and vampires are original, but I'm releasing them anyway.'
I rolled the dice. "Yes?'
"Yes?! YES?!You think werewolves and vampires are original?"
"Well... maybe...?"
"No! Not maybe. Oh... you're DEAD!"
Lovecraft brought the axe down hard and caught me in the foot. Not the prosthetic one, the real one.
I screamed.
Blood splashed.
And Lovecraft lifted the axe again.
The second time he hit me the blade landed on my shin.
Something cracked. The lights seemed to dim.
As I started to black out I heard him say, "You going to release a fourth volume, zombie boy?"
The word "no" escaped my mouth in a squeak, but the truth of the matter was this: the fourth volume was almost complete.