Hey, remember when Randy and Evi Quaid were cruising around Vancouver, bringing the crazy? I wrote this for them. It’s actually a found poem, which means that I cobbled it together from an existing work, an article in Vanity Fair. Does anyone know if these whackjobs are still around?
Randy And Evi Go Viral.
They’re spending nights in their car,
on the run from some shadowy cabal.
Evi Quaid and her husband, Randy
the actor, had tried to drive to Siberia, but
they couldn’t figure out how to get there.
She said, “We’re running for our lives.”
Their car, a black Prius, smelled of fast
food and dog pee and Randy’s cigars.
I asked the Quaids if they were living
in their car. “Only on nights when we
don’t feel secure,” Evi said. “We used
to have a Mercedes. This whole ordeal
has forced us to become incredibly green.”
“Priuses are deceptively roomy,” drawled
Randy, who’s originally from Houston.
“We’re tall people, and the legroom is
important.” “They’re hunting us,” Evi said.
“It’s really happening. They’ve got us in a
spiral.‘Don’t let up on ’em. Drive ’em off
the road. Starve ’em to death.’ ” She was
slapping her hands together for emphasis.
“I guess I’m worth more to ’em dead than
alive,” Randy said mildly. They wore pink
handcuffs. Evi carried Randy’s Golden
Globe and had a “valid credit card” affixed
to her forehead. By the time they arrived
in Canada, calling themselves “refugees”
and claiming they were targets of an
assassination plot, the Quaids had gone viral.
The Quaid Conspiracy
By Nancy Jo Sales