At this point in time, my cat has seen nearly as many horror movies as I have. He sits on my lap, or lies on the coffee table, twitching at loud sound effects and occasionally glancing serenely at the screen, no doubt thinking: “Oh, bitch gonna git it! Don’t you open that!”

I really don’t watch anything but the scary stuff. I sometimes find myself accidentally watching some science fiction, or perhaps I turn on the television, and the Daily Show is on. I might enjoy some comedy, or drama, but I don’t seek it out like I do horror.

I’m not effected by horror anymore. I am the absolute definition of desensitized. However, I can tell on some subconscious level when something could conceivably frighten me. I’ll chomp some popcorn, and with nary a change of expression, think: “Now that? That scared me.” and then, sarcastically: “Yeah, ten years ago.” Why do I watch them, then? I find them interesting. It is the only form of media entertainment [besides videogames] that holds my attention. Give me a haunting, a violent beastie, an urban legend brought to life, and I’m hooked. I often care more about the back story than the on-screen carnage. And slasher films leave me cold, unless there’s a really inspired villain. There is nothing scary about a person being stabbed to death- but if the killer is wearing a mask of human skin to hide his hideous flesh disease? Movie gold.

This brings me to a critique of one of my favorite websites, Bloody-Disgusting.com. It keeps me up to date on all of the upcoming horror-goodness. It also looks at horror flicks as just that- movies to make you squirm. They’re not reviewed on the caliber of acting, or stunning dramatic weave. They’re reviewed as horror films, not Oscar-gleaning period pieces. This is good. The bad, however? In the many many reviews I’ve clicked through, there’s an annoying trend. That of picking on the female audience. When a movie is a dud, the reviewer will chortle something about it being the ideal film to bring your girlfriends. Or if a movie is particularly biting, a warning against heading in with the fairer sex. They’ll have nightmares for weeks, the poor sweet things!

You know, I’m not going to yell “Hello!” and point at myself. Instead, I’ll point at my fiance. He’s the biggest chicken this side of the hellgate. He likes the lights on, and the sun shining, and often asks me if we can watch something else when the scares pile up.

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