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Published September 21, 2008

EDITOR’S NOTE:

This is the first posting of the week-long blog of Chad Arthur Helmuth (as told to his son, Jack Helmuth).  Chad, a devout small government Republican and die-hard Ronald Reagan supporter, is about to share with the world his amazing tale.  Before we begin, some back-story:

On March 30th , 1981, John Hinckley, Jr. shot President Reagan outside the Washington Hilton Hotel in Washington, D.C.  During the dark hours after the assassination attempt, Reagan went into surgery and it was unclear whether or not the President (then 70 years old) would live or die. 

In these darkest of hours, blinded by grief, consumed with panic, and inspired by the recently released “The Empire Strikes Back,” Mr. Helmuth tried to freeze himself with the expectation that he would be de-thawed once it was confirmed Reagan was ok.  He filled an above ground swimming pool with liquid nitrogen and did a “grief cannon ball” into the pool.

Upon impact, 95 percent of Helmuth’s skin slid off his body, sending him instantly into a pain coma of biblical proportions.  This morning, 27 ½ years later almost to the day, Chad woke up from his coma.  He has no idea how long he’s been “asleep” or what has happened in the world during that time.


BLOG DAY 1

Hey everyone!  Chad Helmuth here from my hospital bed.  Just want to say it’s great to be alive and HOLY FUCK!  MY FUCKING BODY HURTS SO MUCH!  WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SKIN?

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Ok, it’s four hours later.  I won’t say that it’s better, because it’s not.  My lips started bleeding when I screamed.  Well, not my lips.  My exposed lip muscles.  I don’t know what the hell to call it…the area around my mouth.  They’re not lips anymore, that much is certain.  Fortunately, the doctors came in and gave me the dosage of morphine that they secretly prescribe to cancer patients who want to kill themselves.  They injected it directly into my thalamus, the region of the brain that processes pain.  Yay!  Now it only feels like I’m sitting underneath a space shuttle when it’s taking off.  Much better. 

So, I can now finally ask my son about what’s happened.  The doctors wouldn’t say anything, so as not to upset me, but now I need to learn what the heck is going on, and why my son looks like he’s, I don’t know, 27 years or so older than when I last saw him.  Maybe the liquid nitrogen burned my retinas.

Ok, wow.  The liquid nitrogen did, in fact, burn my retinas.  Also, my son is 27 years older.  I’ll process all that shit in a second.  Biggest question:  How is President Reagan?  Is he alive?

NOOOOO!!  MOTHER FUCKER!  OWW!  MY BODY FUCKING HURTS NEARLY AS BAD AS MY BROKEN HEART.   OK, NOT THAT BAD!  BUT CONSIDERING WHAT'S HAPPENED TO ME, TO EVEN MAKE THAT STATEMENT MISTAKENLY IS QUITE TELLING!  NOO!!!  DAMMIT NO!!!!  PRESIDENT REAGAN!!

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Ok, ok, it’s nearly 15 minutes later and after a healthy cocktail of sedatives, my pulse is at a solid 20 beats per minute and I can feel nothing.  I can’t believe he’s gone, though.  All this pain, all my sacrifice, to wake up and learn that that bastard stole his life…

What’s that?   I’m sorry?  Say that one more time.

Oh.  He died…in 2004.  He survived the assassination attempt and lived for another 23 years?  That’s GREAT news.  A lot of information to take in, as I’m now piecing things together.  I’ve been in a coma for over a quarter of a century.  My God.  There’s so much I want to know.  Wait, who’s president now?  Is it a Republican?  YES!  AWESOME!  WOOO!  Who is it?

Vice President Bush?  Great, he’s…what’s that?  His son?  You mean Jeb, the smart one, right?  Why are you saying these things?  You’re telling me Vice President Bush’s son George W. Bush is president?  I used to attend Reagan/Bush fundraisers and that dude would be wandering around asking people to invest in his shitty business schemes.  I think they were all pyramid scams, come to think of it.  We always used to say that he was the only Texan who couldn’t find oil if he was drilling on a tanker.  Full of oil.  But if you were mining for nose candy, that guy was the Sheik of Sheba.

Well, whatever.  I’m sure he’s better now, and I can’t wait to learn all about our great country, our great president, and just how small the government has gotten in the last 27 years under sensible Republican leadership. 

What an exciting time for me, catching up with…apple sauce friendship tablecloth…

(NOTE:  My dad is mumbling nonsense words as the morphine ravages his brain.  A bunch of doctors are racing in here to try to save him.  Honestly, I never really knew my dad, and so far…not good.   He kinda seems like a wiener.  It’s probably best he drifts off and never wakes up again, because he’s not gonna like what he sees.  Well, in the off chance he lives, we’ll continue the blog tomorrow)

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