Just Two Batshit Crazies In Love

December 1, 2010 / Posted by:

Both Vanity Fair and Esquire just published their own interviews and profiles on everybody’s favorite Canadian refugees Randy and Evi Quaid, and reading that shit made me feel like I was Nurse Valerie from Girl, Interrupted. You just have to nervously shake your head while Evi redefines CRAZY by saying that she can only talk in windowless rooms without any cell phones around. You should spend time with both articles if your sanity allows it. But in the meantime, my take is after the jump. Warning: Shit is LONG. JUMP!

The Vanity Fair piece paints Evi as a money-grubbing, rich girl who social climbed her to the middle and seduced Randy over to the insane side when she worked as his driver on Bloodhounds of Broadway. Evi does most of the talking and it seems that Randy does whatever she says. At the end of VF article, Randy tells his lawyer that he should leave Vancouver to go down to Santa Barbara to answer to the charges of felony vandalism. Evi warns him that if he goes the “Hollywood Whackers” will murder him. Randy responds with a, “No, they won’t.” So it seems that every now and again Randy comes up for a breath of sanity before Evi pulls him back down into the deep end. And about those Hollywood Whackers

Evi is still going on about how the Hollywood Whackers murdered David Carradine, Heath Ledger, Michael Jackson, Robert Blake’s wife, Phil Hartman for insurance money. Evi thinks that the Hollywood Whackers traveled to Thailand to kill David Carradine so that they could collect the insurance on the project he was working on. Yeah, Evi doesn’t know how insurance works, but don’t tell her that or she’ll try to pry a microchip out of your ear with a wire hanger from a motel room. It’s best just to nod.

Here’s a few choice quotes from The Quacked Out Quaids Vanity Fair piece including how Jeremy Piven was drugged (HAHAHAHAHA) and how Madge (his co-star in Bloodhounds of Broadway) wanted a hunk of Randy:

On how the Quaids are going to drive to Siberia: Evi Quaid called from a pay phone in Vancouver to say that she and her husband, Randy, the actor, had tried to drive to Siberia, but they “couldn’t figure out how to get there.”

On how Jeremy Piven was set up: She said she also suspected Jeremy Piven’s falling ill from mercury poisoning was another sign of a dastardly plot by the Broadway producers of Speed-the-Plow to collect insurance money. “It was an orchestrated hit,” she said. “They could have put mescaline in his water bottle.”

On how Madge wanted to fuck Randy and Baby in the corner: “Madonna was funny,” Evi said. “She tried to seduce Randy away. She said, ‘Randy, don’t you wanna come back? Jennifer [Grey, who also starred in the film] and I, we’re gonna have a ménage.’ ” She laughed.

The Esquire piece by Chris Jones focuses more on Randy and Evi’s strange love. Evi talks in detail about all the ways she thinks the Hollywood Whackers are going to murder the both of them. Evi hardly sleeps at night, because her brain is too busy focusing on how to always stay two steps ahead of the Hollywood Whackers. Here’s just a few scenarios Evi has come up with:

They will be killed in one of three ways, she says. (She does most of the talking.) She has interrupted the killers practicing. “Staging scenarios,” she calls them. Dry runs, rehearsals, blocking for a gruesome play.

Their most likely end, the Quaids believe, will involve knives. Randy will be drugged in his sleep — “They know he has sleep apnea,” she says — and Evi will be stabbed to death. Then they will put the knife in his hand. He will wake up and be locked away forever. Or he will kill himself in his terror and grief. The Star Whackers have stolen some of his songs — he writes sad, introspective songs on more crumpled sheets of paper — and the killers will lay one out on the nightstand or the kitchen counter. “Randy’s songs read like suicide notes,” Evi says. “That’s how the cops will read them.”

Or they will be hanged together, Randy and Evi, strung up from the rafters in a garage. Another song will surface. It will be ruled a double suicide.

Or they will be found in their car, parked overlooking the steel-gray sea, and they will be found sitting, frozen, hand-in-hand, their insides brimming with a lethal dose of Demerol, administered through Evi’s stolen migraine medication. “A pharmacist told me they could put one hundred times the lethal dose in a single pill,” she says.

Maybe it’s the morbid Emo MySpace tween in me, but there’s something romantic about their craziness. A love that only two certifiable mental cases can share. I mean, when Mah Boo Anderson Cooper is reciting his vows to me at our make believe wedding, I hope he says, “In sickness and in health or until the Hollywood Whackers give both of us a lethal shot of Demerol in our Toyota Prius.” Awwww.

Even when the Crazy Quaids were in jail they pressed their bodies against the wall to feel closer to each other:

During their first night in jail in Canada, before they were released and allowed to make their case for staying legally, they stretched out on either side of a shared cement wall and tapped messages to each other through the blocks, all night long. They positioned their bodies so that they could feel each other’s heat and energy spilling through the cracks in the mortar. Their first night out, together again, they stood on the rocky shore and looked out at the water and decided they were going to fight for their lives.

Or maybe they do that because their Powers of Crazy only work when they’re together. That must be it.

Oh, and thanks to Evi I’ll never be able to look at a delicious Blizzard the same way again:

“Radar Online is owned by the police. They called the Dairy Queen in Marfa, Texas, to spread rumors about us when we lived there. Everything came out of the Dairy Queen.”

Why did Evi have to go and ruin ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM! It’s not like ice cream is out to kill her (or is it?)!

And how long before AVN puts out a parody porn about Randy and Evi called…wait for it…Hollywood Whackers. It’s almost too easy.

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