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According to Hofmann: The Fright Stuff

By Mark Hofmann mhofmann@heraldstandard.Com 5 min read
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I once attended a birthday party for one of my stepdaughterĢƵ friends — against my will, of course — at a skating party in a roller rink around Halloween.

At one point when the kids were eating pizza and cake, the birthday girlĢƵ father thought it would be a good idea to dress up like a werewolf and “surprise” them.

After the kids recovered from attempting to flee and falling over themselves from still wearing roller skates, I couldn’t help but to think about the pure joy we all get out of scaring people.

It is, to me, the ultimate guilty pleasure because terrifying people and possibly giving them a heart attack is wrong when you look at it one way, but the thrill you receive and the satisfaction in which you get to bask makes being written out of your grandparentĢƵ will all worthwhile.

Recently, my best scares have been directed toward my wife and stepdaughter, just sneaking up behind them and whispering quotes from scary movies like “The Shining,” “Night of the Living Dead” or “Pee WeeĢƵ Big Adventure.”

Or sometimes I walk into the room unnoticed where they’re doing something and just make Bigfoot roars as loud as I can and watch them jump with terrified looks punctuated on their faces.

Oh family quality time! You really have to cherish those moments.

Another good scare was directed to me from my brother a few years back.

We were on a long car ride, and he was annoyed that I kept falling asleep, so he waited until I was joyfully snoring away and occasionally not breathing due to acute sleep apnea and then he screamed “Oh my God!,” waking me in a cold-sweat panic.

Sure, I was terrified at the thought of a sudden and gruesome death, but I appreciated the scare so much that I didn’t give him a wedgie out of revenge when we arrived at our destination, but opted for the wet Willy instead.

The best scare I ever gave was during a picnic at my parents’ house years ago as I was crouched behind some bushes as I was practicing for my future as an investigative reporter and peeping Tom when my cousinĢƵ car pulled up and parked in the driveway.

The passenger door opened and stayed open as my cousin in the passenger seat was speaking with her husband in the driverĢƵ seat, and I had one of those moments where I thought it would be funny to scare the ever-loving crap out of her.

As I approached her open door, she was oblivious to me, and she was finishing telling her husband something trivial like whoĢƵ getting the kids in their divorce when she turned to me yelling, “Hey!!!” at her and then she went into convulsions as she screamed like she was being attacked by piranhas in a pool full of battery acid.

If you speak to her to this day, she’ll tell you the scare wasn’t that bad, but sheĢƵ just a stinking liar — just ask anyone she knows at the nervous hospital.

I think it was the ease of the scare that made it so fulfilling because if you put too much time and effort into it, the payoff will never seem worth it, much like the opposite effect when you scare the socks off someone without even trying.

Everyone has gone through those unintentional scares. You walk in on someone, and they don’t notice you, but you don’t notice that they didn’t notice you until you notify them of something and then they jump and holler, “You scared the beetlejuice out of me and, no, I wasn’t doing anything illegal!”

I do that to my wife all the time, and after her reaction of pure fright, I don’t feel anything — not because I don’t have a soul, like she always writes on birthday cards to me, but because the scare doesn’t feel earned.

I even tried laughing like I do when I intentionally frighten her, but it came out like “Ha-ha-ha-ha…ahhh…ha-ha-ha…ha,” to which she replied, “WhatĢƵ wrong with you?”

Maybe sheĢƵ right, but I don’t see what the big deal is.

When Ellen DeGeneres scares celebrities on her talk show, sheĢƵ considered innovative and celebrated; when I frighten an ex girlfriend when sheĢƵ in public with her husband while I’m holding a butcher knife with the word “married” written in lipstick on the blade, I’m considered a “psychopath” who “shouldn’t be around children” unless I’m “being observed” by a “professional.”

But maybe Ellen has something to teach us other than dance moves because, like comedy, she probably knows that scarring people and doing so in a right and innocent way is all in the delivery and being a good sport about it.

To that, I say, “Ha-ha-ha-ha…ahhh…ha-ha-ha…ha” as I’ll still do it my way while adjusting myself out of a fresh wedgie.

According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. He hosts the “Locally Yours” radio show on WMBS 590 AM every Friday. His book, ”Stupid Brain,” is available on Amazon.com.

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