The long and twisted yarn that is Randy Quaid’s tangle with the law grew all the more torn and frayed over the weekend, with the actor and his wife—having skipped their California court hearing and fled to Vancouver—arrested after police responded to an “incident.” (Though no details were given, from their arrest record it’s safe to say that said “incident” likely involved Quaid’s wife Evi doing something loud, possibly while wearing a cowboy outfit.) Appearing before the Immigration and Refugee Board, the Quaids said that they were seeking refugee status in Canada, saying, “We feel our lives are in danger. Randy has known eight close friends murdered in odd, strange manners… We feel that we’re next.”
Among those close friends: Heath Ledger and David Carradine. (If you will, picture a photograph of best buds Heath Ledger, David Carradine, and Randy Quaid, arms locked around each other’s shoulders, three generations of acting lions at the zenith of their powers. Slowly Ledger fades away, followed by the ghosting of Carradine, leaving Randy Quaid, smiling unaware as his now-empty arms embrace spectral nothingness. He is alone. He is vulnerable. Deep down, he knows he is next.) The Quaids’ attorney later elaborated in a prepared statement from the couple to the press that was chilling in its straightforwardness: “Yes, we are seeking asylum from Hollywood star whackers.”
On the back of this unnerving revelation—and despite the objections of the border patrol—the couple were allowed bail and freed until a hearing on Thursday that, given what we know about them, means on Friday they will likely turn up in Alaska, where Randy Quaid will announce that he is seeking to become Sarah Palin’s running mate in the 2012 election so that he may expose a sweeping U.S. conspiracy involving the CIA and off-track betting, or something. In the meantime, the Quaids were granted this interim to prepare their case as well as “care for their puppy.” For even under the penumbra of death, new life goes on—as it must.
Meanwhile, we’re left to ponder the existence of this shadowy cabal of “Hollywood star whackers.” Who are they and what is their endgame? Now that Randy Quaid has eluded them, does this permanently interrupt their strategy, or can they simply move on to the next celebrity on their list? And since we only know the names of two of Quaid’s eight close personal friends they’re said to have killed, who are the other six? Michael Jackson? Brittany Murphy? Titanic’s Gloria Stuart? Who knows how far this trip through the looking glass will go, or once we emerge from the other side, whether we’ll ever be able to recognize our own reflections again?
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