Our Decomposed Lives. I once saw you…

Do not panic, folks.

Everything is under control.

The police know what they are doing.

Do not fear these men.

Isn’t it amazing the sense of “safety” that living in such a large metropolis as Los Angeles gives? After all, this is the kind of incident that might have struck fear in the hearts of bygone eras causing entire towns to lock down in a flurry of panic.

Being that I’m such a Hollywood denizen, I automatically revert to screenwriting mode in such trying times.
There are two insane murderers loose in my town! Of course I’m going crazy!

This news incident is rife with comic possibilities.

I would like to write a TV pilot about these guys who escaped an Echo Park nut house.

The opening sequence would show the two mental escapees running from their “mental health” facility in the dead of night. The camera follows their late night escape through the shaky hills of Echo Park, perhaps running the outskirts of Dodger Stadium, before they finally land in the gangster deadlands of the downtrodden area of the Harbor and Hollywood Freeways.

Zoom out.

First scene of the pilot episode.

Picture these 2 dudes.

James Sheppard, the womanizing, smooth-talking but slightly “off” Pick-up Artist. He’s a pet killer who retired up to killing his grandmother in a fit of sexually repressed rage. Ooops. Bad day, I suppose. His acccomplice, the bumbling virgin, Christopher Bednar, tagging along on the escape, feeding off the superior male mate’s charms. No social or physical charm. Also killed his grandmother, but in a fit of socially repressed rage.

This is a tag team of Abbot & Costello or Laurel & Hardy, all wrapped in one, except these modern actors are sinister and creepy and deadly. The plan is that each episode will unfold similarly: Sheppard turns on the charm, nearly gets the both of them laid or rewarded by all measures of mental acuity, yet, all his efforts are foiled by Bednar’s illustrious bumbling of Sheppard’s hard work through his exquisitely bad looks and dumpy appearance and all the asocial mishaps he triggers.

It’s an awesome concept.

The great thing is, that since it’s Los Angeles, these two don’t really need to go “underground” because they fit right into the mainstream. Perhaps I can make a cameo appearance on the Red Line as a seatmate trying to ignore their insane ramblings. These guys look like 85% of the people I see on a typical commute.

No one would ever think they were murderers, but it’s not because they don’t look like murderers. It’s just because everyone here looks like a murderer. They are not special and their visible depravity does not stand out.

In the old days, they would have been nabbed immediately. Here, they just drift in and out of our decomposed lives.