I've always assumed that if I were ever to be confronted with the dangerous and supernatural (ghosts, zombies, vampires hockey mask-wearing killers and the like) that my vast knowledge of horror films and an iota or two of common sense would save me. The fundamental lessons learned can invaluable in various deadly (albeit rather unlikely) circumstances.
Haunted house? If I were to walk into a new home and see the walls drip with blood while a voice whispered "Get OUT..." I would happily oblige the nefarious entity. Far be it from me to step on any ectoplasmic toes and bring down the furniture-flinging wrath of some pissed off spirit.
It's very simple... nice ghosts who don't wish you any ill will (think Casper) can be lived with peacefully, perhaps bring about a fond smile when they move around the coffee mugs or change the T.V. channels. Mean ghosts (i.e. anything that opens a portal to Hell in your basement and wants to drive you mad, kill your family, and cost you thousands in plumbing repairs with all that congealed blood running through the pipes) are better dealt with by taking a loss on the house and re-selling CHEAP and as quickly as possible. Just walk away. End of problem.
Zombies? A real scourge, but but with a little planning and a rifle equipped with a silencer, not completely catastrophic. All one might need would be a planned escape route and a place at least 200 miles away from any civilization in which to set up a small fortress with 15-foot walls, enough food for at least 10 years, medical supplies, a good generator, and an adequate arsenal. Unfortunately, that's where it gets a little tricky.
Sure, banks will give you loans for houses and cars. But walk in and tell them, "I need $700,000 to buy land, fly in supplies, and build my zombie-proof compound. I refuse to tell you where because in case of an invasion I don't want you and your family showing up and using all my rations. Just trust me and hand over the money." and you won't get so much as a complimentary pen as they hustle you toward the door.
I tell you, for lending institutions they sure are picky about what they'll lend money for. New boat? Sure. 1,500 grenades and a couple dozen elephant rifles? Not so much.
Vampires? There is an upside and a downside to everything in life, but never moreso than with vampires. Eternal youth, superhuman speed and strength, and a cellulite-free waif-thing physique are all definite perks. And let's not forget the Euro-aristocrat tone that the voice takes on (must be a side-effect to the neck trauma), and the power to make leather and velvet fashionable year-round!
However, with the sweet comes the sour. Food, other than blood, is pretty much out of the question. That means no more cheesy pizza or lasagna. No more cheesecake! If I'm not willing to forgo cheesecake for thinner calves now... I really doubt I'd be happy to give up my pulse for a cheese-free eternity. The most heinous thing of all would be the awful Goth-rock. According to all the newest vampire flicks, when not sleeping or hunting my languid black lipstick-wearing brethren and I would spend our time just hanging around loud clubs flashing fluorescent eyes at humans, looking bored while the DJ played Evanescence.
Sure, it might be fun for a few decades, but eventually it would wear pretty thin. I would soon lament my misbegotten years and crave a Coke and some Funions badly enough to take a last walk into the sunrise. It seems like a lot of bother when just carrying a bit of garlic spray and wearing a cross after dark would save me all that introspection and glam-rock.
Hockey mask-wearing killers? Two words... FRONT DOOR. I cannot stress that enough. How many times have foolish non-virgins run right past salvation, up a flight of stairs... and trapped themselves on the second floor. That leaves only two possibilites: 1) Be mercilessly hacked, stabbed, bludgeoned, etc. by the madman, or 2) Jump out the window and die on impact, or perhaps the good fortune of being skewered with a fence post or the pointy hat of a garden gnome.
And finally... the woods are wonderful, and camping is a great way to spend a weekend. But whenever you stop for gas and locals begin giving directions like "Dat der be an evil place. People who dare leave da highway never come back. No one knows what happens, but we's can hear der screamin' sometimes on a still night. So... first you take a left past Devil Mountain, den right after you cross Screaming Children Bridge. Go 2 or 3 miles don Mutilation Avenue... and you's be at Death Trap Pouring Blood Campground before you knows it."
Folks who can't take a hint shouldn't complain when Machete Bill and his inbred family of cannibalistic sadists steal their RV and leave parts of them hanging from the trees. Personal accountability must come into play here somewhere, people. No amount of horror film observation can make up for that much stupidity.
Having armed you with at least a cursory knowledge of the macabre things that go bump in the cinematic night, I shall bid you farewell. Take care, and remember to always wear your silver crucifix... and NEVER, EVER run through the woods in your underwear. It just looks silly.
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