“I can’t seem to compete, anymore,” killer sighs
Lars Oldstire, better known as “The Merciless Chainsaw Killer,” has decided to hang up the saw. The hulking 56-year-old Oldstire, who’s been slicing and dicing victims since he was sixteen years old, says there’s no place for a dignified serial killer in today’s belligerent society.
“It’s been a real eye-opener for me,” sighs Lars. “The fact that nobody seems to take killing seriously, anymore. I mean, when I started out, things were different. You’d hide your identity by wearing a football helmet. You always kept your saw well oiled. It was a process.”
He chuckles. “College towns were the best because drunken kids are adorable when they’re panicked. There’s always one, whether it be the blonde bimbo or the fat kid with glasses, who gets stranded from the rest of the group and runs right into me. That’s just the appetizer. And the police are always puzzled and making dumb decisions. I can slip out of town without them even knowing. All I have to do is take off the football helmet. It’s all in the planning.”
He smiles sadly. “All that is gone. Now? A guy with a mental overbite and an IQ identical to his belt size can walk into a gun store and buy a combat weapon. He can take out twenty people in a few seconds. For me to take out twenty people would take me a week. I’d need time to gas up the saw, clean the blades, buy new clothes to take the place of the blood-spattered ones, it’s a whole ritual.”
THE HALLOWEEN DISASTER
What sealed the retirement deal for Lars was a traumatic Halloween last year. “I’ve always loved Halloween,” reveals Lars. “Nobody notices me. Sometimes I go out on the streets early when the little kids are still trick or treating. Kids love me. I’ll hang with them and, when they go up to a door, I linger behind and rev my chainsaw right after they scream ‘trick or treat.’ The kids love it. The adults appreciate the extra effort the kids put into it and the kids get extra candy. It’s a win-win. After sunset, I focus on the college kids.”
He shivers. “But last Halloween just really got to me.”
Lars had decided to do his buzzing in Happy Valley, Pennsylvania, an area hosting Penn State University. “I should’ve known something would go wrong because the place is pretty well-lit. Still, I thought I could pull it off.”
Arriving well before sundown, Lars decided to buy himself a submarine sandwich and a few Red Bulls. Then, things went south. “I’m having my early bird special to get myself pumped up. When I’m done, I look down and my saw is gone. Someone had stolen my chainsaw but they left my helmet. I mean, what kind of world are we living in?”
LOOKING FOR A CHAINSAW
Whipping out his cellphone, Lars located the nearest hardware supply store. “I just wanted to rent a chainsaw for the night. They were out of chainsaws. All they had left were electric chainsaws, the models that had cords that plugged into an outlet.”
Lars’ eyes tear up. “I had to beg the hardware store owner to give me a good price on the rental and, then, buy a mile of extension cords. He must’ve sensed my anguish because he let me use an exterior plug at his store for the saw. The extension cords required a shopping cart.
“So, there I am, trying to stalk while pushing a shopping cart. And, every fifteen feet, I had to plug in a new extension cord. Ever try to chase someone, to menace someone, when you stop every fifteen feet and yell “Give me a minute?’ Plus, I got one of those shopping carts with a wobbly wheel.”
The killer’s cover is blown
Lars’ shopping cart/chainsaw trek began to attract attention. “Before I knew it, I had a crowd following me, taunting me. Finally, I cornered a group of college kids, the blonde bimbo, the fat kid with glasses, the smart girl, the bland kids that nobody cares if they’re killed or not. It was Heaven.
“I raised my saw. The kids screamed. I waved it in the air, tried to rev it up and…nothing. Some asshole eight-year-old had pulled one of the extension cords apart three blocks to my rear. So I trot back, smack the kid, re-plug the cord, run back to the saw and my victims are gone. They got bored and walked away.”
And if that weren’t insult enough, Lars was then confronted by the crowd behind him. “They laughed at me and hurled candy corn. I almost lost an eye. I revved up my saw but they laughed. They knew I was out of cord. I had to endure their laughter and candy corn. Then, the eight-year-old brat’s parents ran towards me with guns. I ran into the shadows and barely escaped. I herniated a disk.”
A NEW BEGINNING
Today, Lars faces starting over. “It’s been a good run,” he confesses. “And, to be honest, I’m sort of glad to be out of the routine.”
He’s moved to Taos, New Mexico, where he’s becoming well known as a sculptor of wood. “I can’t tell you my new name,” Lars says, “but, at last, I can express my inner self in a way that doesn’t require dismemberment.”
Art aficionados are beginning to flock towards “new” Lars’ wooden sculptures. “I’ve done a lot of totem poles, a lot of front lawn animal sculptures.”
But the art pieces that sell the best? “The screaming, disembodied heads,” Lars smiles. “It seems as if all those wasted years are finally beginning to pay off.”
