Whether or not our mothers like to admit it, Remy and I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for them. While I know Remy's taste in horror was in fact influence by his mother, I can tell you my horror obsession has nothing to do with my innocent, Wii-Dance playing sweetheart of a mama. She can count the number of times she's been drunk on one hand, was a total self-admitted goody two-shoes growing up, is almost a legal midget (off by a few inches), loves terrible romantic comedies, and yet she's responsible for this foul-mouthed, whisky slugging, horror movie marathon machine of a son who loves writing about the most f*cking insane shit he can find. My Dad will tell you it's because my Grandmother got me interested in the dark arts while babysitting me when I was a wee-little Nato (he loves telling cheesy jokes about my Grandma being a witch), but in all honesty, I don't have the slightest clue where my love for all things horror came from.