HBO's original winning blend of blood, scares, and guilty pleasure kicks (sorry, True Blood)

It pales in comparison to Monsters HD, sure, but, still, this new Chiller channel isn't without an abundance of goodies. Most notable of all being a daily hour block of Tales From The Crypt episodes. The show that I used to have to sneak up into my parents' bedroom to watch, lest they catch me and bring their elder fury down upon my adolescent daring. Never a spanking; just that dreaded look of disappointment and anger. Stung much worse than any backhand to the ass would've, I assure.



Tales From The Crypt used to scare the shit out of me back in those days. Gruesome while earning its late night scheduling slot, it left an impressionable mark on my then-still-forming horror partiality. Which plays into the biggest joy I've been having while watching the reruns on Chiller---the realization that Tales From The Crypt was nothing more than shamelessly campy, tongue-in-cheek, ironic, "bad guys get it in the end" fun. Even the darkest of episodes never abandoned the general conceit, a mixture of scares and humor.

Of course, there's plenty of episodes that are laughably awful. And noticeably dated in their visual effects and C-level of star power (it originally ran on HBO from 1989to 1996, and it goes without saying that the Tom Cruises, Tom Hanks-es, and Sigourney Weavers of the them-game never got down...though, the future Brad Pitts, as in a young Pitt himself, did show up). And in reality, the entries that impress on all levels are in the minority. But like the best of horror's worst, the inferior Tales are still good for some feces and giggles.

The episodes that stick out in my head the most: "Dead Right," with Demi Moore (okay, maybe it did have some decent stars, my apologies) as sexy gold digger who marries an obese dude so she can kill him and pocket his inheritance; "Television Terror," a pretty scary one that puts a Geraldo Rivera-ish tabloid TV host into a haunted retirement home, on air; "The Thing from the Grave," which had a young, fine-as-hell Teri Hatcher and dealt with marital affairs gone to Hell; "Fitting Punishment," about an old miserly funeral parlor owner who murders his unassuming nephew; "What's Cookin'," where Judd Nelson gives struggling diner owners a new recipe that'd have Hannibal Lecter visiting nightly; and "You, Murderer," a visually stellar entry that brought Humphrey Bogart back from the grave to star in a horror-tinged crime noir.

Besides, how can you not absolutely love this sick bastard?

The hostest with the grossest: The Cryptkeeper, a skeletal wiseass I'd love to knock back some marga-bleed-as with, before finding a poppin' nightclub so we could g-rave and body-bag some ladies to bring them back to my apartment for some killing in the bedroom, while my man Cryptkeeper did his thing in the un-living room. Thought those morbid puns were lame, eh? Keep it moving then, because that's exactly how the Cryptkeeper spoke, and I love(d) it.

If I had to pick one storytelling format as my ultimate fix, from here to eternity, it'd be the "horror anthology" approach, without hesitation. The Twilight Zone. Those old British flicks like Asylum. Night Gallery. Hammer's House of Horror. Creepshow. And, now that I'm revisiting it on a daily basis, HBO's Tales From The Crypt. They're like orgies of 30 minute to two hour orgies for horror heads, where the other participants do all the nasty work and viewers can just sit back, relax, and feel the pleasures. Free of effort. Fantastic.

Oh, and how about those Tales From The Crypt branded movies? Demon Knight, kicks ass. Bordello of Blood, though, reeks of foul odors.