Horror, Bodycount and Me

It's been a long time from now since I watched my first horror flick. Nevertheless, I remember it too well; how can you forget the first time you saw Micheal Myers walk out of the blaze when you're just a wee five year old? Or when you watch Jason had his mask crack open by Tina's psychic powers when you were just six? Yes, my parents (regrettably) raised a weirdo, but I do make it up for them. A lot of making up.

You can say I'm a stick in the mud: I don't smoke, I don't drink (save red wine and ciders) and I go to church during certain holidays. But inside my quiet, clean-cut demeanor is a horror fan who's been aching to do this blog.

Horror films are always going to be my favorite genre. The scarier, the better. But when it comes to slashers (and the related kinds), I'm all open arms for them and willing to play Judge, Jury and Executioner in terms of my reviews. There's something about these men killing teenagers that appeal to my taste for fear. Could it be perhaps beneath the candy-coated violence and the gimmicky masks is a sense of realism? Could be.