A young man stands in silence in a cold empty cabin made mostly of cheap plywood with faded ink numbers showing. The floor board screams as he takes his first steps. His heavy boots make a hollow sound. He looks around one last time, “Hammer!” he shouts, “there’s nothing in here! Let’s just bail…Hammer?” the young man peers into another room, “Oh sweet Jesus,” Hammer is missing his legs in a pool of his own blood just conscience enough to whisper, “Lumberjack” (establishing shot of the forest covered in snow fade in title: THE KILLER LUMBERJACK)
I'm going to party with Jason Bruce in Pontiac but I don't want to pay for parking again.
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