I may have killed Stan Lee.
I am not for certain, but he looked dead as he fell. His last words were, “evil doer,” and he pointed right at me.
I had my Iphone out and just took this photo.
It is not like I did not know that I wasn't allowed to take photos of Stan Lee without paying for them first.
Along with the security all around him, there were signs.
But signs and security were like the don’t take more than you can eat suggestions in Chinese restaurants.
Of course I am going to take more than I can eat, it’s a buffet, I want to leave feeling like I am about to throw up.
How do you moderate that?
Wait fifteen minutes between bites?
Take a bite of egg roll, wait fifteen minutes. Nope still hungry.
No, fuck that sign and fuck not taking pictures of the man who may, depending on opinion and level of diction, be the Shakespeare of the modern age, except knowing he is not gay and certainly not English royalty. Honestly though barring a fist fight between him and Stephen King nobody will ever truly know.
Fuck J.K. Rowling, the English had a Shakespeare, it’s our turn now and you can't count Mark twain because we didn't know what we had when we had it (is my excuse, just for the sake of this piece) and Hemingway… did not write plays, so that’s that and the only reason Vonnegut is out, is because I did not kill Vonnegut I killed Stan lee.
The first time I pulled out my phone and tried to take my illegal photo this guy in a blue security shirt put his hand up in front of my face and said, “No pictures, without paying, then points to the sign.”
I looked at him, he had a vein bulging, actually twitching on his right temple. His eyes were red, angry, steroid red. His sleeves to the blue uniform were rolled up and the skin exposed was criss-crossed with bulging everything, muscle veins and strength.
He looked at me also and I saw a painful death the type like in Deliverance just The New York City variety were the audience is filled with hundreds people half out there minds with bloodlust and the rest have their camera phones on record make sure the world will never forget. Eventually the cops will show up and when they do, they will have a cup of coffee and wait for things to die down a bit before jumping in to help. Beyond the feeling of imminent death I felt something else right then, curiosity, could I get away with it and would ass rape really be my punishment if I did.
I scouted the area.
I saw the man himself through several gaps, but the gaps moved, always shifting, and never remained open long enough for a clear shot.
It took another couple of minutes for the security guard to find me again. His face had grown another shade of red, not only his eyes but his face as well seemed purple. I took a shot. Fuck it I thought and grabbed a picture with my camera.
Just before it slipped to the photo album I saw how opposite of perfect it was, Stan had looked up just as I snapped it and I guess something funny had been said to him, because the man had a perfect smile on his face.
It would have been worth the flying tackle that came at me.
When I played football there were rumors this guy who played second string guard popped steroids. He could bench like over 375 pounds had arms like tree trunks, but he couldn't protect the Second string Quarterback. I wish every guard I faced had this guy’s ability, I would have made all state.
So the security guard attempted to tackle me. I felt the attempt and staggered a step back but was surprised to see him bounce off a right forearm rip.
He stumbled back. Lost his balance and fell right onto Stan Lee.
The guard all 300 pounds of him bounced off all of my 240 pounds landing on the 89 year old body (of one) of the god(‘s) of storytelling in the last 100 years (,based on my previous criteria that is.)
Stan Lee yells Excelsior and then points at me and whispers Evil doer and closes his eyes.
No comments:
Post a Comment