Pay $15 to have the pee scared out of you? Not so much.

It’s $20 to cut the line. Once again, my local paper brings the thrills. From last week’s Gazette, an introduction to a local haunted house:

It makes Vince Stites happy when people pee themselves.

“We look at it as we’ve done our jobs. That’s the biggest form of approval for us, and the biggest form of flattery, I guess,” he says.

 As the owner of Hellscream Haunts, which operates the Viral Shock haunted house at Mr. Biggs, Stites is in an unusual position to appreciate loss of bladder control.

Gleefully, he goes on, “We’ve had people vomiting, wetting themselves, and other things — losing bodily functions, I should say.

“We had one lady hyperventilate the first year,” he says. “We had to shut down the haunted house, and the funny thing is, we had a wheelchair as a prop, and we utilized it and rolled her out of there. She was in just utter hysteria and panic and couldn’t breathe, and we had to shut the thing down.”

There are no words to sufficiently record my disgust.
 
To be fair, I’m not a fan of horror flicks. I don’t understand why folks watch ’em. People experience catharsis after after watching a drama, no? To experience empathy, to put one’s self in another’s shoes. An emotional release. But what’s cathartic about peeing yourself or worse? Or being removed from a house of horrors by wheelchair because you’ve stopped breathing?
 
I don’t understand. Do you? What have we lost as a society that compels people to seek extreme fear as a thrill?
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