Originally published on MadAtoms.com
You’ve seen him in every horror movie since 1984: the black guy who hangs out with a group of white people he has nothing in common with, whose only purpose, it seems, is to die first. He’s been sliced into pieces in Resident Evil, de-armed in Predator, and he had his head punched off in Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan. Now, for the first time, he speaks candidly. As he walks up to greet me, clad in a retro letterman jacket and Chuck Taylors, he seems cautious, constantly looking over his shoulder with the bug-eyed nervousness of an inmate guarding his food. When I extend my hand to shake, he leaps backwards and shouts, “Oh lawdy!” with his arms arched over his strangely outdated Jheri curl.
You’ve appeared in 684 horror movies in the past 25 years, and every time, you die. What keeps you going?
Well, Mark, I gotta say it’s my love for the genre. And crack. Mostly the crack.
Off all your deaths, which was your favorite way to die?
Being fellated to death! (Laughs.) No, really, I never get to have sex. (Sighs. Rubs himself for several seconds with a faraway look in his eyes, then snaps out of it.) Oh, my favorite death? Probably in Satanic Skank Spank when I had my arms chopped off, then I was dumped in a vat of plaster of Paris, and my body was posed to look like the Venus de Milo. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but I appreciated the artistry.
Do you have any favorite last words you’ve uttered?
Usually, it’s something generic, like “Save yourself!” or “Get outta here!” but this one time, I ad-libbed, “The black man is God!” That was during my Muslim phase.
You’ve been playing a high school jock for three decades now. Do you worry about your believability now that you’re, what, 46?
Forty-nine, actually, but I can play 35. I usually pretend to be latently retarded in my movies so people will assume I’ve been left back a few times. But yeah, I think there could be some credibility issues. That’s why I’ve been trying to move behind the camera to direct. I’ve been meeting with a producer to get this project off the ground that I wrote called Dead Crackers — although there ain’t no Saltines in it, if y’know what I’m sayin’? (Gives me dap.)
Do you have any aspirations of actually living until the end of a film?
Sure, and I’d also like to shit rainbow sherbet! Look, it’s not like I wanna die; I don’t wanna follow these stupid white kids when they say, “Let’s go party in the old abandoned prison!” But I always end up shouting, “Outta sight!” Outta sight? Who even says that anymore?!? It’s a compulsion. I got problems, man. But no more. I’m seeing a psychiatrist, and once I get funding for my movie, I’ll write myself a small part just to show people that I can be in a horror movie and not end up dead!
At this point, a scaffolding falls on B.G.’s head, killing him instantly. He doesn’t plan on letting his death prevent him from signing copies of Librarian Bloodbath Massacre III at the Barnes & Noble downtown next Tuesday.
