Okay, so Friday the 13th: like literally like the like scariest movie, like… ever. I was, like, clinging onto my boyfriend the whole time–even more than I usually do, so, like, you know it was bad. Like, honestly, this movie really affected me because I realized how similar I am to those kids at Camp Crystal Lake or Camp Blood or whatever.
I know, duh, that I am like way hotter than those ’80s chicks! I think in this movie I totally would’ve been the last to die. I would’ve just flirted with Jason, which totally would’ve worked, seeing as I’d be the only one with non-permed hair. I mean, this movie could have totally gone in, like, a really different direction if the girls were prettier and the boys didn’t wear denim cut-offs.
Like, come on, I get that this movie is old, but I would never say, “It was my mom’s in ’80s,” to anything worn in this hour-and-a-half-long fashion disaster.
And when Jason’s crazy tiger mom gets killed? Puhlease. I’ve seen better cat fights on “Toddlers in Tiaras!” Like really, this is why I don’t date boys who are close to their mothers. You could, like, die.