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Tales of Terror

(1962)

Good. I like my tales to have some terror in them.

Tale #1: A bitchy ghost starts a fire and kills a couple of people. Big deal. Replace "ghost" with "whore" and it's the time my third wife fell asleep smoking in bed. Fortunately she didn't get along very well with her parents anyway.

Tale #2: A guy whacks his wife and her boyfriend, then gets arrested because he won't shut the fuck up about it. A valuable lesson for us all, but still pretty weak.

Okay, seriously, are any of these stories gonna have a plot that can be described in more than one sentence? For real, I could spread terror like this in my sleep. Oh, and some tits would be nice too.

Tale #3: This doctor hypnotizes a dude just before he croaks (the dude croaks I mean, not the doctor), and somehow this traps the dude's soul inside his dead body. Now here's a disturbing idea with some promise, too bad nothing really comes of it. Instead of something, you know, happening, the dead dude just lays there for months begging for the horror to end (via ESP, I guess) while the doctor completely ignores him. Then, finally, dead dude gets completely fed up, climbs out of bed, and kills the prick. What the hell? Why didn't he just do that in the first place?

Tale #4: This self-important, high-falutin'... Oh, wait, that's just TCM's resident snob Robert Osborne telling us that the movie is over. Don't you love how he gets all irritable and condescending when they make him present a flick that he thinks is beneath him? He's such a douchebag.

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