How LeBron James Should Tell the World His Production Company is Rebooting “Friday the 13th”

Before anyone ever cared where I would murder super-horny camp counselors while they were mid-coitus, I was a kid from Cunningham County, New Jersey. It’s where I walked. It’s where I walked more. It’s where I drowned in a lake. It holds a special place in my heart. People there have seen me grow up. I sometimes feel like I’m their son, they’re very good, special boy. Their passion can be overwhelming. But it drives me. My relationship with Crystal Lake is bigger than just body counts. I didn’t realize that Nine years ago. I do now.

I’m not promising utter chaos and bloody mayhem. I know how hard that is to deliver. The camp isn’t ready right now. No way. Of course, I want to slash next year, but I’m realistic. It will be a long process, much longer than it was in 2009. My patience will get tested. I know that. I’m going into a situation with stoners and drunks and they all deserve very much to die, but it may not occur right away. I will be the old head.

But I get a thrill out of bringing a group together, then picking them off one by in increasingly lurid ways. I see myself as a mentor now and I’m excited to lead some of these talented young counselors directly to their untimely demise. I think I can help “Camp Counselor #3” get a pitchfork in the chest. I think I can help elevate “Camp Counselor #2” and “Horny Townsperson”. And I can’t wait to reunite with my Mom who will inevitably inspire me in a disembodied, chilling voice. She’s the best. Really.

I know this won’t be easy. And I know that there will need to be excessive and gratuitous nudity, some jump scares, and copious amounts of bad decisions being made by kids who — frankly — should see me lurking right outside their tent.

But, on the shores of Camp Crystal Lake, nothing is given. Everything is earned. You work for what you have.

I’m ready to accept the challenge. I’m coming home.