"Whether you're building a birdhouse, or burying a severed head in your front yard, it's important to have the right tool for the job. It just requires a little research."

--Bruce Campbell, "20: Entertainment Weekly's Scariest Movies"

Oh it's that most fabulous time of the year, Halloween, when all good cable stations don their blood-stained finery and stick 'em out in an attempt to lure viewers. And I appreciate their efforts. If nothing else, it forces me to catch up on my knitting and yoga, although not simultaneously. Yes, it's time for another bad movie round up.

And this year I'm really spoiled for choice, what with AMC's Monsterfest, FMC's 13 Nights of Fright, Bravo's 100 Scariest Movie Moments, Bogeymen II: Men of the Movies (I may have copied that down wrong, that's the portion of Sunday when I began gibbering) and the 20 Best with Bruce, as mentioned above. And there's always just random scary movies on, because it's more appropriate now than in the next two months. For most people.

As always, films are rated in terms of henchmen.

No, no I don't get Starz and in fact that whole episode is very painful to discu--

Spectre (1977): (four henchbreasts). Two witchunter generals investigate whether a British noble family is possessed by Satan. Do they really not know the answer? Only one notable plot quirk kept me from fast-forwarding: the main character has no heart. No really, he's got the x-rays to prove it, and a tale about how his heart has been stolen and implanted in a doll somewhere and he must find that doll. All of which would have been awesome if it was ever mentioned again after the first 15 minutes. Resolution, people. Shout out to the Demon Ho's, a chorus of Satanic backup dancers who like to party and have difficulty keeping it all in their red lycra outfits. Like if the Solid Gold dancers found Satan.

The House That Dripped Blood (1970): (one escaped henchman with a bad haircut). I first read about this movie in a book on classic British horror movie criticism, and I have to say, I just don't understand how this is "classic" or "horror". Four vignettes about spookiness that waste the talents of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, among others. Also there's a strangler, lately escaped from an asylum, and he insists on wearing black from head to toe (including gloves) and sporting a bowl cut. Which is fine. Rock that look, but someone in Costume really needed to step in and do something about an overbite so pronounced he can't close his mouth the entire movie. Stereotypes hurt, people.

Night of a Thousand Cushings! Oh wait, my mistake. And Now the Screaming Starts. (two henchmen, severed at the wrists). Peter Cushing wanders around expecting to get sucked into the bowels of hell, and looks it. Here he's paired with a severed hand and a nervous newlywed. My Oscar nod of course, goes to the hand.

Blood Dolls. (one very small, plastic henchman). A mad scientist with a deformed head and mutating Southern accent creates assassin dolls to exact revenge on his enemies. Like you do. The most surprising thing about this set-up is that the dolls themselves are in no way creepy. I mean, sure, they've got souls trapped in them and they kill people, but have you looked at the Precious Moments line lately? That shit's not right. (Moviewise, it's about as bad as you'd think.)

Jeepers Creepers (three full henchmen with wings and trenchcoats). This movie ruled. It was awesome, if only because deep down inside, we all knew Eileen Brennan was a crazy cat lady. The most cringe-inducing moments come during the destruction of a classic Ford Falcon, but otherwise this bad boy is all suspense. And that tromps gore any day. Apart from that last shot. Yeep. Although anatomically impossible, still. Yeep.

Speaking of zombies, the most awesome and dedicated They're Coming to Get You Barbara now has a Cafepress store, and while I can think of nothing more appropriate than screaming my fool head off in a zombie camisole, the store has zombie onesies. That's right, y'all. One or more of you need to get with the pregnant right now so I can start dispensing those things.

Honorable mention:

Orca (1977):

"There has never been a substantiated case of an orca killing a man, despite the 1977 movie Orca, in which a killer whale seeks revenge on Richard Harris by eating all his costars. The movie was so silly, unscientific and unbelievable that one critic suggested Harris fight a duel to the death with his agent for getting him the role." -- Tim Cahill, "Kayaking Among the Ice Children"

I was all set to watch this gem but two things happened to stop me. One, I found out that the whale is on a revenge mission for Richard Harris nuking his mate. You know, I can tolerate literally busloads of the walking dead. Please, have disemboweled youth pop out of the breadbox and Maggie Thatcher suck the hearts of infants out through their eyes. I'm fine. Don't care. But for the love of all things holy, do NOT show me movies about sad animals. Even if it's just a sore paw, I can't cope even remotely. No, not even Charlotte's W*b. Especially not Charlotte's W*b.

And two, my Tivo is apparently psychic and canceled the recording under mysterious circumstances, thus earning itself a promotion to lieutenant in the Evil Empire.