“Then, after every Soviet had been set adrift into the cold depths of space, I stuck Ol’ Glory into that big hunk of space cheese, repaired the lander single handedly and flew on home to Joe Anne,” said Buzz. “And that, boys, is the story of how I was the first man to set foot on the moon.”
“We’ve heard it a thousand times, Buzz!” growled the grizzled lumber jack from across the bar. “It’s still nothing compared to the time I got in a log-rolling chainsaw duel with those five super intelligent kodiak bears.”
“Or the time I went 42 rounds under the Texas July sun against John “Jaw Breaker” Johnson for the heavyweight title.” chimed in yet another granite chinned man mountain from the other side of the room.
“That’s nothing,” hissed a dark silhouette from the swinging double doors.
Everyone turned to look as the stranger strode in and grabbed a stool.
“I once went to a scary movie,” he said, taking a swig of his freshly poured mug of pure diesel. “And I only flinched, like, once. Maybe.”
The room went dead silent. Buzz quickly excused himself as the rest of the patrons stared on in reverent awe.
Except for the fact that never happened, and it never will. If you are that guy that goes to see a scary movie and then spends the entire hour and a half loudly trying to convince yourself that you are not scared in hopes of impressing somebody, you can stop now. It will never happen.
This weekend, I went to see “Mama,” a movie about this crazy ghost lady that follows a pair of foster kids that were found in the woods. It definitely had some jumpy parts in it, as well as a good amount of suspense towards the beginning. It is not going to win any awards and it had a stupid ending, but it was a fun movie. That is not what I want to talk about though. I want to talk about “that guy” who thinks he is too macho to just have fun and enjoy the movie.
Yes, I do make fun of how stupid the characters always are in horror movies, and yes, I do put way too much stock in machismo. However, I am also always the guy that is covering his eyes, jumping so hard that he spills his popcorn and clenching the hand of the terrified (for different reasons than me) stranger in the next seat over. That is what is supposed to make it fun.
If you happen to be that guy that cannot help but complain about how lame the movie is and constantly talk about how something so stupid could never scare you, then leave. You are ruining everybody else’s willingness to suspend disbelief by insisting upon sitting there and reminding everyone in a three-row radius that it is not real. You, oh steely-eyed conqueror of the underworld, should obviously be exploring that abandoned meat processing plant downtown where the neighbors frequently call the police about mysterious screams in the night. What was that? You think it can wait until morning? Of course you do, cupcake, just take your dear sweet time.
The most frustrating thing about these people is that they have all the combined courage of the guest list at a Care Bear tea party. Every time I am sitting near one of them, it takes all that I have not to crawl into the back seat of their car, wait for them to nervously check their rearview mirror as their heart rate returns to normal after holding in their girlish cries through the whole movie, scare them into a different nation and then ask if they need a glass of warm milk and a tummy rub to get to sleep that night.
Aside from all this, when it really hits the fan, you want to be with the jumpy guy rather than the one who just tenses up and tries to stare pretentiously into the face of danger. The jumpy guy is the one who will punch a ghost in the face just out of sheer fight or flight.
