Brian Murphy

This past weekend, Washington Nationals outfielder Elijah Dukes was fined $500 and benched for being late to a game against the Florida Marlins.

Nats acting general manager Mike Rizzo and (acting) manager Manny Acta opted to fine and bench Dukes because the controversial outfielder was late and his excuse was not a team-sponsored event. They even went as far as to warn Dukes that if he was tardy again, he could be demoted to the minor leagues. Sounds great, right? The team should be applauded for trying to instill discipline and accountability to a young and immature lineup, right? In the words of the immortal poet Lee Corso, “Not so fast, sweetheart.”

Dukes was running behind because he was speaking with the Great Falls Little League in Northern Virginia. After addressing the kids, he stuck around to sign autographs and watch a parade of little leaguers, so he got to the ballpark a few minutes later than he intended. He didn’t miss the start of the game, he simply arrived late for warm ups, stretching, etc.

“We are going to change the culture here, regardless of how well a guy is playing,” said Acta. And why wouldn’t he? I mean, what kind of message does it send when a player goes out and gives back to the local community? The Nationals have gone out of their way to alienate the local fanbase since the moment they arrived in town and here’s this jerkwad trying to do his own thing. This kind of insubordination simply cannot and will not be tolerated. Clearly this is grounds for waterboarding.

When the idea of a professional baseball team relocating to our nation’s capital was first broached, I was all for it. In my lifetime your choices were to either cheer for the Baltimore Orioles, who were a great option until Peter “Satan” Angelos came into the picture, or don’t watch baseball. Sure, bandwagon fans could jump on the Yankees, Red Sox or Cubs because that’s what trendy people do, but that wasn’t really my thing. So I stuck with the Washington Redskins, Capitals and Bullets.

But then Major League Baseball, even in spite of Angelos’ protests, brought baseball into the fold. Before the start of the 2005 season, the Montreal Expos relocated to Washington D.C. and became the Nationals. A new generation was ready to whole-heartedly embrace the national pastime. Or at least that was the plan.

A guy named Ted Lerner, who made billions while building malls and had nothing to do with professional baseball prior, became the owner. Lerner hired Stan Kasten as his team president and retained Jim Bowden as his general manager. The three spoke of “The Plan” to build a franchise, not for the short term, but for long-term success.

While that sounds great and all, there’s one problem with their “plan” – you’re the new kid in town. The adopted orphan. No one has any reason to feel anything other than indifference towards you unless you give them reason to care. We’ve all lived without baseball in our lives for this long, so why should we rush out to spend money we don’t have, thanks to a pitiful economy, on a glorified minor league team with only one or two bats and no pitching whatsoever?

Here’s what I’m getting at – since 2005, there have been exactly four players worth a damn on the Nats roster. They are, in no particular order outfielder Alfonso Soriano, pitcher Livan Hernandez, closer Chad Cordero and third baseman Ryan Zimmerman. When it comes to players worth the price of admission, that’s it. And sadly, three out of the four of those guys are collecting paychecks elsewhere. Slugger Adam Dunn (who has hit at least 40 homers in five straight seasons) should provide the biggest bat in the lineup since Soriano left town, but he’s only been around for 13 games, so let’s hold off on attaching any labels to him just yet (other than “Natinals”).

And planning for long-term stability and success is great in theory, but you’ve got to have the right people calling the shots. Building around the draft only works in you have competent talent evaluators calling the shots. So it’s fine when Bowden and the Nats puff out their chest when announcing the signing of a 16-year-old Dominican shortstop named Esmailyn Gonzalez for $1.4 million … up until Gonzalez turns out to be some guy named Carlos Alvarez Daniel Lugo, a 20-year-old phony, who conned the Nats into making him a millionaire. That’s a plot for a bad made-for-TV movie – not the cornerstone for building a competitive franchise.

Or how about when the Nats drafted Missouri pitcher Aaron Crow with the ninth pick in the 2008 draft … only they couldn’t sign him so he went back into the draft pool and they’re left in spin control mode once again? Sure they have the top pick in the upcoming draft after losing 102 games a year ago, but, even after firing Bowden, why would anyone think they’re going to get it right? San Diego State phenom Stephen Strasburg should do everything in his power to avoid this town. The kid’s got a bright future ahead of him and this is no place to enjoy it. If he’s smart, he’ll have Archie Manning call the Nationals and tell them he’d be happy to play for any franchise … except Washington.

I mean, by all accounts Strasburg is a once-in-a-generation talent on the field and an all-around good dude off of it. Clearly he doesn’t fit with “The Plan.”

Brian Murphy is an award-winning sportswriter who also goes by the name Homer McFanboy. Contact him at murf@homermcfanboy.com.

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Joel Murphy

If 90’s WWE wrestler The Godfather taught me anything, it’s this: “Pimping ain’t easy.”

Unfortunately, Army Staff Sergeant Patrick Campbell of Fort Gordon, Ga., recently learned that lesson the hard way. Campbell has been accused by Georgia police of running a prostitution ring and has been charged with two counts of pimping. He was arrested last Thursday after the soldier allegedly posted ads on Craigslist offering sex with women in exchange for money (which is, shockingly, illegal).

Now, in these tough economic times, we all have to do what we can to get by. I can understand if Campbell felt like his Army paycheck wasn’t sufficient and was looking to supplement his income with some extra cash on the side, but I can’t really understand what led him to a life of pimping. Perhaps wearing boring green Army fatigues day in and day out became tiresome and Campbell began daydreaming of a life in florescent suits and leopard-print hats. Perhaps he’s been looking for an excuse to carry a cane and didn’t want to go the Gregory House “horrible leg pain, pill poppin’, solving tough medical cases” route. Whatever his motivation, if Campbell had paid more attention to the lessons being taught in his day job, he might not have ever been caught.

Campbell worked in military intelligence, which means that in theory he should be a smart guy who understands that sensitive communications can be intercepted by the enemy (and, for a pimp, the enemy is the law). Unfortunately, posting the ads on Craigslist didn’t really show much intelligence at all, military or otherwise. Besides the fact that he reportedly posted the messages himself on his own computer, he also just openly offered sex with women in exchange for money in the postings. If he’s going to use technology to find potential clients, then he should use a little more finesse. Campbell should have said the girls were offering “sensual massages” or lapdances or something a bit less conspicuous. Blatantly advertising sex for money on a public website is akin to having his ladies walk right up to uniformed police officers and offering to blow them for $20. You are just asking for trouble.

One of the most important things the military teaches you is chain of command. One thing soldiers learn quickly is that shit rolls downhill. If Campbell was indeed a pimp, that would mean he was at the top of the prostitution ring and his hoes were his subordinates. Being at the top of the chain of command, Campbell shouldn’t have been posting Craiglist ads himself on his own computer. He should have delegated his authority and made his girls post their own ads. That way, if they got busted, they would be the ones going to jail and Campbell would be free to recruit a new army of sluts to keep the operation going.

Any good student of pimp-ology knows that Campbell should have had a “bottom girl” to help run his day-to-day operations (and if he really wanted to have a strong chain of command, a “wife-in-law” to work under the bottom girl fulfilling a similar role). The bottom girl would have served as an office manager of sorts who collected money from the girls, kept Campbell updated on local law enforcement’s activities and ran the operation while the soldier was busy with his day job. And if Campbell did get arrested, his bottom girl could have kept things running smoothly while he was in jail, which would keep money rolling in. That money could have been used to help pay for his legal fees and the $4,200 in bail he recently paid to get out of prison.

But even if Campbell hadn’t recently been busted by the police, it seems like his shoddy pimps-manship would have kept him from ever being a true player. If he ever wanted to be more than just some popcorn pimp with a small stable of hoes, he really needed to elevate his game and run his prostitution ring like a military operation. The way he seemed to be running things, any “Choosey Susie” working for Campbell would have been peeled by the first guerrilla pimp who crossed her path.

The Army teaches its soldiers to be all they can be. Now that Campbell has essentially flushed his military career down the toilet, I hope that when he gets out of jail, he strives to be a better pimp. Campbell should study the greats, like Iceberg Slim, Don “Magic” Juan, Ice-T and Dennis Hof. By combining the lessons he learned in the military with the wisdom of these true players, there is a chance that one day Campbell could become one of the greats.

Here’s hoping that with a little hard work and determination, Campbell can be a pimp army of one.

Joel Murphy is the creator of HoboTrashcan, which is probably why he has his own column. He loves pugs, hates Jimmy Fallon and has an irrational fear of robots. You can contact him at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

Aaron R. Davis

When I first started blogging back in 2005, someone jumped onto one of my first posts to tell me that bloggers are shouting their opinions into a vacuum and that no one really cares. It was probably the best introduction to online life that I could’ve had, because it’s half true; you are shouting your opinion into a vacuum. But the fact that he felt the need to tell me how wrong my opinions about sexism in the media were shows that, for a minute or two, he cared. I think the only thing people really care about anymore is their opinion. Which is to say, the only thing people really care about anymore is themselves. And we’ve got the technology to reinforce everyone’s idea that they’re the most important person in the world.

Which is fitting, because I’m about to use this space to talk about myself.

Some things happened this week that just reinforced my hatred of technology. And they reinforced the fact that I also can’t live without it.

First, my external hard drive broke down because I did something apparently very stupid: I turned it off. Nothing else; just turned it off. When I turned it back on, some clicking occurred, but I couldn’t access the machine. Eventually, I determined the problem was a faulty power cord and spent sixty bucks to have a new one overnighted to me. Sixty bucks. For a power cord. Because I didn’t want to go more than a day without access to 200 gigs of my music collection, a bunch of my old papers, pictures of my late sister and copies of tax document PDFs. It worked, by the way. Now I’m left to ponder why so much of my life is wrapped up in a three pound bundle of wires that I’m now afraid to turn off.

Second, I’m now on Twitter. I resisted this latest social network as fiercely as I’d resisted MySpace and Facebook – after all, so much of my time is wrapped up trying to write, constantly blogging, doing this column and working as a teacher. How much more pointless communication do I need to do? Especially in short, 140-character bursts with netspeak shorthand that makes me feel futuristic and retarded at the same time? Nevertheless here I am, tweeting away with the other twats, updating to no one in particular about my diet, my celebrity lust objects and – in a fit of unoriginal irony – my hatred of technology. A leap into the future, only to be reminded how little we actually have to say to each other. Or, more accurately, into the vacuum.

Third, my TV broke. You know how? I turned it off. Shut off my $800 LCD flatscreen, went grocery shopping, came home and now it won’t turn on. Oh, it’s still under warranty, and even though the repair guy said the worst thing you can ever hear from a repair guy (“I’ll have to order a part”), I have no doubt that it will be fixed. But as you read this it’s my fifth day without television, and as much as some of us like to claim that we can get by without our entertainment fixation, I just really hate not having it. I’m missing my shows; I don’t care how shallow that makes me. I feel lonely and understimulated – apparently I can’t get by with just books, comics, music, my wife and the Internet. I barely know what day it is without TV.

So, with the TV inaccessible, I went to the movies this weekend. Four times. And every time I ended up seeing this commercial that irritated the hell out of me. It was for some cell phone plan that lets you stay in touch, blah blah blah. What bugged me is the family in the commercial, walking around a pretty nice-looking museum and … not really looking at anything. They were texting, looking on the Internet, taking pictures and emailing them, probably blogging or tweeting about what they were seeing, but not really absorbing natural history, which is kind of the point of a museum. They weren’t experiencing the museum in reality. They were recording the fact of their visit and transmitting that fact into the vacuum.

And I guess this is the point of technology today: thanks to our web-enabled camera phones and the digitization of everything, nobody ever has to experience life as it is. They can instead manipulate their every action to an imagined audience in the vacuum, keeping them comprised of their every move, every thought, every pointless observation or uninformed opinion or what Simpsons line best fits the situation they’re in. And we try not to really confront the fact that no one really cares. That we’re not really talking to anyone. That the people we friend on Facebook aren’t really our friends. I’m not going to let you sleep on my couch and you’re not going to help me move. Friends are now concepts kept in a box and brought out to play with when we’re bored; friendships now require no work, no responsibility, no obligations. The idea of friendship, the idea of experience, the idea of all sensation is just so much commercial grist for whatever the new apps are. We’ve turned the world into a giant scrapbook where we can wrap ourselves up in ourselves and never take anyone else’s input seriously.

You know what I say?

Who cares? Why shouldn’t we be able to use our technology to reshape our experiences into whatever we want? Who cares if we’re talking into a vacuum instead of to other people? At least we’re not keeping everything in. Who wants someone’s input on stuff like a blog? People are stupid and their opinions are worthless. We hate other peoples’ opinions, don’t we? You can’t write “I hate snow” on a blog without some other self-obsessed dink logging on to tell you that they love the snow because they hardly get any of it, or that it’s 90 degrees and sunny all year where they live. Who wants to put up with taking the time to write “Kristen Bell is perfection” only to hear “No, not really”? Why shouldn’t we stay wrapped up in ourselves instead of venturing forth a list of favorite Star Trek episodes only to hear the dreaded “Um, actually …”? In the 21st Century, the favorite pastime of millions is to get outraged over meaningless matters of opinion and spend the rest of the day proving you’re smarter than a perfect stranger. And the way we’ve reacted is to develop better and better technology that allows us to filter out the vast quantities of smug and pointless and bothersome and ridiculous. Because, really, who wants to put up with it? Hell, this column has gone on for so long that you’re probably just scanning past it because, you know, who wants to read something for more than four paragraphs that’s just full of some guy’s opinions?

So, while I wait for my TV to be fixed so I can have my biggest, time-wasting-est friend back, I think I’ll go to a museum, send some pictures of it on my web-enabled camera phone, then Photoshop them so I look like I’m one of the Polynesian warriors in costume before posting them on my blog while listening to MP3s, downloading a movie I won’t pay to see in the theater and tweeting that I love pumpkin pies better than all other pies. And I’ll be secure in the knowledge that no one is paying attention, so it doesn’t really matter what I say.

Nah, that’s not really true. I’ll probably take the virtual tour of a museum online. Then I won’t even have to leave the apartment.

Aaron R. Davis lives in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with his eyes shut tight and his fingers in his ears. You can contact him at samuraifrog@yahoo.com.

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No Country For Old Men: Collector’s Edition (Blu-ray) Release Date: April 7, 2009 Own it on Blu-ray and DVD Director: Ethan Coen and Joel Coen Writer: Ethan Coen and Joel Coen (screenplay), Cormac McCarthy (book) Stars: Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin, Woody Harrelson, Kelly Macdonald, Stephen Root MPAA Rating: R HoboTrashcan’s Rating:

These days, it’s hard to have too many steadfast rules when deciding on what movies to watch. Actors and directors seem to run hot and cold – following up a string of hits with a slew of terrible films and unwatchable remakes. But there is one directing duo that you can always count on to deliver you something special – the Coen brothers.

From Raising Arizona to Fargo to The Big Lebowski to O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Joel and Ethan Coen have racked up an impressive resume (with very few missteps along the way). In 2007, the brothers became critical darlings with their film No Country For Old Men, which they adapted from a Cormac McCarthy novel. The film went on to win the 2007 Academy Award for Best Picture, along with Oscars for best directing, best adapted screenplay and best supporting actor (Javier Bardem). A two-disc Collector’s Edition was released on April 7 on Blu-ray and DVD, so this week we are taking a look at the critically-acclaimed film and the new special features included on this new release.

Set in the 1980s near the United States–Mexico border, No Country For Old Men is, at its core, the story of three men. Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is out hunting one day when accidentally discovers the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong. Moss finds dead bodies, a truckload of heroin and $2.4 million in cash stuffed inside a satchel. He takes the bag and several weapons, then flees the scene.

Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) is a cold-hearted hitman hired to recover the money. Chigurh carries a silenced shotgun and a cattle gun used for slaughtering livestock to eliminate anything (or anyone) in his path. He seems to enjoy killing, though overall he comes across as emotionless. Several times in the film he flips a coin and forces his potential victims to call it to decide whether they live or die, leaving their death up to fate, but for the most part he simply eliminates anyone standing in his way without much thought or hesitation. Chigurh also has one of the worst haircuts in cinematic history and a voice as deep and evil as Buffalo Bill’s in Silence of the Lambs, which both make him an incredibly chilling and disturbing villain.

Investigating the aftermath of the ill-fated drug deal is Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones). Sheriff Bell is a relic from the old days of law enforcement. He waxes poetic about the good ol’ days when most sheriffs didn’t even bother to carry a gun and struggles to understand the brutality and senseless killing brought to his town because of the drug trade.

While the story mainly focuses on these three main characters, the film also has an impressive supporting cast. Woody Harrelson, Stephen Root and Beth Grant all have small, but memorable roles in the film. However, the true standout is Kelly Macdonald, a Scottish actress who absolutely nails the Texas accent and steals every scene she has with Josh Brolin as Carla Jean Moss, Llewelyn’s girlfriend.

Overall, No Country For Old Men is an incredibly well-done and beautiful film. It’s by far the most violent movie the Coen brothers have ever done, but the violence serves the story and doesn’t feel gratuitous. The performances by all of the actors, especially Javier Bardem, are strong and the film is magnificently shot. The Blu-ray version is truly worth the purchase because you can really appreciate the beauty of the film when watching in high definition.

The story itself is incredibly gripping and entertaining, although I must admit that the first time I watched the film, I found it somewhat jarring at times. While I would certainly never question the writing of a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, I was a bit surprised about the way a character’s death was presented late in the film and I found the final scene of the movie to be a bit underwhelming. Many people have tried to convince me that the closing scene of the film is incredibly symbolic and meaningful, but the film ends so abruptly and unexpectedly that upon first viewing, I found it rather off-putting (and somewhat similar to the controversial finale of The Sopranos). Watching this Collector’s Edition was my second viewing of the film and while I did soften a bit on the way they handled the character’s death and the final scene, I still don’t find the ending to be particularly meaningful or symbolic. However, the film is strong enough overall and the Collector’s Edition is packed with enough extras that I am willing to look past any minor grievance I have with the film.

One of the best bonus features is “The Making Of No Country For Old Men,” a 25-minute behind-the-scenes look at the making of the film. While it is for the most part your standard making-of featurette, it is still a well-done piece that gives you a good overview of what went in to making the film. There is also a great behind-the-scenes look at Anton Chigurh first scene, which involves him brutally choking a police officer with a pair of handcuffs.

“Working With the Coens” is another featurette that isn’t particularly earth-shattering, but is still worth watching. It’s nice to see the love and respect that actors and crew all have for the Coens (especially the crew members who have worked with the duo on multiple films). It’s also fun to hear them described as the same person with two heads. It’s definitely a puff piece, but if you like the Coen brothers, you will probably enjoy this featurette.

“Josh Brolin’s Unauthorized Behind-the-Scenes” documentary is the antithesis of “Working With the Coens.” A tongue-in-cheek mocumentary, this satirical piece has actors sharing horror stories about how terrifying and unruly the Coen’s were to work with. Woody Harrelson is a bit all over the place and tough to follow (but, let’s face it – he was probably high when he filmed this), which takes a little bit away from the overall quality of the featurette, but Javier Bardem’s great comedic timing and killer performance in this piece make it worth viewing.

The two-disc collection also includes a “Diary of a Country Sheriff” featurette which talks about Tommy Lee Jones’ character, as well as Javier Bardem’s character and the landscape the two travel through and a “Press Timeline” featurette, which includes 16 different interviews conducted between October 26, 2007 and February 9, 2008.

I highly recommend picking up a copy of No Country For Old Men: Collector’s Edition. The film itself is worth watching over and over again and the special features give fans looking to dive deeper into the behind-the-scenes side of things plenty to sink their teeth into. So pick up a copy today, Friendo.

Written by Joel Murphy. No Country For Old Men: Collector’s Edition is available now on Blu-ray and DVD.

Courtney Enlow

I’m a big horror fan. I’m by no means a buff, and if you quizzed me on Clive Barker’s oeuvre, I’d probably fake a call on the other line then hit up IMDb, unless we were face to face in which case I’d be screwed, but I am a lover of the finest cinema the blood ‘n guts guys have to offer.

Which is probably why I’ve been disappointed in the last eight or nine years of horror filmery. See, I’m an 80s horror purist. I like them to include the following things: blood, swearing, some titties for the menfolk and, most importantly, humor. Being scared should be fun. It’s why we ride rollercoasters and visit haunted houses. Fun is fun, and it’s fun when it’s fun. What’s not fun is Dawn Wiener being hung upside down and bleeding all over a woman in a bathtub who is getting off on it, Eli Roth, you crazy bastard. I guess Cabin Fever was just a little too joyful and awesome, which gets in the way of hateful brutality.

That’s pretty much the case with most mainstream horror flicks in the last few years. They’re so hellbent on being gritty and realistic that they become these hyperserious snuffs that just kind of bum me out.

Now I want to get one thing out of the way now: I’m not referring to the Saw series. Yes, I, Courtney Enlow, am part of the problem and I will see every Saw movie they release (unless Saw 5 was a sign of things to come. Your big twist is poor city planning? Really, Saw? Really?) and I am also completely against the term “torture porn.” I refuse to use that phrase for the same reason I refuse to use the word “tween,” because it is largely dismissive and a fairly broad generalization (and because I did not spend four years at art school to emerge without even a tiny rejection of the popular and commonplace; that would just be crazytalk).

In my mind, it started with the Texas Chainsaw remake, starring Jessica Biel’s sweaty breasts. It really kicked off this trend of the prosthetics team showing off how insanely realistic they can make axe wounds, and the props team creating super gross and dirty locations (which in fairness is actually terrifying to your painfully OCD writer), while the writers and director leave out any trace of anything borderline amusing or entertaining.

Between that movie and its sequel/prequel/dumbass follow up, as well as movies I actually like, like House of a Thousand Corpses, recent horror has been more like Salo than Slumber Party Massacre. But then we have the other offerings of the genre – the horrible PG-13 remakes of foreign movies. Now here’s the thing, I’m all for remaking a horror film. I love foreign cinema, really I do, but it is really hard to read subtitles with your hands over your eyes. So I get it. I just don’t get the PG-13 part. That’s where you lose me. If some ghost child is coming after you, you will let loose a barrage of horribly offensive obscenities, Sarah Michelle. You will not just get wide-eyed and gaspy.

All that said, this year has given me hope. My Bloody Valentine (3-fucking-D) was super fun, and I can’t say enough about the Friday the 13th reboot, mostly because I’m the only one saying anything good and I think I’m compensating. That movie had it all – humor, badass killings (save for a wasted woodchipper, which I’m still bitter about – you DO NOT put a woodchipper in a movie and not throw someone in, it’s just wrong), and best of all it had frat boys getting the shit killed out of them. And that’s fun. I don’t want to see the pathetic stripper mom shoot herself because her kid’s going to put on a Shatner mask someday and terrorize all of Haddonfield. I want to see campers getting their asses macheted.

With those, and next month’s release of Drag Me To Hell, my most anticipated movie in a long time and a return to genre-al awesomeness, as well as a bunch of others that show promise (including a new Final Destination, because god dammit, I love Final Destination), I thought it would be best to celebrate the only good things about these shit films – their posters.

Note: I could not in good conscience include the posters for terrible movies like When a Stranger Calls and Stay Alive, because while I’d rather look at a giant un-Photoshopped picture of Mickey Rourke’s face than watch those again, their art teams couldn’t even give us that for their poster. No, the marketing geniuses behind the following deserve to be celebrated because they may have been the only competent people who had anything to do with their respective films. Join me in giving them their due.

11. Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning

Look at Leathy. He’s just on a super caszhe walkabout with his favorite toy on a really prettily cloudy old timey day. No hint of motorcycle enthusiasts getting their legs cut off or any of that other mess they called a movie. Though I would have enjoyed this poster a bit more if they’d advertised the fact that it starred Oliver from The OC because getting the guy who faked a suicide attempt in order to snare Marissa Cooper is a huge coup.

10. One Missed Call

No eyes? Scary. Nasal/mouth eyes? Even scarier. Add awkwardly pronounced cheeks and a Black Hole Sun-esque mouth, and you’ve got a nicely terrifying poster for a truly ballsy (read: retarded) concept about killer cell phones.

9. Captivity

This is obviously not the US poster, which my eyes were so daily raped with on my morning commutes on the el. Those posters, featuring Elisha Cuthbert in various stages of seducing you while sexily being tortured, were not good, which is probably why no one saw this movie. This one, however, is kind of awesome. And I’m pretty sure that’s not Elisha Cuthbert. She was probably hiding from a mountain lion or whatever it is she does in her off-time.

8. Pulse

LOOK AT THAT. That is Kristen Bell being attacked and held down by lots of devil-Smurfs. Who wouldn’t see that movie? Strangely enough, the trailer for another movie that fills me with stokedness, Von Trier’s Antichrist, features a scene that looks a bit like this. I like to think Lars Von Trier, father of the dogme movement, saw this poster and thought “that’s effing badass. I’m going to film the same thing with Willam Defoe nailing some broad instead of the blonde chick.”

7. Halloween

Okay, I know a lot of people really liked this remake. I hated it. A lot. Look, Rob, buddy, we get that a Southern person kicked your dog or stole your lunch money and that the popular chicks weren’t into your righteous hair or something, you’ve made your point. There’s really no need to harp on about it anymore with movies filled completely with hateful characters. Now in the first two, it kind of worked. With this one, I didn’t even get the feeling until the end that we were supposed to NOT want new-Laurie Strode dead. Because I really thought her and her friend were the bad guys. Annoying, twatty, uber-nude bad guys. That said, this poster is pretty good. Because it has a collage. I like collages. I had one in my room when I was fifteen that had flowers and John Cusack pictures. This is pretty cool too.

6. The Eye

Blind people are super scary, guys. It’s right there in the tagline. “You won’t believe her eyes. They’re all glazy and shit.” Did you see Road House? Because I’m pretty sure that was actually a horror flick with Jeff Healy as the monster. This poster could only be better if it had been this image instead:

5. Hostel 2

You know what I like in a poster? Two things: A) when I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at, and B) when whatever it is I’m looking at makes me very hungry for Texas Roadhouse.

4. Secret Window

I mean, look at it.

3. Murder, Set, Pieces

A lesser known, and consider yourself lucky because MAN it was dull. Literally put me to sleep. But if the whole movie had been been an armless version the doll from May in a bra staring off at nothingness, then maybe I would have stayed awake.

2. The Haunting in Connecticut

In fairness, I have not seen this movie. But I refuse to believe it could possibly be any better than a kid vomiting a large ginger root.

1. Fear Dot Com

I take back what I said in #10. Nothing is scarier than an eyeless person. This movie was just all kinds of forgettable, but I still have nightmares about this poster, so congrats Fear Dot Com. Someone remembers you exist.

Now please excuse me, my cell phone is trying to kill me.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

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