“HORRORSVILLE”
“Horrorsville”? That’s really what—I mean, that’s what you came up with? That, to you, is a satisfactory name: “Horrorsville”. And you’re just going to fucking nod at me like that, with that vacant face pretending it isn’t the worst goddamned name either of us has ever heard? Really? “Horrorsville”. How many actual horrors are there going to be in “Horrorsville”, let me ask you that. Because if we’re not talking about a fucking cavalcade of horror, here, then . . . four? Four. There are four horrors in “Horrorsville”—this is what you’re saying to me. Four. You pluralized “horror” to highlight four horrors. In “Horrorsville”. You want to call attention to the fact that there are, in actuality, four fucking . . .
We can work on the name, sure. Let’s look at what you—a mummy? One, solitary—first attraction, out of the gate, here’s a—as in one, single, by-itself, capital-A—mummy. Oh, it moans? Right off the bat, here we have one—one—mummy that moans. So, what: this moaning mummy, right, it comes at you with all the speed of a goddammed turtle, does it? Ambling at you while you stand in pants-wetting terror, because, holy shit, once it reaches you it . . . what? What does it do? It wraps you up? Like, what, an uncomfortable hug? Oh, I see: it wraps you up kinda so you can “escape” and go see the other “horrors” of “Horrorsville”. No, I think that’s just the right amount of air-quotes, thank you very much. Let’s move on. Because I’m “really” “interested” in your “vision” for this.
Wait—no, hold on. That, there? That mummy horseshit? Just for the record: if that was done well—no; if that was done absolutely perfectly, it would be, at best, moderately frightening. AT fucking BEST. No, I’m not saying that just to shit on you; I’m pausing so we can sit in this moment together. So that, together, in this moment, we can agree on just how fucking atrocious the name “Horrorsville” truly is. That’s all. One moment in time: live in it. Be in it. All right—go ahead.
What is that, a dog? No, there is no goddamned way that is a werewolf. That’s not even a fucking wolf much less a—listen; listen up. Hold your fucking horses for one goddamned minute and level with me: what happened here? Did you have a stroke or something? In the middle of a seizure? You find a pile of stupid-beans and thought you’d eat them all at once? Because this—I mean, the only horror I can see in this is how many people are going to ask for their money back. Oh, you’re absolutely right I don’t want to see the fucking draculas; I want you to think about what you did wrong with the trajectory of your life, because what brought you here is embarrassing and you should feel terrible.
Give you a hundred dollars for the wolf—best I can do.
