“You’ve Got To Laugh. Otherwise, You’re Gonna Go Nuts, Man.”

The Plan: Watch Lawrence of Arabia with dinner.

The Flaw: . . . wait, HOW long is it?

The Options: We could be good and continue forward with our nearly four-hour Oscar-winning epic, or we could watch that terrible looking horror movie on Netflix.

The Inevitable Conclusion?

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The funny thing is that Don’t Blink turned out to be a surprisingly decent low-budget thriller. Right up until the completely lackluster ending, that is.

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“Popularity is the Slutty, Little Cousin of Prestige.”

I watched a trailer for Birdman last June, and I thought it looked, well, interesting. But I didn’t figure I’d actually go see it in theater, mostly because it didn’t seem like my sister’s kind of movie, and also because I’m a lazy bastard who often has to be coaxed out of the house with the promise of treats. But a friend hit me up the other day and asked if I wanted to see it.

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It’s, well. It’s interesting.

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“Wow, You’re a Winner, Ain’t Ya?”

Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year. You get to dress up in fun costumes, have an excuse to eat junk food that you were going to eat anyway, and watch a bunch of scary movies. Also, it’s not a traditionally Family Gathering kind of holiday, so it comes with a lot less drama than, say, Thanskgiving or Christmas.

Also, in my house, Halloween is a time to savor truly terrible horror movies.

We will begin Splatterfest 2014 with our first film: Nine Dead.

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“Michael Myers is My Business.”

My friend Kirsten wrote me and said that she had, for some unknown reason, decided to watch Halloween 6: The Curse of Michael Myers. She’d also written a review and was like, “Hey, do you want this?”

What I heard:

“Hey, Halloween’s around the corner, and you have stories you’re supposed to be working on, stories that people are actually planning to pay you for. You want a Free Day from MGB to go, you know, do something about that?”

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Thus Kirsten presents the majesty of The Curse of Michael Myers.

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“I Now Pronounce You Devil and His Shorty.”

A few weeks ago, my friends and I were faced with a hard choice. We had all gathered to watch a movie together, and the final nominees were this: Frozen, a highly beloved Academy Award winning Disney film, and The Crow: Wicked Prayer, the fourth movie in a mostly terrible franchise (saving the original, obviously), featuring the varied talents of David Boreanaz, Edward Furlong, Dennis Hopper, Danny Trejo, and Tara Reid.

I think you all know which one I watched.

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It’s at least vaguely possible that we didn’t make the right call.

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“Well, What Does She Expect? You Leave Your Navigator Lying Around, Naturally Somebody is Going to Run Over Him.”

Sometimes, when I’m not around to entertain her with my sheer awesomeness, Mekaela watches movies without me. These are usually movies I have little to no interest in, and if they end up being particularly crazy and/or dumb, I’m liable to get Puppet Recaps, as I did with Now You See Me and Machete Kills. (Okay, they’re mostly Stuffed Animal Recaps. I don’t own a lot of actual puppets, only the Wile E. Coyote one. Regardless, they’re very amusing. I’d record one for you guys sometime, if I thought my sister would let me.)

But sometimes a movie comes along that is so spectacularly insane, it cannot merely be recapped with plushy toys. It must be shared with your fellow sibling. It must be a bonding experience for the both of you. Or so Mekaela claimed when she told me I needed to watch Death Race 2000.

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For my part, I argued that Touch of Evil had been sitting on our living room floor for over a week, and maybe it was time to give that a try, since there are grave, grave Battlefield Earth level of horrifying consequences if I don’t finish watching my noir films by the end of the year. Problem was, we were being super classy with our choice of chili dogs for dinner that night, and, well. You just can’t be watching some critically acclaimed, black and white film noir when you’re eating chili dogs, right? Chili dogs are a meal best accompanied by ludicrous plots, terrible fashion, and unrepentant violence.

All in all, Death Race 2000 felt like the most valid choice.

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“What’s My Name? Fuck Your Mother. That’s My Name.”

So, one day I’m playing around on IMDb — as I am wont to do — and I come across this movie called Unknown. Not the 2011 movie with Liam Neeson and January Jones, (I’d rather scrub toilets with someone’s dirty gym socks in my mouth than watch that), but a little movie in 2006 about these five guys who wake up in a locked warehouse with no memory of who they are or what the hell they’re doing there.

It’s definitely my kind of movie — especially with the attached cast — so I look it up on Netflix and suggest to Mek that we rent it.

Mek: “Wait . . . didn’t we already watch that, a long time ago?”

And I’m like, “. . . shit, I think maybe we did.”

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I present Unknown . . . the movie about amnesia that I completely forgot.

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