Final Destination

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Beheading Holofe...

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I guess the fifth installment of the Final Destination franchise went up on big screens in mid-August.  I missed it.  I wouldn’t have gone to the theater to see it anyway.

Don’t get me wrong.  These movies are a guilty pleasure.  I always seem to be watching them when I’m traveling.

Of course that movie will be absurd.  Of course there is no plot and you probably shouldn’t really pick too deeply into any of it.  But it’s fun.  The One True Purpose of these films is to concoct ever more elaborate Rube Goldbergian death scenarios.  Often with great karmic balance.

It’s not like anyone actually played Mousetrap.  We just set it up to watch the trap go through all its machinations.

Anyway, I just bring this up because out in the park today (today being not today, but days ago), I became absolutely certain that my final destination death will somehow end with a retractable leash beheading.  I’m sure some combination of dripping water, mud, dog bags, bicyclists, other barking dogs, yoga pants, and fire cracker tossing teen gangstas will have a hand in it before the head pops off.

The remarkable thing is that I have survived this long.  Given the amount of confounding and increasingly bizarre mishaps that have befallen me this week, I would be a fool not to pay attention.  At least while I am playing with fire, stumbling around in a darkened tool room or careening wildly through the woods.

And don’t think some creepy little girl isn’t humming that dandelion song in the background.  The question “Do you like butter?” has never sounded so sinister to me until this minute.

I started this post aeons ago, but I snagged at the idea that something as widely known as the dandelion diddy that results in a flower beheading seems to have no clearly accepted etymology.  All the kids in all of my hoods knew this cult ritual.  Someone out there needs to find an answer to this baby beheading buffoonery.

Even the Stones knew something was up.

And just to drive the point home, think about this little eight-legged freak the next time you think about rubbing that dandelion flower all over your chin.  She’s in there.  Trust me.

The Goldenrod, a species of crab spider, probably has no love for butter. Drawn or otherwise.


About I.M. Pangs

digital verbal smog creator
This entry was posted in Film, Literature and Entertainment and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Final Destination

  1. Autumnforest says:

    Seriously, I never heard that saying and ritual. How did I miss that? That would have been psycho fun on the playground!

    • I.M. Pangs says:

      Then I suppose it comes as no surprise to you that either nobody knows how it started or they are keeping it a secret from the rest of us. I have not given up. I have just tabled the search until I can set aside some real time to do it.

      And yes, flicking dandy heads with your thumb, shouting decapitation chants and chasing lasses about the grounds under threat of rubbing things under their chin was great fun.

  2. Well, do you like butter?

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