BINGHAMTON REVIEW Editor-in-Chief Contents
P.O. BOX 6000 BINGHAMTON, NY 13902-6000 EDITOR@BINGHAMTONREVIEW.COM
Founded 1987 • Volume XXXIV, Issue IV Matt Gagliano
Managing Editor Madeline Perez Copy Desk Chief Joe Badalamenti
Business Manager Dillon O’Toole
Social Media Shitposter
BEST HALLOWEEN COSTUMES FOR 2021
Arthur O’Sullivan
PAGE 8
Editor Emeritus
3 4 5 6
Jake Schweitzer
Staff Writers
Charles Forman Siddharth Gundapaneni Jacob Weber Evelyn Medina
Contributors
Barbara Zavala Edward Lamarck Julius Apostata
Special Thanks To:
Intercollegiate Studies Institute Collegiate Network Binghamton Review was printed by Gary Marsden We Provide the Truth. He Provides the Staples
by Our Staff
Editorial by Matt Gagliano The Monster Down Underby Julius Apostata My Haunted House by Evelyn Medina Joe Wrote a Creepypasta While Jon Was at The Gym by Joe Badalamenti
9 How to Have The Safest Halloween Possible by Matt Gagliano 10 The Sixth Night at Freddy (a Parody) by Scarthur Ole’Soul Ivan 12 The Bearcat Prophecies
by Edward Lamarck
13 Rest in Piss Colin Powell by Jacob Weber 14 Women in Horror: Weak, Incompetent, and Insane by Madeline Perez
TELL US WHAT YOU THINK! Direct feedback to editor@binghamtonreview.com 2
BINGHAMTON REVIEW
Vol. XXXIV, Issue IV
EDITORIAL Dear Readers,
From the Editor
H
appy Halloween everyone! I hope you’re in the mood for some of the scariest shit you’ve ever read, because this issue of Binghamton Review is SCARY. I mean, have you seen the cover? Those Bunny Women are scary as hell! Those of you that frequent Downtown Binghamton know what I’m talking about. I have never been closer to shitting my pants than when I saw a mob of what must have been at least one hundred women dressed as bunnies making their way downtown, walking fast, faces pass, and I’m homebound. Sorry, I got distracted, that song is simply too good. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Bunny Women *shudders*. I, as well as many other members of Binghamton Review, have seen these mobs around Binghamton on multiple occasions. I’m starting to think we should refer to them as “Cotton Eye Joe” because I’m constantly wondering two things: where did they come from and where did they go? I assume you’ve picked up this issue because you want to be scared, so here are some of the articles that are guaranteed to chill your bones colder than those that I may or may not have in my freezer. You can’t prove anything. Anyway, “The Sixth Night at Freddy (a Parody)” by Scarthur Ole’Soul Ivan on page 10 is one of the scariest things I’ve ever read. I mean, an article that mentions Matthew Patrick and ejaculation on the same page? Boy oh boy, talk about horrifying. If that one didn’t already scare your pants off, there’s also “Joe Wrote a Creepypasta While Jon Was at The Gym” by Joe Badalamenti on page 6. It’s scary how good it is. Haha. LAUGH AT MY JOKES GOD DAMMIT! “The Monster Down Under” by Julius Apostata on page 4 discusses one of the scariest topics one can write about: Australia. Giant bugs, kangaroos, and shitty accents? Count me out! If you’re a little baby that’s too scared to read the aforementioned articles, might I recommend “Women in Horror: Weak, Incompetent, and Insane” by Madeline Perez on page 14. Actually, that one might still be too scary, it is about women after all. If you really want something mild, then you should probably check out “How to Have The Safest Halloween Possible” by me on page 9. I give you very real advice on how to be safe this Halloween, and in no way make any jokes, or goofs, or jests, or anything else of that sort. I swear >:).
Sincerely,
Matt Gagliano Binghamton Review is a non-partisan, student-run news magazine of conservative thought founded in 1987 at Binghamton University. A true liberal arts education expands a student’s horizons and opens one’s mind to a vast array of divergent perspectives. The mark of true maturity is being able to engage with these perspectives rationally while maintaining one’s own convictions. In that spirit, we seek to promote the free and open exchange of ideas and offer alternative viewpoints not normally found or accepted on our predominately liberal campus. We stand against tyranny in all of its forms, both on campus and beyond. We believe in the principles set forth in this country’s Declaration of Independence and seek to preserve the fundamental tenets of Western civilization. It is our duty to expose the warped ideology of political correctness and cultural authoritarianism that dominates this university. Finally, we understand that a moral order is a necessary component of any civilized society. We strive to inform, engage with, and perhaps even amuse our readers in carrying out this mission.
Views expressed by writers do not necessarily represent the views of the publication as a whole. editor@binghamtonreview.com
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THE MONSTER DOWN UNDER
The Monster Down Under
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By Julius Apostata
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’m sure that we have all heard stories and fairy tales as young kids: perhaps around a campfire or from whispers told in hushed tones. Imaginations of monsters lurking in the woods, hiding amongst the trees waiting for stray children or teens to depart from their group, never to be seen again. However, if you were a really young child, you probably heard of the monster under the bed: the boogeyman that appears under your bed after dark, who would kidnap or eat you if you dared stay up. Obviously, these tales exist solely to frighten kids into doing whatever their parents want them to do. But what if monsters actually exist? Or, perhaps more succinctly, what happens if there is a monster that rests within ourselves or our own institutions? What if, hypothetically, “the monster under our bed” exists as the worst impulses of abuses of power coming from a government or from within us? Could such a “monster” ever manifest itself in society? Unfortunately, a proper “monster” could be the government overreach and abuse of power that is occuring in Australia, as well as the ongoing paranoia and conspiracism by certain political actors therein.
“In essence, a ‘monster’ has manifested itself in the form of the Australian government’s overreach of power over its citizens.” Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, virtually every government has enacted some degree of lockdown restrictions in order to combat the spread of the virus. In Australia, this was no different; while Australia initially saw only a few case numbers, infections would quickly spike by late August, with New South Wales accounting for over 1,000 locally acquired COVID-19 cases. Much of the spread could be attributed to the Delta variant, despite many travel re-
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strictions already being in place in the country. In any case, the spike in infections put the Australian government in a tough spot. How could it respond to such changes? The government answered in a way that may have provided far more harm than good. To begin, Australia had already put in place several restrictions on travel, which even enjoyed broad public support (at first). Of course, given that these strict measures were already put in place before late August, the government saw fit to step up their restrictions. Certain health services, such as those screening for breast cancer, were redirected to have nurses and doctors combat the rise in COVID-19. Compounding this, additional fines were levied out to those that violated stay-at-home orders, with fines reaching as high as A$5,000 (about US$3,700), along with further restrictions on gatherings. At the tip of these restrictions were vaccine mandates. However, unlike vaccine mandates in the United States, which are primarily directed at public employees, the chief minister of Australia’s Northern Territory unveiled a far more draconian version: every employee, public or private, was to be vaccinated. If a worker refused vaccination by November, they were to not only be fined but were not eligible for work, even if the business in question was private. In essence, a “monster” has manifested itself in the form of the Australian government’s overreach of power over its citizens. Obviously, with such heavy restrictions on people’s movement and livelihoods, a good portion of those in Australia feel alienated towards a system that puts forward such unaccountable measures. Many, perhaps due to this alienation, decided to take to the streets and protest what they saw as government overreach. Yet, when faced with a large degree of uncertainty, authoritarianism, and fear, many of these protests began to take on counterproductive elements. In this case, the “monster” came forth as con-
spiracy theories about vaccines, paranoia, and violence. For instance, in Melbourne, what started as construction workers protesting and voicing their concerns for the vaccine mandate morphed into protests about how the vaccine is designed to kill people, and how 5G towers were spreading the virus. Some reports even indicate that some far more extreme groups, such as Neo-Nazis, managed to infiltrate these protests. In any case, this all manifested itself in violent confrontations with law enforcement, with clashes continuing for days after the original protest. Further skirmishes between police and protesters became increasingly common in September, painting a grim picture for Australia. As it turns out, many far-right elements have permeated a divided and confused populace, fermenting a “monster” within some of these protests in the forms of violence and misinformation. Perhaps it’s best to take a lesson from The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and acknowledge that, within us and our government institutions, a monster can manifest. There is no monster under our bed; WE are the monster. One could point to the overreach by the Australian government as being the monster, or perhaps by the violence and conspiracy theories espoused by the more extreme elements of the protesters. As far as we should be concerned, Australia should serve as an example of how monstrosity can manifest through abuses of power and conspiracism.
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My Haunted House
MY HAUNTED HOUSE
By Evelyn Medina
Disclaimer: exaggerated for dramatic effect e live in a supernatural world. I was once told by an old parish priest that he witnessed an exorcism. When the conjuring movies came out, they were claimed to be based on true stories. And have you heard of the Amityville Horror House? The guy killed six members of his own family! Things like this make me think of what makes people evil in the first place. I believe that evil comes from the soul and manifests into actions, but when you pass on and cannot be accepted into heaven, where does your soul go? Haunted souls will haunt the living. The living do not know the true pain and agony a lost soul feels, which is why we should fear the ghosts that haunt us. I am sure that my house is haunted. My house is 150 years old, and was once owned by a funeral home, so people held wakes in my living room. Time has given my home the opportunity to keep souls trapped within it, and watch the living move in and out as they please. It stands on a street corner, and when people walk by it, it is known as the house with the yappy dogs rather than the house with sad spirits. They are not frightening, at least they haven’t been in the last 18 years I have lived there, but it is the uncertainty of what the souls’ intentions are that makes me walk up the stairs with caution at night.
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“Her first night, as she tried to fall asleep, she felt that it was hard to breathe, as though there was the slight pressure of a small child sitting on her chest.” My mother told me that after she moved in, people who lived in the town for years would come to her and tell her that her house was haunted. Her first night, as she tried to fall asleep,
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she felt that it was hard to breathe, as though there was the slight pressure of a small child sitting on her chest. After interactions with the townsfolk, it clicked that it was most likely a spirit, and not the anxiety of moving in. Two years later, she brought a baby home: me. I was not a happy baby. It could have been because of the hip dysplasia I was born with, or it could have been that the spirits were materializing to check in on the newborn. Isn’t it possible that children and pets are the ones who see the spirits? What if what I was seeing as a young child was the reason for my miserable first year of life? Was this the reason my dog was so protective of me?
“Imagine being watched by something you can’t see, but that possibly has immense power over you. We do not know the true essence of a ghost.” As time went on, I ignored what I would hear at night. I had convinced myself that it was the cats. Even the shadow of a human head on the attic window. The cats never go into the attic. I convinced myself that my dolls moved with magic, like in Toy Story. I had tried to forget the time when all of my clothes were strewn on the floor in front of my dresser. It only happened once, but now I consider the ghosts in my house. I wonder what they think of me. I sing at home when I am “alone.” Do they hate it? Do they hate my art? Do
they adore my little brother? When we argue, whose side are they on? They are the only ones who I am fully comfortable around, but quietly fear if they are really there. Imagine being watched by something you can’t see, but that possibly has immense power over you. We do not know the true essence of a ghost. A theory I heard once is that a ghost will stay in a house if the body is taken from the home head first, because the ghost will exit through the feet, and be tied to the house forever. When my grandfather died, he left his house head first, and for the last two years before his house was sold, lights would flicker in places where he used to play with his grandchildren. They would flicker during a heated argument between my mother and grandmother, or in a heated argument between my brother and me. And most importantly, his area in the basement, right by the little fireplace, stayed clean for years. Very little dusting needed to be done. Very few cobwebs formed beside the few summer ones that appear every year. The wood stayed fresh, and his stool stayed in front of the fireplace. Maybe it was just my grandmother keeping her old house clean, or maybe my grandfather decided to stay for a while before he said his final goodbyes. I have lived with ghosts my entire life, and don’t know what they are. I don’t understand their essence or what they are capable of, and this fact is what’s most frightening to me. An essence I can never understand coexists alongside me. Watching me come home, watching me while I sleep, watching me eat. Watching me. Existing in a realm unfathomable to the mortal mind.
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JOE WROTE A CREEPYPASTA WHILE JON WAS AT THE GYM
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Joe Wrote a Creepypasta While Jon Was at The Gym By Joe Badalamenti
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5 Baxter Drive, the rumored haunted mansion of Harvey Spooker. Some say that he is the spirit of Harvey Stegner’s long-lost brother. Others say that he’s an alien conducting experiments under the guise of a familiar being. Year after year, many would venture into the mansion, only to meet a grim fate… by that I mean death! To my knowledge, I am the only one to have survived the mansion. This is my story. It all began on a Friday afternoon. I didn’t want to go alone, so I informed my good friends in an effort to convince them to join me. “Sounds like a bunch of baloney” proclaimed Andrew. “Look I know it sounds strange,” I said, “But think about all the other strange events in Binghamton: Sexy Baxter, the Mothman, the Wolf of State Street… this is nothing in comparison.” Margaret looked at me funny. “Binghamton can be wacky, but how do we know you’re not making this up Joe?” she asked. “Yeah, you do tend to exaggerate these sorts of things” Chris butted in. “Look”, I pleaded, “tomorrow’s a Friday night and we’ve nothing better to do. If we go there and nothing happens, I’ll buy everyone a Tully’s dinner.” Chris chuckled. “Alright, but just to see how wrong you are.” he rebuked. The others reluctantly settled, and a plan to stake out the mansion was formed.
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A day had passed, and the investigation team met outside the mansion. It was larger than the surrounding housing, and it looked decrepit from years of decay. An emptiness radiated from the house, similar to how the sun radiates in places other than Binghamton. Everyone was there except for Andrew, who was supposedly running late. “Now that we’re here, I’m starting to get a weird vibe” Chris remarked. I replied, “is it telling you that we should investigate or just how wrong I am?” Before we could argue, Andrew came sprinting in. “Sorry I’m late” Andrew muttered, out of breath. “Was it a horde of bunny women again?” Margret jokingly asked. “No…
“‘Is that blood!?’ she shrieked. I shined a flashlight, only to see a small white puddle on the floor ‘No, I don’t believe blood looks like that.’” I got into a heated argument with a friend over how to eat a pizza slice and lost track of time.” “Oh, Andrew!” We all sighed in unison as if it was a scene out of Full House. I realized that we should get back on track. “Mayhaps we should stop stalling and investigate the mansion.” We all carefully walked up to the door. Once there, Margret tried to open the door, though it would not open. “Rats, it’s locked!” she said. “No way, let me try” I jolted. Before I could touch the doorknob, the door swung open. “Looks like I got the magic touch,” I replied in an effort to look cool. Upon opening the door, we were greeted by a dark corridor. The aura seemed to become more pronounced, almost as if it was calling us to enter. “Welp, the sooner we enter, the sooner we’re done,” I said in an effort to boost morale. We then slowly entered the house, unprepared for what awaited inside. Upon entering the house, we
made our way to the first room. There were 4 doors, each closed, as well as a staircase in the center. The room was illuminated by a small skylight. The debris scattered across the floor confirmed our suspicions: this mansion had been abandoned for years. “So how should we explore the house?” I asked. Andrew replied with vigor, “Well I’ve seen way too many horror movies go wrong, so I say we stay together and explore each room one by one.” We started with the first room on the right, which was revealed to be a typical kitchen. As we entered, Margaret appeared to step in a small puddle. “Is that blood!?” she shrieked. I shined a flashlight, only to see a small white puddle on the floor “No, I don’t believe blood looks like that.” “Great, I’m even more disturbed” Margaret replied with a grim tone. After taking a few minutes to investigate, we found nothing of note. “Looks like just an ordinary abandoned house, guess I was right”’ Chris eagerly exclaimed. “Come on, Chris,” I responded, “you know we haven’t even seen half the house yet. Let’s see what the other rooms have in store.”
“I soon found myself locked in a bathroom with Chris.” The next room seemed to be a guest bedroom with a wardrobe. “What’s this?” Andrew spotted a piece of paper on a dusty ottoman. He read the contents. “October 30th, 2020, I have become separated from my friends, that thing is ruthless in its pursuit. I have become incapacitated in my attempt to escape and can only hide. It was foolish of us to enter this place. However, if you’re unfortunate enough to find this, please leave while you can!!!” “Maybe we should listen to the note and leave” Margaret suggested. Upon glancing at the note, Chris objected: “hang on, isn’t this your handwriting, Joe?” “What do you mean?” I asked. Chris handed
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over the note. The writing appeared shockingly identical to mine, only more hastily written. “Was this all just an elaborate prank?” Margaret demanded answers. “Ok, ok” I pleaded. “I can explain… actually I can’t, this house is possessed.” Margret turned to me, exasperated. “I never agreed to be tortured in some sick prank, this was your idea, we trusted you, and now it’s over, goodbye!” As Margret and the others stormed out, they were greeted by a dark and slender figure blocking the doorway. The figure looked like President Harvey Stenger, only slightly pale. “Was this the big surprise? Look we know this is a prank so you can’t…” before Margaret could finish, the figure started to transform. Its gray skin turned mucus white, while its eyes became pitch black. Its features became disfigured to the point beyond recognition. We were all sent into a state of shock. All we could do was run away. I soon found myself locked in a bathroom with Chris. “Ok you were right, this place is haunted, now how do we get out of here!” Chris was panicking. I tried to stay calm and talk to him. “I don’t know, we can’t leave now, else we’ll get caught by that thing. If we wait around 10 minutes, maybe that thing will give up and we can escape after we regroup with the others.” Chris seemed slightly calmer. “Sounds good,” he added. And so a plan was formed. After roughly 15 minutes, Chris peaked out the door. “Alright, the coast is clear.” We quickly entered the corridor and entered the first room
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JOE WROTE A CREEPYPASTA WHILE JON WAS AT THE GYM we could find. It was the master bedroom. We saw Margaret hiding in the corner. “All I wanted to do was watch some scary movies and not die, was that too much to ask?” “Margaret, this is no time for brooding around” Chris shouted. “Come on, we’re gonna find Andrew and then we’re leaving!” Margaret reluctantly got up and joined the group. We carefully went back to the corridor. “Fellas, is that you?’’ a faint noise said behind a door. “Guys, I think that’s Andrew,’’ Chris cheered. I carefully peeked into the door’s peephole only to be dismayed by the familiar figure waiting for us. “Oh no, we should probably leave,’’ I said as I hastily led the group away to safety.
“Frustrated and out of ideas, I went to bang my head against the wall in hope of some divine revelation.” We now found ourselves in a spacious office. “Well great, stuck again. Can this mansion get any worse?” Margaret spoke up. “You know guys, I’ve been thinking. In all the movies I’ve seen, there’s usually only one survivor, and it’s a woman. No offense, but you guys might wanna watch your backs.” As Margaret leaned against the wall, she flipped a light switch which triggered a trap door that opened right beneath her feet, causing her to fall into the dark depths. “Well, I guess things can get worse. Thanks, life,” Chris said sarcastically. Frustrated and out of ideas, I went to bang my head against the wall in hope of some divine revelation. Upon realizing that I was right next to a window, I had a brain blast. “The window! Of course, we can escape through the window!” Chris was hesitant. “Now I want to escape as much as you do, but I don’t want to break my leg in the process.” I sighed, “Don’t have to, we can just shimmy to the other room and then run to the exit while the demon thinks we’re still in this room.” Chris chuckled, “That sounds stupid, but maybe just stupid enough to work.” Chris went to open the window. “Huh, what do you know, it’s locked.” In desperation for my plan to work, I picked up a book and fierce-
ly threw it against the window, shattering it to pieces. “Magic touch, remember?” We had a bit of a laugh before returning to our dark situation. In a feat of acrobatic excellence, I crawled out of the window, shimmied across to the other side of the house, and opened the nearest window. I turned to Chris and briefed him on the situation. “Now we’ve only got one shot at this. The good news is that the exit is just straight ahead. All we have to do is go in and get out. Simple.” Chris nodded. As soon as I opened the door, I bolted in and ran like my life depended on it. I burst through the door and flew out of the house onto the lawn. As I was catching my breath, I saw Chris to my side. “Glad you made it out.” “Yeah, glad I did too.” As Chris was speaking, he began to cough. It seemed like nothing at first, but then it became violent. He then began to spew out some dark substance. “Chris! Chris, are you ok?” I asked. As he turned his head, I saw a pale, dark-eyed, and disfigured head where Chris’s face once was. I ran home without turning back. As soon as I got home, I locked my door and gave a sigh of relief. I checked my phone only to realize that it had died. I plugged my phone into the charger and went to bed, hoping that this nightmare would end. I woke up in the afternoon the next day. Before I could do anything, I heard a knock on the door. It was Chris, though he looked completely normal. “Chris, is everything alright?” I shouted. Chris seemed amused. “That’s what I should be asking you, since we lost you last night.” “But we lost the others,” I said, confused. “And you had transformed into this abomination.” Chris looked at me like I was insane. “Lost the others? We all went back to Andrew’s place to watch Spider-Man after checking out the house. I don’t know anything about this ‘abomination’ you’re talking about.” So yesterday did happen, I thought, but everyone is fine. “Maybe I need some more rest,” I sighed. “Alright Joe, whatever works for you,” Chris responded. Before leaving I looked up to see Chris’s blank stare; it was almost as if he were looking at my soul.
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BEST HALLOWEEN COSTUMES FOR 2021
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Best Halloween Costumes for 2021 By Our Staff
Drake Drake the type of fella to be featured as a costume in Binghamton Review. All you need to do is shave a ballsack in your hair—just don’t get caught talking to minors Sexy Handmaid’s Tale Flip the repressive undertones of a popular dystopian novel into powerful, slutty, expressive overtones. Take back societal control with your sexuality. Girl Power! Bunny Woman Well first, you’re going to need at least a C-cup. A terrifying, yet enthralling choice for a costume; dress like an old man’s fantasy. Sightings of these creatures have been found all over Downtown Binghamton late-night Fridays and/or Saturdays on their way to get blackout drunk at a myriad of frat houses and bars. Squid Game I don’t know, I haven’t watched the show.
Libertarian Not to be confused with a librarian. Twice as sexy and half as wellread, just spend your days arguing about how age-of-consent laws impose on your “Personal Freedoms.” Just don’t step on any reptiles and I’m sure you’ll be good.
Tomfoolerers, jokers, tricksters, goofballs, scallywags, goobers, humorists, and any other ridiculous men First, be involved in some sort of horseplay. Then we do a little trolling.
Chris Pratt First, appropriate Italian culture. Help turn a beloved video game character into a quick money grab—the Nintendo Specialty! Then maybe you can eat-a the spaghetti. Discord Mod Not to be confused with a libertarian. Twice as Fat and half as wellgroomed, just spend your days moderating the general chat while you ignore age-of consent laws. All you need to do is grow a neckbeard, eat multiple tubs of ice cream, and contemplate your atomized existence
Bing Review E-board Member Be incredibly attractive, amazingly funny, and just an all around great person who everyone loves. Then wake up.
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HOW TO HAVE THE SAFEST HALLOWEEN POSSIBLE
How to Have The Safest Halloween Possible By Matt Gagliano
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OO! Haha, I got you, didn’t I? Bet you nearly shit your pants on that one. If you did shit your pants, that’s kinda gross, try and have better bowel control in the future. Why don’t you go take a moment to clean up, this article will still be here when you get back. *Stares at watch while repeatedly tapping foot on the floor* All cleaned up? Good. Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re deep into spooky season, the time of year when it starts to get cold, everything is covered in an unhealthy amount of pumpkin spice, and the girls who claim to be witches in their social media bios aren’t depressed for once. While I hope that everyone reading this has some fun this Halloween, I feel it’s equally important to make sure that you’re safe. It’s a scary world out there, and I’m not just talking about the fake spider webs that people put on their houses this time of year. Seriously though, those things are scary as fuck, some of us have arachnophobia, guys! Not me of course, since I’m an alpha chad that fears nothing. Except maybe women dressed as bunnies. Regardless, there are a lot of people out there that are not only dressed as monsters, but actually are monsters, and they may try to ruin your Halloween with their evil ways. Well, it’s my duty to you, dear readers (and deer readers) to make sure that you are informed enough to not fall victim to these miscreants’ tricks.
“For example, last Halloween I spoke with a woman who found a fully loaded, fully automatic AK-47 in her son’s Halloween candy.” At this point, we’ve all heard the stories on the news about people giving kids candy laced with THC. When I first heard it, I was confused as to why the news was reporting about candy laced with a movie company (whose logo always appears with a sound that gradually gets louder until your ears
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curl in on themselves, much like a penis in the cold), but then I found out that that’s THX, and THC is actually a drug or something like that. I know it sounds dangerous; clearly, you don’t want your kids to ingest candy laced with drugs, but as far as Halloween dangers go, this one is actually fairly low on the list. Actually, it’s the lowest on the list. Even if your child does accidentally consume THC laced candy, the worst thing that could happen is they realize how fun their Halloween could’ve been if they ate it earlier. Honestly, I would be more worried about the psychopath that spent a ton of money on THC candy, only to then give it away for free. Clearly, that guy is deranged, and you should probably get any children in the area away from there as soon as possible before he teaches them to be irresponsible with their money.
“Her only comments on the matter were ‘How the fuck… Why the fuck… WHAT THE FUCK?!?!’” Now, just because THC laced candy may be the least of your worries this Halloween, it doesn’t mean that it’s not worth checking out your children’s candy stash before they eat it. For starters, someone might have given them Good & Plenty, and if it’s possible to prevent someone from eating something that tastes like black licorice, I don’t care if they killed your entire family (dog included), it’s your duty as a human being to make sure that that candy NEVER enters their mouth! There are also plenty of other dangerous items that some Halloween hooligans may try to sneak into your child’s candy. For some reason, the news media has a hate boner for cannabis specifically; they always report on THC candy, but there have been way more dangerous things found in Halloween candy that went completely unacknowledged. For example, last
Halloween I spoke with a woman who found a fully loaded, fully automatic AK-47 in her son’s Halloween candy. When asked about the subject, she had this to say: “I’m incredibly lucky to have caught that in time. Little Jimmy was very close to eating that Snickers bar when the extremely large, loaded gun that had been placed inside, in the place of the peanuts, just happened to catch my eye. I thank God for my perfect eyesight; I shudder at the thought of what would’ve happened to Jimmy if God made me one of those poor visioned plebs.” Even worse than that, was the elderly lady who found a Fat Man atomic bomb in her grandchild’s candy. Her only comments on the matter were “How the fuck… Why the fuck… WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” It’s a truly dangerous world out there, fellow Bing Reviewers. I hope that I was able to provide you with enough information to keep yourself, and others if you’re feeling generous, safe this Halloween. If you take anything away from this article, let it be this: THC candy isn’t as much of a problem as the news makes it seem, THC and THX are two completely different things, and Good & Plenty is the direct spawn of Satan and has no place in or around any human beings mouth, living or dead. Happy (and safe) Halloween everyone!
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THE SIXTH NIGHT AT FREDDY (A PARODY)
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The Sixth Night at Freddy (a Parody) By Scarthur Ole’Soul Ivan
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he following is the final entry in the journal of Arthur Gothicus Bloodedgeicus Mychemicalromancia Afton, nephew of serial murderer William Afton, who had taken a job as a night-shift security guard at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria after the sudden departure of the previous employee, who had only worked there for five nights… “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA” Such were the sounds that I had heard upon turning on the phone in the security office. Supposedly, this was to be my day-shift counterpart training me for the job that I had been so hastily substituted into. Workplace protocol, however, I could not discern from the cacophony of the answering machine, absent a liberal interpretation conjured by many an undergraduate humanities major. I, however, being a proud Englishman, scorned such abstraction from my continental counterparts, and proceeded based on an analytic understanding of the message
“My ejaculation and subsequent moistening of my particulars through multiple orifices seemed to have alerted one of the more spry robots” sent to me, and therefore followed suit. Sore-throated now, I turned my
attention to the photoluminescent panels and spigots before me. Clearly, this was the apparatus that I was to operate in order to maintain the security of this building. Upon it laid a small paper note, scrawled upon with untidy handwriting, not unlike that of a madman’s. Furiously, this messenger wrote, the animatronics are possessed by the souls of children who were murdered by William Afton in the 1980s and will kill you if you don’t keep them out of your room!!!1!11!!! Respectfully, Matthew Patrick Aghast at this reckless slander against my dear uncle, I purposefully cast the paper into the nearest dustbin. Surely these animatronics are deactivated, I thought, a psychosis must have seized my predecessor, perhaps brought on by too much love from his mother. No sooner had I conjured my expert psychoanalysis than I scarcely had time to question whether Lady Madness herself had seized me in her voluptuous bosom: for I saw a most terrible sight on my panopticonic screens: these “deactivated” automata were not only operant, but likewise ambulant! “EGADS,” I ejaculated “THE DEVIL IS ALIVE IN THIS WORLD AND SO HAUNTS THIS ESTABLISHMENT!!!!!!!11!!!11!” At this, I wept bitter black tears mixed with black eyeliner onto my black leather Radiohead t-shirt, purchased from a Hot Topic in Leeds several decades ago. The tears flowed such that the black dye on the leather began to reveal and stain my black corset that I was wearing underneath my black leather Radiohead t-shirt as well as the red fishnet stockings that I had worn to work to accompany my bunny ears that I wore. My ejaculation and subsequent moistening of my particulars through multiple orifices seemed to have alerted one of the more spry robots:
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BINGHAMTONREVIEW.COM a vulpine individual who had abandoned his stately post at the nearby amphitheatre (the so-called “Pirate Cove”). Despite his nautical affect, sealegs were lacking when I beheld him sprinting through the various rooms that my screens could show. With horror I looked to the camera screens and likewise to the schematic of the building provided to discover, to my horror, the ineluctable fact that this animatronic fox was expeditiously wending towards my room, much to my horror. From my calculus, he had but seconds to reach my room, where I suspected that he did not mean me well. With vague memories of instruction in case of emergency being in the messages recorded for me, I switched on the telephone. I swiftly switched it off when I once again heard the screech that began my night shift. Pacing about the room now, I tried to remember what had happened after I first heard the telephone’s scream. Aha, thought I, there was a comprehensible note on the screen-panels. I turned my attention back to the video screens, only to discover that the note was not there. Defeated, I slumped into my chair, attempting to make peace with an Anglican God I had forsworn when I had read the first few words of a John Stuart Mill essay. Suddenly, in a moment of grace, I was struck by a vivid memory of life several minutes ago: “Aghast at this reckless slander against my dear uncle, I purposefully cast the paper into the nearest dustbin.” I therefore made haste to that selfsame dustbin, and to my delight found the note I had in my arro-
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THE SIXTH NIGHT AT FREDDY (A PARODY) gance dispossessed myself of beforehand. Again quoth the note, the animatronics are possessed by the souls of children who were murdered by William Afton in the 1980s and will kill you if you don’t keep them out of your room!!!1!11!!! Respectfully, Matthew Patrick Understanding my predicament now, I realized that my object, were I to survive this night, would be to obstruct these beings of demonic instrumentality from entering this very room, which I understood to be my safe haven. Hearing the pounding footsteps of what could only have been the fox, I realized that haste would be necessary to take proper action in order to exclude his presence. To that end, I disrobed myself of those things that encumbered me: my black-gold stiletto heels, my jet-black woolen cloak, soaking wet from my previous fit of lacrimation, my black-silver and blood-diamond tiara among other things which for brevity’s sake I shall omit from this journal. I gingerly proceeded to the apparatus which so intimidated me moments before, resolute now, like as Horatio Nelson was at Trafalgar, to frustrate the knavish tricks of my foe. I saw a button on my left side which read “door.” Being an expert in logical positivism, I adduced this button as being instrumental in the sealing of this office against the xeno-thaumata that so riddled this place, and with due haste and enthusiasm pressed it. With due expediency and noise, the door slammed downwards, in just enough time for me to see the fox’s torn nautical frame attempt to breach the rapidly closing gap betwixt door and floor to no avail. Cachinnating now at the fox’s misfortune, I turned around to discover that in my myopic focus on the one animatronic, as well as the time spent attempting to address the problem, I had allowed in four different humanoid automata: a yellow female chicken, a purple bunny, a brown bear, and a golden freddy.
It was then that I realized the source of the scream I had heard at the beginning of the night: for the cry of the children’s souls in unison with my own voice created a discordant hymn to the demonic horrors that this place had seen, wrought by my uncle so many years ago, and yet still resonant today. I continued to scream as they made me one of their own, forcing my body into one of the animatronic exoskeletons in an obscure back-room where no child deserves to see, much less have their body kept as a rotting costume-host forever. Mechanical whirrs and screeches began to replace my waning voice, still in the form of a scream, as bone gave way to crushing metal, and eyes became fused to that of my lupine exoskeleton’s skull. I could see now more clearly: the souls of the children, still trapped inside of their long-dead and decomposed cadavers, still feeling the ontological pain of the fusion betwixt man and machine, despite their physical nerve-endings having become dust long ago. I walk now among them, one of them, in soul and spirit, the youngest among them. By day we placidly stand in fain performance for those children, who have the infinite fortune of maintaining their Edenic innocence, as the society in which I once lived yet feeds into that delusion. By night the wolf comes out in all of us, in myself most literally, as my animatronic was to be the new attraction, “Niceguy the Wolf.” I, however, took on a new name for myself, one that better reflects what society pushed me and my fellow children into, the crushing exoskeleton of lost innocence. It is said that on occasion, were you to look close enough, you could spot some “tomato sauce” dripping from my mouth. Haha, like, anyone over twelve could understand that’s not true. Such tomato sauce was not tomato sauce, but blood! Sometimes it was my own, sometimes it was the new security guards’ who try to maintain the façade of normality to society. It only follows, then, that my new name should reflect my gothic and macabre origin: by day I may still be “Niceguy the Wolf,” but by night I am the Wolf crusader, “SOCIETYBLEED!”
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THE BEARCAT PROPHECIES
The Bearcat Prophecies By Edward Lamarck
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ll over the world, there are myths and legends of strange beasts lurking in places that science has yet to explore. In the Pacific Northwest, there is Bigfoot. On the Texas border, there is the Chupacabra. West Virginia has the fearsome Mothman, and even upstate New York has the infamous Champlain lake monster. A belief in cryptids is almost as old as mankind’s fear of the dark. That fear is entirely justified. The media moguls at the Binghamton Review, after marathoning several seasons of History Channel shows about rednecks chasing Sasquatch, decided to boost their ratings by organizing a monster-hunt of their own. Their objective: to capture the mythical Baxter Bearcat alive. Sightings of Baxter have haunted the Binghamton University campus for decades, but few are willing to speak of their encounters with the beast. They describe him as a large quadruped with light gray fur, a long tail, whiskers, and eerie green eyes. Curiously, Baxter is also said to wear a B.U. basketball uniform, believed to have been taken from a player unfortunate enough to cross his path. They also mention his razor-sharp claws and fangs. In hushed whispers, some will even mention the names of students (too numerous to list here) that have disappeared shortly after a Baxter sighting. In official records, these students have “graduated.” Much like the government has acted in regards to Area 51 or currency inflation, the university has insisted that Baxter Bearcat is not real. A local mascot designed to lure in tourists and high schoolers, others will claim. The 2021 expedition into the Nature Preserve was intended to discover the truth of the bearcat’s existence, and by extension, unravel a dark conspiracy theory. It was to be a hunt for the ages. The moguls at the Review carefully selected three undergraduates to venture out into the Nature Preserve and document any proof of Baxter. To
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protect the identities of all involved, the names of these brave explorers have been altered. Drew Dotson was a hiker and knew the winding trails of the preserve like the back of his hand. Peter Moreno was an expert in environmental studies, and hoped to capture Baxter for scientific research. Lucy Hart was a photographer and simply wished to document the many species of birds living in the preserve. The first day of the expedition was largely uneventful. A base camp was established near the intersection of Ridge Trail and Saddle Trail. A net trap was set up on a nearby tree, but nothing took the bait (implied to have been Tully’s chicken tenders). Audio recordings recovered from Collegein-the-Woods reveal the conversations the crew had that night, and also a faint rustling in the bushes at 1AM, which Drew assumed to be a deer. On the second day, the trio took an unexpected turn onto Oak Trail. An argument broke out between Drew and Peter, each accusing the other of getting them lost. Lucy broke them up before tensions got out of hand, but she noticed that the compass Drew carried in his hand no longer pointed north. They spent the next hour reading a map and plotting their next course. Base camp was relocated along Pond Trail, where Lucy took pictures of frogs and turtles. The trio reached a consensus that nature is beautiful, but dangerous as well. Sleep did not come to the explorers easily. The rustling heard the night before was louder, startling Peter. By sunrise, it was revealed that Lucy’s tent was torn to shreds. She was nowhere to be seen, although her camera was left perfectly intact. An hour’s worth of recording mysteriously skipped by, as if it were deleted. Panic overtook the two remaining explorers, and they began to run. A follow-up expedition later found some evidence that Drew and Peter had mistakenly ended up on Field Trail, distancing themselves from safety or any hope of rescue.
They shouted Lucy’s name, but were met only with the sound of approaching footsteps and a low growl. Peter tripped over a fallen branch and his screams filled the air, but Drew kept sprinting farther and farther away. Peter was heard calling out for help, but the growling became even louder. Closer. Unable to run any more, the last man standing proceeded to climb the tallest tree that he could find. Drew then does the only thing he can think to do in this situation. While holding onto a branch for dear life, he pulled out Lucy’s camera and took a single photograph of the predator hunting him. The picture is blurry, but a long, gray body can be seen at the base of the tree. The audio then jumped to the sound of sharp claws cutting into wood, and Drew’s last words before his disappearance are heard: “If anyone finds this, tell the Review that Baxter is real! Baxter Bearcat is real!” Drew, Peter, and Lucy were never heard from again. While the Review attempted a number of rescue missions into the Nature Preserve, only the gear brought along by the expedition crew was recovered. The lone camera was found dangling off of a tree branch by its strap. However, the purported photograph of Baxter was swiftly confiscated by order of Harvey Stenger. It is rumored to have been locked away inside the Couper administration building. It is unknown why the university continues to deny Baxter’s existence. The current theory is that he is an experiment gone horribly wrong, a monstrous genetic hybrid between bear and cat. Other theories suggest that Baxter is extraterrestrial or the product of mass hysteria. All that remains certain is that he continues to serve as an essential piece of Binghamton folklore. And like all legends, there may be some truth to it.
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Rest in Piss Colin Powell
REST IN PISS COLIN POWELL
By Jacob Weber
O
n October 18, 2021, former Secretary of State Colin Powell passed away due to complications from COVID-19. He was 84 years old. A distinguished general and statesman, media coverage of Powell’s death and legacy has painted an overwhelmingly positive picture of his tenure in the military and government, contrary to all available evidence. In the upper echelons of the US Government, where callousness and inhumanity are job requirements, Powell went above and beyond in his creation of conditions of abject misery for literally millions of people around the globe, a legacy that will be little covered by mass media. While a Captain in the US Army during the Vietnam War, Powell encouraged the torching of entire villages throughout the A Sầu Valley as part of his “drain-the-sea” approach to villages in Viet Cong held areas. Discouraged by other US military advisors as needlessly brutal and counter-productive, Powell defended his actions as late as 1995 in his memoir My American Journey. Later in the war, Powell played a pivotal role in covering up the Mỹ Lai massacre, an event in which US soldiers massacred 504 unarmed civilians, and gang-raped and mutilated women and children as young as 12. Powell, charged with investigating the rumors surrounding the massacre at the time, against all available evidence, stated “In direct refutation of this portrayal is the fact that relations between Americal Division soldiers and the Vietnamese people are excellent”. Powell’s role in diminishing and covering up the
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massacre allowed 25 of the 26 soldiers charged in the killings to go free. Powell is perhaps most infamous for his role in spreading the lie that the Bush Administration used to justify the Iraq War. This justification, the claim that Saddam Hussein’s government possessed weapons of mass destruction (WMDs), was based on little to no evidence even from the beginning. Powell himself stated in 2001 that Saddam “has not developed any significant capability with respect to weapons of mass destruction”. The Joint Chiefs of Staff ’s J2 Intelligence Directorate concluded in 2002 that “Our assessments rely heavily on analytic assumptions and judgment rather than hard evidence. The evidentiary
base is particularly sparse for Iraqi nuclear programs.” Despite this, 6 months later in February of 2003 Powell testified before the United Nations to ‘prove’ that the Iraqi government was harboring WMDs. Based on evidence from an Iraqi citizen living in Germany, who later admitted his claims were false, Powell stated “Every statement I make today is backed up by sources, solid sources. These are not assertions. What we’re giving you are facts and conclusions based on solid intelligence”. Powell, taking a page from the Joseph Goebbels book of propaganda, continued to support and repeat this ‘big lie’ and was essential to shaping the public opinion required for the war. After his UN testimony, Powell continued to emphasize the importance of invading Iraq, and supported later deployments of tens of thousands of more troops to the country, helping to orchestrate an invasion that led to the deaths of over 1 million Iraqis and the displacement of up to 9.2 million people, according to Brown University’s Cost of War Project. These are no small numbers, and Powell played no small role in the events that led to them, acting as a cunning propagandist and ruthless military strategist to ensure imperialist American dominance of the globe through bloodshed. Unfortunately, Powell died as all American war criminals do: at the end of a long and happy life surrounded by his family, never once fearing or experiencing any consequences for his actions. We cannot allow history to absolve a monster like Colin Powell.
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WOMEN IN HORROR: WEAK, INCOMPETENT, AND INSANE
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Women in Horror: Weak, Incompetent, and Insane By Madeline Perez
T
his Halloween season, I want to talk to you about something frightening. Something horrifying. Something that makes you thrash, screaming “the horror, the horror,” put your face in your hands, and weep. As some of you may have already guessed, I’m talking about women. Honestly, I can’t escape them, as they seem to be drawn to me with the same magnetism that attracts my refrigerator letter magnets to my fridge. Females occupy my living space, dance around in my head, and every morning when I look in the mirror I cower in terror as I find one looking back at me (yikes!). It’s terrifying. Frankly, it’s no wonder that the horror genre is dominated by women. A study by the Geena Davis Institute (and Google) found that horror was the only genre where women appear and speak as often as men. This may not seem like much, but comparing it to the average of men having twice as much screen time as women puts things into perspective. Scary movies seem to be the only ones that regularly employ female main characters more than male ones. But wait a second you guys… I was only kidding around before about that “women are terrifying” stuff. Why do we see such a big difference in gender dynamics here? Some of the most popular movies rely heavily on the projection of the audience onto the main character. This is most apparent in franchises where the main character is bland enough to have a wide range of the audience identify with them, but who is also incredibly unique--chosen by something greater than themselves to save
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the day. Think of Luke in Star Wars or Harry in Harry Potter. No personality. Like at all. They do this on purpose so that YOU, that’s right, YOU can fulfill your fantasy of saving the day, being special, and having everyone like you. Horror movies are no different. They, too, want you to identify with the main character so that you can empathize with them. By making the main characters in horror movies female, they are forcing you to experience the plot through her. Her fragility and inability to handle things. Her physical weakness. Her lack of independence in her own life to change her situation. Arguably most importantly, the questioning of her own sanity as the people around her refuse to take her seriously.
“Women are emotional, hysterical, confusing beings who must be guided through life by a stable man—a lost lamb to a shepherd.” Think of the stereotypical horror film: family moves into a haunted house; something’s off; the dog dies inexplicably. Suddenly, the stupid woman and/or children start witnessing paranormal activity. Normally, the husband won’t accept that the house is haunted until he sees it for himself, and by that time, it’s already too late. In all of his strong, stubborn denial, he is able to dismiss the rest of his frantic family. But why not believe your wife? Clearly, even if your house isn’t haunted, or that orphan you adopted isn’t some psycho woman in a child’s body, you should still be dealing with the fact that your wife is exhibiting a serious mental break… or maybe, this is just normal. She is a woman after all... The instability of the female psyche is a common trope in media as well as, dare I say, misogynistic views of today. Women are emotional, hysterical, confusing beings who must be
guided through life by a stable man—a lost lamb to a shepherd. In this way, the things they say cannot always be taken at face value. Especially in the past, this was a way to disregard valid societal unrest seen in women with no independence, yellow-wall-paperstyle. They called it female hysteria. “Hello, doctor. The fact I cannot leave the house without my husband’s permission and have no purpose other than being a housewife is making me depressed.” The doctor scratches his chin for a moment before answering, “have you tried not being a woman?” and so on and so forth. Women today still have immense trouble being taken seriously and are consistently accused of making things
“Obviously, this is wrong, because I know if you guys saw a poltergeist right now throwing dishes across your kitchen you would be shitting your pants, regardless of gender.” up for attention. If only there was a controversial 2017 social movement focused on this very subject to use as an example. :(. Anyway, this type of refusal to believe women in horror movies will sometimes travel down a path where a woman must confront her own sanity, believing others dismissals
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that she must be crazy over her own lived experience. Through a female main character, the audience feels this frustration, this insecurity—this womanly belief that you are one experience away from falling into an insanity so absolute you lose yourself in the process. And that societal gaslighting is an aspect of the horror. But why not have it the other way around? Could you imagine? The big strong husband tells his wife that he saw a ghost and they need to move im-
“Wow, another soyboy, weak and effeminate, who chooses to cry rather than confront this problem head-on. What happened to Real Men?” mediately. She shuffles her newspaper and removes the pipe from her mouth to speak, not shifting her eyes from the sports section. “Just your imagination, dear. I’m sure you’ll feel better when you’re off your period,” and that’s that. No, men in horror movies are not only taken seriously—they don’t always need to convince others of their experience in order to change their situations. Maybe they would just decide to move houses, or confront that apparition head-to-head in physical combat. There are two sides to this coin: for all the infantilization of women, we see an equal and opposite expectation of men to be the stoic protectors. A woman is screaming and crying out of fear. Don’t worry, she is
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WOMEN IN HORROR: WEAK, INCOMPETENT, AND INSANE completely hypothetical. She exists in your mind when you’re reading this and will cease to exist when you forget about her. Anyway, looking in on that, you may feel empathetic toward her. Maybe you want to help—give her a kiss on the forehead, tuck her in, and tell her a bedtime story. We have been socialized to understand that women deserve care and protection. Now, if a man is screaming and crying because of some demon or spirit, the audience may subconsciously feel embarrassment. Wow, another soyboy, weak and effeminate, who chooses to cry rather than confront this problem head-on. What happened to Real Men? The horror genre cannot always make effective victims out of men because we have been taught women are allowed to feel fear, but a good man—a man you want your audience to identify with—should not. Obviously, this is wrong, because I know if you guys saw a poltergeist right now throwing dishes across your kitchen you would be shitting your pants, regardless of gender. Men do not often cower or cry in movies except when it’s time to make fun of them. In this way, many horror movies are trapped with a female protagonist in her infinite privilege to cry and be weak without negatively marring her character. The character needs to be weak in comparison to whatever is stalking, hunting, or terrifying her, and it’s imperative that you empathize with that weakness, because helplessness is part of the horror. In recent years especially, a new type of horror movie monster has stolen the silver screen. We see the subversion of the female victim, and in the process, a transformation from
prey to predator. Most apparent in movies like Jennifer’s Body, The Witch, and Carrie, the girls start off as victims of assault and abuse directly tied to their womanhood. As a way of survival, each character in turn becomes the villain their world makes them out to be. We’ve all been there, am I right, ladies? They turn to monstrosity as a way to be heard, taken seriously, and to have the strength to fight back against what’s been done to them. But they’re not just turning to petty violence. In one way or another, her womanhood stays intact, if not morphed into something more dangerous. Girlbossing, if you will. I don’t think there’s any sort of problem here. I actually think it’s quite creative. Well, now you know my thoughts on why horror flicks often use women as main characters. Obviously, I know this is not always the case. I’m not stupid. I’m just someone who likes thinking a lot about gender, movies, and combination gender inside of movies. My hope is that you can now ruminate on why we see men and women so differently in film, and whether or not you feel it needs to change. If you don’t want to think about it and actually hate this article, fine. I understand. But if you’re not interested in the effect gender roles have had on scary movies, can you even call yourself a horror fan? And that’s Gatekeeping. We’ve come full circle, goodnight everybody,—and Happy Halloween.
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