You know what really chaps my ass? When I’m no longer The Face of Murder Sheds. Oh, yes, folks. Google no longer deems me worthy of representing Murder Sheds, which is so insulting I can barely see straight. Who are they to say I’m not the World’s Leading Expert on Murder Sheds? Because I totally am. Did you even know what a murder shed was until I told you? What’s that? You don’t know what a murder shed is? Well, allow me to enlighten you because despite what Google says, I know Murder Sheds better than anyone.
Murder Shed –noun
1. a slight or rude structure built for shelter from prying eyes, storage of captives, bodies of victims, meat hooks etc.
2. a large, strongly built structure, often open at the sides or end, usually with a secret room beneath the floor boards.
Sure, everyone knows that. But what people may not know, and what makes me such an expert, is that a “murder shed” doesn’t have to be a shed, per se. A murder shed can just as effectively be a well insulated attic, or a dark unfinished basement, or even an apartment in a sketchy neighbourhood. Anywhere suitable for a variety of deviant behaviours.
Horror movies ALWAYS have murder sheds. Be it a run-down old barn or a dug-out bunker in a corn field or under the cellar stairs. There are chains and hooks and saws of varying severity. There’s never any electricity and it’s where the ill-fated protagonists variably run to when being chased by their masked adversaries. Short of a lit marquee advertising “GET MURDERED HERE!”, they’re clearly Places Of Doom.
The Murder Shed barn from The Last Exorcism, for example.
And let me be very clear about all this – I don’t condone actions which require a Murder Shed. I feel weird having to clarify, but we all know The Internets these days. I kid about a Murder Shed and suddenly I’m a Dahmer apologist. I’m not. Just to be clear. I do, however, have a weird thing about finding a real Murder Shed. When I drive through the ghetto (like that happens ALL the time), I habitually look in the windows of the buildings along the streets, waiting to find some fishiness. Simply a morbid fascination, I suppose.
And so, when we (royal we) built our own shed, it was nicknamed The Murder Shed. It’s where I keep my fictional meat hooks and all my proper kidnapping supplies. There’s a pretend underground bunker. The doors are fake padlocked to prevent any nosy neighbours from snooping and blowing my faux cover. It’s extra pretty on the outside to distract from the make believe house of horrors on the inside.
This is why I’m so confused by Google. Have you ever heard anyone so prolific on the subject of murder sheds? No. No, you haven’t. Perhaps it was a lack of pictorial options? Well, I can fix that, too.
Heres me taking a picture of a potential "guest".
This is me looking inconspicuous. "Look at me! Im completely harmless! I WEAR GLASSES."
Pay no attention to the girl behind the glasses who totally doesnt own her own Murder Shed.
Oh, this one wouldnt hurt a fly. She wears silly hats!
This looks like a mugshot. Its just me practicing.
...yeah, Ive got nothing for this one.
So now, Google, you really have no choice but to return the crown to the most deserving person. Me. I am The Face of Murder Sheds. Recognize.