Hold Your Breath, Please

If horror movies were magazine advertisements for perfume, I'd scratch and sniff. If horror movies were some guys balls, I'd still scratch and sniff. See, I've been enjoying the golden filth of movies earlier than my first screening of the Adventures of Milo and Otis in the Grade School auditorium. My first horror movie had that ugly freak Freddie Krueger eating pizza with screaming human heads for toppings. That was a singularly terrible childhood recollection, however delectable, but then it fast forwarded to a fuck scene some minutes later, and I was, oddly enough, mightily appeased. All the more interested if you may because weird and horny are some of my favorite impressions.

This specific interest is a 20-year relationship. And it's going strong with an abstract boyfriend possessing an irresistible bad taste, however clever and inventive and macabre and brutal, for entertainment. To tell you honestly, it's one of my lingering passions that survived puberty, ROTC, and my first homosexual encounter combined. And I will be writing horror reviews in my blog very very soon. I love to watch scary movies and that passion's paralleled only by my equally devouring passion to bullshit.

A blog just makes the translation all the more convenient. I'm talking about this blog whose writings reflect such inspiration and influence from some super weird gay prick who's been watching the same endearingly stupid shit for these past twenty years and counting.

That's The Phantom of the Opera, Linda Blair as Regan in The Exorcist, and a clip from Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.

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