Look Freddy, I know you’ve got a job to do–everyone’s got to earn a living somehow. I know you’ve got bills to pay, and, considering what you do for a living, I’m guessing alimony, too. But things are getting a little out of hand around here. Granted, nightmares are your thing, but honestly, do you ever take a night off? Don’t you have someone else whose dreams you can haunt? Maybe a new movie script to read? A date perhaps? Hell, I’ll even set you up if it means you’ll quit harassing me.
Now, you’re probably thinking, “Hey, it’s been some time since I haven’t paid for a date”, that or, “Fuck you! This is my job.” Either way, point taken. But seeing as how I’m still alive, I’m obligated to say: You’re not doing a very good job now, are you? (Maybe you really do need to get laid, or, talk to a shrink and get some things off your mind–whatever it takes.) Having said all that, things aren’t exactly kosher in my world. Far from it. Though I have managed to thwart your attempts at murder, the nightmares and obvious lack of sleep are starting to wear thin. But even more troubling was my recent discovery that your abilities allow you to enter my mind when I’m high or drunk.
If forced to, I could live without the occasional nudie dream, but I draw the line when I’ve been robbed of participating in two of my favourite pastimes. You can only imagine how I felt when, after inhaling an oh-so-sweet lungful of my latest strain of bubble kush, I found your ugly mug destroying my happy place while waiting for another chance to kill me. Not very good Fred. To better illustrate my point, let me put it in terms you’ll understand. How would you feel if you were forced to lead a normal life? If you couldn’t kill people in their dreams anymore? If your face weren’t covered in those hideous scars? If you didn’t have that freakish glove with all your precious knife fingers? I bet you’d feel terrible. You’d probably cry yourself to sleep every night. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but crying probably isn’t good for your reputation. After one week without those evil powers, you’d probably be booking a trip to Crystal Lake and begging Jason to chop your normal fucking head off.
Clearly I’ve put a lot of thought into this and believe I’ve found a solution that will be beneficial to both of us in the long run. So, without further ado, here’s the plan: You vacate my dreams and I’ll act like you’re still around. I’ll rent your movies (more royalty money in your pocket that you wouldn’t get if I were dead). I’ll tell people the horror stories about my nightmares–that you have caused. Maybe I’ll even tell them I peed the bed a little. (Maybe.) Plus, if I cut myself shaving, I’ll say it was you.
In the real world, this is what we refer to as a win-win situation. I get to go back to dreaming about sweet breasts, midget servants, being an international spy, and enjoying an endless supply of Irish whiskey. You, on the other hand, still have your maniacal reputation intact.
So, it looks like that’s it for us Fredo. It’s been a slice. (You can go ahead and use that line on your future victims.) If I don’t see you trying to kill me tonight, I’ll know we have a deal.