Hi. My name is the Generic Serial Killer, and for the last 20 years, I’ve made a living killing blissfully ignorant characters in horror flicks. But not anymore. As of today, I’m done with the horror industry.
Horror used to mean something. Sure, there have always been the more extravagant horror movies with aliens and zombies and the like, but there used to be a place for guys like me too. I don’t know when everything changed, but I knew it was over the day I cornered a group of teenagers in a cabin in the woods, and all they had to say was “Pfft, a gun? What else you got?” (Incidentally, these were their last words)
Yes, I use a gun. So what? Guns are way scarier than axes, unless it’s an axe wielded by some immortal murderer that made a deal with the devil, is fueled by rage, or some other BS. GUNS ARE AN EFFECTIVE MURDER WEAPON. You don’t see our soldiers fighting wars with Texan chainsaws, just saying.
Also, why does everyone have to have some sort of get-up now? Why can’t I be a fearsome killer with just a balaclava and a hoodie anymore? Since when does everyone need a dumb mask, or bladed claws, OR A GODDAMN PUPPET THAT RIDES A TRICYCLE!? You know what, don’t even get me started on Jigsaw.
Actually, I’m already started. What the hell is wrong with that guy? Sure, I get playing with your victims a bit before killing them amps up the horror, but past a certain point it’s just tedious—get on with it already! And can we talk about the fact that he makes full-on dioramas of all his torture porn set-ups? A mastermind serial killer that plays with dolls. What an asshole.
Still, he’s not nearly as bad as the supernatural murderers. I mean, I’m a certified psychopath, but even I can tell those guys are messed up. Sure, we get it, you had a rough life, boo freaking hoo. That’s no reason to take it out on horny campers and unsuspecting house owners for all eternity. And some of your powers are just ridiculously overpowered. How are the rest of us supposed to keep up? There’s just no honour among murderers anymore.
Gone are the days of the good old-fashioned murderous romps, replaced by a bunch of grudge-bearing little brats who all have to have some contrived explanation for WHY they slaughter people, as if the thrill alone isn’t good enough anymore. I’m so sick of the murder business. Wake me up when October ends.
Generic Serial Killer