This is the coolest weird way to die I've ever seen. For some reason it brought to mind a dinner I had with John Skipp and Craig Spector almost 15 years ago. They were at one time bestselling horror novelists in the Clive Barker vein (in more ways than one, oh don't even!) and had with them a book filled with autopsy and death scene photographs. I think they either were from York, PA, or one of them lived there--who the fuck knows anymore? But somehow I met them. At the time they'd just played murder victims in A Nightmare on Elm Street 4, and I think they were soon-to-be extras in a terrible Clive Barker film called Nightbreed which starred David Cronenberg as a maniacal killer.
At any rate, Craig Spector showed me his favorite dead guy in the book--our victim had rigged up an antiquated sewing-machine foot pedal to some sort of crank shaft which would jam objects into his rectum. He'd used one that was too big and had impaled himself. "Imagine," Spector told me, "trying to force something the size of Arnold Schwarzenegger's bicep up your ass! Of course you're going to die." There in the photo was a bearded forty-something tubbo, wearing a leather vest and cap and naught else, slumped forward over his Singer sewing table, blood everywhere, a display of enormous sphincter-shattering torpedos behind him on a sort of dumbbell rack, arranged according to thickness.
I vaguely remember their oh-so-trendy vampire novel, purchased at The Book Rack in Lutherville for .40 cents (and I felt cheated at that price):
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