Seventy-two hours later

Connor Reis

At 2 a.m., I realized that I might need psychiatric help. After having watched four movies with enough blood in them to match the ranks of everyone’s favorite elevator scene from “The Shining,” I planned on watching two more of them.

Yes, my obsession with the “Saw” film series has gotten to the point where seeing someone’s head get blown off by six rounds of buckshot no longer bothers me. I managed to watch the first six movies in three days. Restrained by the curfew rule, I can’t quite compete with the fanatics going to see the seventh one at midnight. Then again, even with the curfew rule, I can witness the bloodbath occur for free if I wait until Halloween.

Originally, I gave myself four weeks to witness the first six stories unfold before “Saw 3D” came out, but before I knew it, my obsession rose to the point where I managed to watch the first six displays of the Jigsaw killer’s crazy schemes in under 72 hours. Sure, I had watched them all before, but never all six of them in under a week. This was huge.

My reasons for watching the series are numerous, but none would turn anyone on to the series. Seeing Danny Glover drenched in ridiculously scary amounts of blood hardly makes up for the acting, which is even more horrifying.

The problem isn’t that I have too much time on my hands; it’s just that nobody in good health should enjoy watching movie scenes that have enough red corn syrup to drown a small whale.

The glorious night began like the average Wednesday. I got home from bowling practice at about 5 p.m. without any homework to do, so I figured I’d have time to at least start the first one. I usually watch a movie almost every day, why should this be any different?

It’s 2 a.m. and the credits are rolling. The scariest part of my night is seeing Thomas Fenton’s name flash across the screen. He wrote the fourth (and only the fourth) movie. I had just subconsciously watched four “Saw” movies and was momentarily tempted to pop the fifth one into the Blu-Ray player.

The next thing I remember is being at school. I don’t even have a recollection of my ritualistic walk up to the Taher area to buy cookies, a true sign that something is definitely wrong. Sitting through Algebra, I continue to ask myself, “Was it worth it?” As much as I’d like to say it wasn’t… it was the best school night of the year. Like I said, I might need psychiatric help.