SCARY MOVIES

Okay God,

I love movies, I really do. I love epic films such as The Godfather, crime dramas such as Heat, romantic comedies such as When Harry Met Sally, and, of course, the ultimate chick film Sense & Sensibility. I do not, however, relish the thought of going to see a scary movie. Why would I spend $15 (excluding popcorn) to purposely scare the living daylights out of myself? If I want to be scared, I’ll just turn on the news and get all the anxiety in the comfort of my home or hop on the freeway and go twenty mph in the fast lane.

When I see a scary movie, (a) I don’t sleep with the lights off for at least four nights; (b) the coat rack in my living room begins to look like Freddy Krueger; (c) I set up this insane pretense and tell concerned office workers that the dark circles under and around my eyes is “smokey eye shadow”; or (d) I tell the truth: I went to a double horror feature with my great-great aunt Louise (aka Aunt Ah-Hell) and it’s the last scary movie I’ll ever go to, no matter what!

Where do I begin? Remember ninety-eight-year-old Great-Great Aunt Louise from the family reunion, the one who had the fifty-two-year-old Beverly Hills plastic surgeon boyfriend Armondo? Well, she’s back. Aunt Louise got into an argument with Armondo and told him she needed some space because he was getting a bit too needy. Then to drown her sorrows, she decided to go to Las Vegas to try out NASCAR racing at the Richard Petty Driving Experience. Well, that didn’t work. Aunt Louise got into a fight with the girl on the other end of the telephone because she couldn’t get Jeff Gordon’s phone number. So when she asked me to spend the night with her and stop by Blockbuster and pick up a couple of movies, I should have said yes instead of, “Let’s go to a movie and you can pick whatever you want to see.” As if in a warning from God above, she even said to me, “Baby, just pick up the moveerah Mahogany with the Ross lady and the movie with the couch-jumping boy named Maver-ricks. I loves me some Ice Man.” I can be really stubborn, so I told her it was good for her to get out of the house.

Put it to you this way: the last time Aunt Louise went to an actual movie theater, movies were called picture shows. After we sat down and pretended to enjoy stale popcorn, the first thing she asked was, “Now, baby, these movies aren’t the devil’s workshop, are they?” I didn’t know what to say since she was the one who picked the double feature: Swamp Thing and Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Aunt Louise got really emotional during Swamp Thing: “I’m just so happy the woman’s big breastisiss saved her life. Ah, Lawd, that monster’s outfit is so ugly; there’s no way he’s gonna blend in and make little swamp friends.” I did a slow-motion look to my right and decided to just keep quiet.

During the next feature was when things got a little rough.

Rocky Horror Picture Show had been on-screen for about five minutes when Aunt Louise leaned over and said, “Angie, when is Sylvestah Stallion coming out, and where’s the tall, shiny, and robust brother-man who teaches him ’bout the eye of the tigah?” Not even thirty seconds later, Tim Curry comes on-screen dressed in drag. Aunt Louise removed the lid of her cup and sniffed it to see if something had been placed in her “drank.” But then she had that moment of clarity and yelled out, “AH, hell, what is this? Ah, the devil is lie. Ah, Glowrie, Ah, Glowrie.” She then grabbed her purse and started praying in tongues, which sounded like, “Come outside and tie my tie . . . shoulda bought a Honda gotta Toyota instead . . . yester me, yester you, yesterday.”

The guys sitting three rows behind us did not appreciate the outburst and got the theater manager. This would have been a good time to leave, but Aunt Louise insisted on staying, saying, “Da devil ain’t keepin’ my three dollars.” She told the manager that he was not too old to be spanked and to get out of her way. She reached down and pulled something out of her rolled-down white stockings. He looked at me and I shook my head and mouthed to him, “DON’T GO THERE. I THINK SHE HAS A GUN,” which made him take off running at full speed and call the police. Aunt Louise “instructed” the gentlemen in the booth to shut the film down and bring her a fresh cup of “Co-cola.”

About that time, two policemen showed up. Aunt Louise looked at one of the policeman and asked him, “Are you Crockett or Tubbs?” The police officer looked at Aunt Louise and then at the theater manager, and said, “You’re on your own, pal.” Aunt Louise replied, “I take it you’re Crockett; now Miami Vice yo tail on outta here. This is kingdom business.”
She then went into the lobby, grabbed a ticket podium, and placed it front and center in front of the projection screen in the theater. Unfortunately, she placed the podium right when the food throwing commenced and was nailed by what appeared to be a chocolate éclair. Aunt Louise yelled out, “Who thaud (throwed) this cream puff at me?” (Just so you know, there is nothing scarier than a ninety-eight-year-old woman at a podium with a 150-pound King James Bible.)
She announced, “Er-body in dis room gettin’ saved or in-duh-vidual ass-whuppins will take place.” Then a voice from the midsection of the theater said, “You can’t say assth.” Aunt Louise recognized that voice and said, “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Stand up. Are you Lissy’s sistah’s baby boy? AH-huh. By da way, I diapered yo ass, so I can say ass, and ass is in the good book. You may not respeck yo momma, but you respeckin’ me! I taught yo tail in 1972. Remember how we all thought you waz retauded because yo head was so big? Boy, you had a big wadder-head.” He stood up and replied, “Yes, ma’am,” and sat back down. About that time, a RuPaul impersonator, decked out in a bustier, black garters, and matching black thigh-high stockings, stood up, blew a whistle, and said, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!”

I saw Aunt Louise’s face and knew what she was about to say. I fell to the ground to get into the fetal position. “Ah, hell, not today. I ain’t havin’ it!” I got on all fours and crawled to the back of the theater because I knew what was about to happen. I heard, “Angu-lah, get off that flo and hold my Bible and get a popcorn container to take up an offerin’ when I’m done.” There was no way I was going back out there until I heard, “Keep hiding from me, you’ll be seeing Kang James and Kang Jesus.”

I ran down the aisle, got her Bible, and while she was giving her testimony, crawled back to the rear of the theater and promised the Lord that I would never refuse to go to Blockbuster for her again.

Next thing I knew, I saw a young man, his whistle, bustier, and pumps all airborne. This young man, sans his pantyhose, received a concussion, Jesus, and Aunt Louise.

That is the last time I went to a scary movie.

God: Sounds like she scared the hell out of you!