Fernando made the mistake of ordering Bloodlust Zombies from his distributor about a year ago. He is not an infallible man in selecting which DVDs may populate the Dominion, despite what everyone seems to believe, but this seeming error worked out most splendidly in the end, for that movie had one of the highest returns on investment out of anything he's ever picked up. A sizable number of the people who rented it reported misgivings to Fernando when they returned, but none of them blamed Fernando for their choice. Deep down, they knew the fault was theirs. Bloodlust Zombies just wasn't the film for them. It is the metaphorical crooked pot forever in search of its matching lid.
One day Fernando is combing through his inventory in search of things to stick in the Adopt-a-Movie Box, for the Great Film Migration will soon be underway and he needs to find space for all the movies about to be shunted to the far corners of the store. As Fernando sifts through his cases, he stumbles across his old friend, the worst zombie movie anyone's ever seen.
He picks up the case and studies it. Alexis Texas is there on the cover holding an ax, spatters of fake blood strategically obscuring any naughty bits that might otherwise have been visible through her so-white-it’s-translucent shirt. While Bloodlust Zombies had done its part in fattening Fernando's pocketbook, the sad fact is that no one had rented it for the past four months or so, and it was not exactly a paragon of film history that needed to be kept at the store for posterity.
People misunderstood it. Fernando himself was guilty of this prejudice, he realized after it was far too late to change things.
A metaphysical tear trickles from the corner of Fernando's eye as he contemplates the difficult choice he faces. Finally he says the dreaded words he knew must be said: “Yeah, it's time.” Maybe they provided some small measure of comfort to this poor, unfortunate victim of his ruthless culling. He tucks it under his arm alongside Conviction, Rabbit Hole, and a few others. They're all placed into the Adopt-a-Movie Box with superlative reverence.
One of Fernando's regular customers comes in a couple weeks later. “Hey, I see you've restocked the box here,” he says while Fernando processes the rental tags he'd brought up to the counter.
“Indeed so. It's a pretty broad variety this time around. I pulled a lot of them from the ass end of the new release racks.”
“Hey, I don't think I ever saw this one,” the man says, pulling one of the cases out. Fernando is around the corner in the depths of the office retrieving movies, so he does not immediately see which movie the man has retrieved. “How much for these again?”
“Four bucks,” Fernando answers as he returns to the realms of light and happiness.
“Cool. Add this one on for me then. Four bucks isn't that big a loss if it happens to be astinker, right?”
Fernando now sees which item his customer is considering for purchase, and it is indeed the world's most not-zombie zombie movie. “No, no it is not,” says Fernando, who takes the case, places the disc inside, and relinquishes his ownership over one of the Dominion's most infamous fixtures.
If you truly love something, you need to be willing to let it go. Sometimes things need to move on, to spread their wings and travel to lands unknown and to see sights as-yet unseen. Fly on, Bloodlust Zombies. Share your special brand of happiness with everyone across the land. Give others the blessing of your inestimable company. Find your crooked lid videophile soulmate.
I will always treasure the time we spent together.