Those of you who are fortunate enough to have submersed yourself in the pitfalls of myspace addiction have probably filled out one of those time-wasting surveys about yourself that really nobody cares to read unless they are Internet stalking you. As for me, I started to grow tired of the single word responses, and the lame 'I don't know' answer fill-ins, so I began to create the most offensive "out of the box" answers to these stupid random-for-the-sake-of-being-random questions that I could muster on a half of a cup of coffee.
Anyway. One of the questions I answered today was: When you were a child, what were you afraid of?
I thought about it with a mild amount of effort, and answered: That guy that stole that kid from Sears. Now, perhaps you don't remember this, because neither do I, however my mother told me over and over again about this child that was kidnapped from Sears and that I would be too if I didn't stay by her side at all times whilst shopping. She then threw me some red hard-backed books illustrated with guys in trenchcoats hiding behind trees offering kids candy and told me to read them.
She came up behind me while I was reading one day, and over my shoulder she pointed to the illustration of the trenchcoat man.
"See?!" She said, tapping her finger quickly on the cartoon, "That's the kind of guy you have to stay away from." She looked at me with eyebrows raised.
I stared back in childish fright.
She crossed her arms and nodded toward the book, and in a deeper tone she told me,
"That's the bad man from Sears."
So that was the story behind the answer to that myspace question. I had been feeling pretty good about that answer up until about 20 minutes ago. I was on my way home and was tuned into XM radio, when I heard it. Hairs raised up on my arms and a chill ran down my back. It's widely known that the olfactory senses produce the most vivid memories, however, trauma trumps smell any day.
I knew at that point I had to change my answer. There was something more frightening than the man from Sears. For, the department store kidnapper was a legend -- nothing more than a story, the details of which I'd created for myself. There was something that scared me to a speechless degree; something that was real.
Tom. Petty.
And right now, on XM radio was the soundtrack to my personal horror movie: Don't Come Around Here No More, which in my opinon has the most mentally disturbing imagery contained in its corresponding music video (hip-hop excluded) than any other song ever written.
The bells. The hat. The girl being eaten as cake.
The teeth! Oh my God, Tom Petty's teeth! Is there anything more wretched and horrifying??
There is nothing more foul and fear-instilling than the Don't Come Around Here Videowhen you are 10 years old. Like, oh my God, this guy with all these weird huge teeth is chasing me around with this crazy outfit on, and when he finally catches me, he's going to tie me down to a table and then I turn into cake, and then he eats me?! With those teeth?? Holyfuckingshit!!
I heard that in later years, that video was actually pulled from music television because the look in his eyes when he was chasing Alice was "too menacing".
Too menacing? That shit was enough to make me think I could turn into fucking cake. I froze every time anyone behind me yelled, 'Hey!", and I just couldn't walk down a checkered hallway for years.
Seriously, if Tom Petty was not in a band, smoking weed to sedate his testes, then he surely would be driving around in a 1979 Suburban with curtains on the windows offering candy to children and hiding behind trees in the park. In a trenchcoat.
THE VIDEO
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