OKAY HERE WE GO.
What’s up scary people?!
Today, because it’s Halloween, I’m going to scare the shit out of you and talk about some really scary stuff.
Some people think that this guy is scary.
I think that this is scary.
Children’s books by Richard Scarry are, as a rule, not at all terrifying.
I think these guys are scary.
I saw one last week when I was picking up a piece of red onion skin from my carpeted kitchen floor. A carpeted kitchen floor, someone who is good at dropping things (grated cheese, zucchini, rolled oats, flour, etc. etc.) and a vacuum that works rarely/never is a pretty scary combination.Silverfish are ewgrossmeout when you think that he is dead on your carpeted kitchen floor, under red onion skin. Silverfish are OHMYGODSCARY when they come back from the dead when you pick up said red onion skin and he scurryscurryscurries as if he were more afraid of you than you are of him! Some may say he is the hummingbird of totally disgusting light brownish-grey bugs (read: veryveryspeedy; except that he is not at all pretty like hummingbirds are and I doubt many people have tattoos of him interspersed with leaves and flowers all the way up their arms.)
Another thing that is scary is the fact that Manolo Blahnik has a new boot out that is terrifyingly reminiscent of the Timberland-takeoff stiletto boot they issued for Spring 2003 that Beyonce unfortunately rocketed to hot-trend status in the Crazy in Love video. Let’s hope Aldo doesn’t make another version in light pink and baby blue.
Oh dear GOD. They’re not classy. They should be burned. Just like witches and their friends and loved ones. Yes, EVEN Sarah Jessica Parker and ESPECIALLY Bette Midler. Some say that shit is hocus pocus but I say that shit is REAL.
The Witches is a very scary movie. That is not Angelica Houston’s fault. That is a bold statement.
Back it up to late September 2006.
“I’m over my Balenciaga motorcycle bags”, said the Nicola Jane Young.
“THAT is a BOLD STATEMENT.”, said the Hilary Elizabeth Young. There was a time when we loved our Balenciaga motorcyle bags very much.
I can now say with confidence over a year later that I truly am over my Balenciaga motorcycle bags.
[SIDENOTE: Lauren Cook, I really don’t think your Balenciaga motorcycle bag was THAT bad a fake, although I totally understand your decision to let it collect dust in your mom’s basement. And thanks for the hot tip about watching To Catch a Predator on youtube…now everyone who wastes time here can do so with that garbage also.]Motorcycles are scary. Even the small ones in Cuba that any two-legged mammal with 2 eyes can rent, regardless of age, prior knowledge of how to operate any kind of motorized vehicle, or the common sense to ask how to turn instead of being shy and figuring it out through trial and error. Hilary was driving and I was holding on. She lost control, not that she ever had it in the first place. We went off the road. We flew in the air! We landed in flora and jagged rocks. None of it was soft and lush, nor did it smell like rainbows or scratch ‘n sniff unicorn stickers.
We were bleeding. We were okay. But we were bleeding. And definitely scared and in shock. I like the scar Hilary indirectly gave me on my left knee. It gives me street cred. Kind of like my post-teenage acne that has been off the charts in the past couple of weeks. It’s so popular with my forehead that it will probably soon become the number one ringtone. It makes me accessible to my core audience. TEENS! Anyway, I got on my own mini-chopper about ten minutes after our scary spill and turned out to be a pretty fun afternoon.
By far the scariest thing that ever happened to my sister and I was the time we, really and truly, narrowly escaped death on the island of Molokai in Hawaii in March 2001. We were sitting between two big rocks or rather, we were in in the middle of a giant old rocky thing, like a valley on the beach surrounded by five-foot cliffs. The waves in Molokai were crazy that year. As in don’t you dare go swimming unless you are a two year-old Molokai native who may or may not know how to walk yet but for some reason is invincible and the master of entering treacherous waters and coming out alive and giggling light-heartedly. There is some law of nature relating to waves that says that every some-specific-number-that-is-under-ten waves is going to be a big one. We would count and then get delighted when the bigger wave would crash over the edge of the five foot cliff and splash us. But one wave was crazier than all the rest. It was the wave to end all waves. Even those at unmemorable
Blue Jays games in 1993.
Anyway, it was so big that it filled the space and if we hadn’t both been speedy enough to swim and make it over the cliff, we would have smacked into the rock at the speed of lightning, consequently shattering our parents’ souls and totally ruining March break for everyone, not to mention our brother Alex’s tan (the way he planned it, Molokai was dedicated to bronzing his backside, and the next week in Oahu was frontside time). So yeah, it was TERRIFYING. We were shaken. All the shit we had with us was nowhere to be seen. Later, about half a kilometer down the beach, I found the shitty chick lit shit I’d purchased at the airport, on the spinning rack next to the chewing gum. Beside this trashy fiction was the can of Pepsi we’d had earlier. I picked it up as it was unopened. It was heavier than any Pepsi can in its right mind should be so I opened it. It was completely filled with sand yet it had been unopened. How this happened, I have no clue. I’m an English major and I seem to remember being in grade 11 science when I was in grade 12. THAT WAVE WAS SOMETHING FIERCE. We are very lucky we lived to tell the tale. I shiver and feel almost ill when I think about it and if you don’t believe me, just ask Hilary. She’s better at getting to the POINT. That’s why she got into Oxford.
So cellulite is scary and so are silverfish, way-too-soon-to-be-vintage re-issues of Manolo Blahnik MISSTEPS, faux-motorcyle accidents, crazy waves and generally all flirtations with death. Flirtations with Christian Bale, real or imaginary, are technically scary but in a good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way.
Cut to Berri-Uqam metro (“Station Berri-Uqam”) at 8:50 am. What? You ain’t never scared? I AM!
The only thing that could make that crowd scarier would be if you were caught in the midst of it with Temple of Doom-level amounts of silverfish slithering around and then a killer wave came crashing through the metro tunnel at the speed of lightning!
Sleep tight my pretties, tonight I give you nightmares free of charge.
A very scary movie is one whose name I cannot recall. It has no superstar Hollywood actors who now do voices for Pixar cartoons on weekends and it’s probably at least fifteen years old, as I remember watching it at Marcela Lazaro’s Halloween party in grade eight and recognizing that it was not a hot new release at the time. Not like the cinematic masterpiece we’ve come to call I Know What You Did Last Summer. Back to an ACTUALLY scary movie (no hugetits though…).
The opening scene has a babysitter in a big house. There may or may not have been some creepy phone calls leading up to the doorbell ring. She can’t see who’s there but she can see a car at the end of the driveway. A male voice tells her his car broke down and asks her to call for help. She probably then realized that the phone line had been cut and soon after, it became apparent that the man outside was a VENTRILOQUIST and he was ACTUALLY INSIDE THE HOUSE THE WHOLE TIME! Some shitty font tells you that it’s however many years later and some optimistic rock music plays and that babysitter girl has a new HAIRCUT so you KNOW she has a new lease on life in the big city and she’s put the butchered babies behind of yesteryear behind her. Some other stuff happens. Like she probably has a boyfriend that she trusts but he sometimes scares her by no fault of his own and he’s totally head-over-heels for her but this is getting tedious…when’s he gonna get a flippin’ BJ?! Or maybe he did something sweet and sensitive like taking her to a comedy club where there happens to be a ventriloquist doing a bit with a creepy clown puppet and she is for SOME STRANGE REASON reminded of her delightful ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING! 
Boys are smart. I don’t know what else happens but eventually you’re confronted with the scariest scene ever. She’s in some dim brickwalled loft apartment and you know that he’s there but you don’t know where. Then, YOU see him before she does…he is PAINTED SO THAT HE MATCHES THE BRICK WALL. And then…HE BLINKS!!! The whole slumber party SCREAMED! Oh how we SCREAMED!!! Much like we’d all screamed the year before in MY basement when the kind-at-heart curly-haired survivor of that whole prom dance debacle goes to the scene of the burnt-down school and…..CARRIE’S HAND EMERGES TO THE SOUND OF SHRIEKING VIOLINS!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!
It wasn’t scary the second time around but the first time I watched Friday the 13th and the young lovers are speared whilst doing it on the creaky camp cot, I was pretty terrified. But maybe I just happened to go to an all-girls camp and I was “confused about my sexuality” so if I got murdered while dry-humping another twelve year old girl…well that would be bad for my pre-teen reputation, especially if no boy could ever say he’d tongue-tangoed with me in my eulogy. Regardless, teen camp counselours shouldn’t be so goddamned horny. If they stayed in the city with fake IDs like COOL teenagers, they’d probably still get laid (if they dressed slutty enough/did enough body shots) but maybe they wouldn’t get butchered! They might even have some extra cash leftover from babysitting adventures to buy a new pencil case come September or maybe even a really cute sweater set from the Gap for the first day of school!
I didn’t find The Exorcist to be a scary movie really. I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s so scary. It’s actually sort of funny. That being said, I read the book first and I must say, it is quite bone-chilling. Rosemary’s Baby IS a scary movie and Roman Polanski’s life is a scary life and I’m sure glad it doesn’t belong to me…tonight I’m going to wear my pixie cut wig and a really cute 60s dress and carry around a baby doll with black eyes. If you don’t get it, that’s probably why we’re not going steady yet and we probably never will.
A really great movie to watch tonight after you dump out your loot from your pillow-case and cackle with glee is The People Under the Stairs. Duh, I KNOWWWW they’re a hip-hop group, ah ain’t RETARDED! Who died and made YOU Prince Paul?! [Hey Ted Mirsky, I understand that retarded is a moronic word to use in that context but I was doing so for effect and I’m going to apologize in an official press release tomorrow at 9 am EST.) Anyway, The People Under the Stairs is simultaneously scary and fun and not because you see teen girls in white lace panties with perma-hard nips because you don’t. Without revealing too much, I’ll say that there is a big mansion with good people trapped inside in the company of greedy evil people, said mansion has many deep dark secrets/passageways, all of which are revealed, and the evil greedy fuckers get what they deserve in the end, good conquers evil as it always should, and while the closing credits roll, there’s a SIIIIIIIIIICK block party complete with rap music and hundred dollar bills flying everywhere and it turns out the people under the stairs are actually really righteous dudes and they’re great dancers too!
Woody Harrelson in drag is also a scary sight but WE NOT GON GET INTO THAT!
In conclusion…
TRICK OR TREAT! SMELL MY FEET! GIVE ME SOMETHING GOOD TO EAT! NOT TOO BIG! NOT TOO SMALL! JUST THE SIZE OF MONTREAL!
Just don’t go giving me dumb shit like an apple because that would be boring and certainly don’t go to the trouble of making candy apples for the kids that will inevitably smash your pumpkin after you’ve hit the hay because it’s not like their parents will let them eat candy apples anyway…CUZ THEY FILLED WITH RAYZA BLADES! I don’t know about you, but PERSONALLY, if I wanted to destroy children’s tongues/orthodontia/childhoods, I’d PROBABLY want to watch…so I’d bring’em inside an serve’em mystery meat sandwiches and I’d pull out their little tongues when they gagged at my culinary art just like the cook in the restaurant on You Can’t Do That on Televsion!
Why did they keep going back to that restaurant after school? So Alanis could get a record deal?? They didn’t even like the food!
Probably the same reason I wrote all this in my TOP SECRET NO BOYS ALLOWED NOTEBOOK at Café Suprême on St. Laurent eventhough I bash it on a bi-weekly basis in mein blogenstein! I even call it Café SHITprême while INSIDE THE ESTABLISHMENT and I’m drinking a REALLY TERRIBLE CONCOCTION! The NERVE! Forget Coda Special Club, Café SHITprême is the hottest spot on the strip and it’s open 24/7! I love this place! Eventhough they totally IMPROVISE every drink you order! And it’s not like good sketch comedy. These drinks…THEY ALL TASTE LIKE THREE DAY OLD CORPSE!
Scary stuff. C’est l’Halloween. Have a good one!
P.S. Here is Agent Caroliner Murphy's scary movie: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4e_uYsa3CYE
