Another year, another horror-thon comes to a close. It’s my second year of doing nothing thanks to bastards who won’t wear masks or social distance (thus, creating new variants, sigh) – or, at least, those who are in the position of doing so but choose not to. Fucks. I went for a run, which is the only way I’ve been leaving the house these past few months, and I guess maybe I shouldn’t have been whisper-singing along to that PJ Harvey song since I choose to run at night like a fucking weirdo.
Anyway, my friend picked an episode of Freddy’s Nightmares for us to watch virtually and Jesus Christ, this was terrible. Like, fuck you friend. I should rethink our friendship. I haven’t drunk enough soju to even want to bother writing this.
I mean, first off: this episode of the famously shite (but I’d never seen it) spin-off anthology show to A Nightmare on Elm Street, a show hosted by Robert Englund as Freddy, a show which had THREE WHOLE SEASONS, is about twin sisters. So why isn’t the apostrophe AFTER the second ‘S’? It’s plural-possessive, you fucking dickheads.
They really tried to go Cryptkeeper with this despite the fact that Tales from the Crypt barely stayed on the right side of watchable cheese even during its best moments (fight me), and its shite production values go hand-in-hand with the bizarre decision to feature Freddy in this episode but not have him actually be played by Englund himself, so his face is never fully shown. The rest of the episode threatens to move to different characters after the midway point but, no, for the entire episode we’re still stuck with the same whitebread characters and their lame threats to have their vanilla mayosapien sex. Every day I move further along the Kinsey scale. There’s also some stuff about a dentist, which just makes me want to go back and rewatch Strangers From Hell, I show I seem incapable of shutting the fuck up about.
My friend is bad and he should feel bad. Fuck you, friend!
Happy Hallowe’en to everyone else.
Score: 🎃
An Englishwoman in Salem 