Last time around, editors Jennifer Wright and Ashley Cardiff  ruffled some feathers with a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill involving Jesus, Gandhi and MLK. Today being Halloween and all, they’re playing with a trio of film’s greatest psychopaths. If you are unfamiliar with the game Fuck, Marry, Kill (and yet inexplicably reading a website currently), it’s simple: you must choose among the three names given who to fuck, who to marry, and who to kill. If you do not care for Jennifer and Ashley’s rhetoric, skip their discussion and go to the bottom of the post, where you may cast your vote.

Jennifer: Look, OBVIOUSLY marry Hannibal Lecter. My goodness. Just imagine what a lovely life you’d have with Hannibal Lecter. You’d just sit around in Italy drinking excellent wine, listening to opera, eating delicious food. He would go off and give lectures at the museum in the morning, and then, you’d meet him in some quaint cafe for a long lunch. I bet the sex would be great, too, even when it was old married sex he strikes me as someone who would be endlessly inventive. And would surprise you with delightful little gifts, like perfume he hand tailored! My goodness, give me a few minutes for lady-thoughts.

Ashley: No, he’d feed you fava beans and a glass of key-YAN-tee and then he’d eat your brains. What movie did you see?

Jennifer: I’m drawing largely from Hannibal, here.

me: That’s what I’m drawing from. He eats Ray Liotta‘s brains.

Jennifer: Well, I mean, in the second half.

Ashley: Okay, in the first half, he makes Gary Oldman eat his own face. Or feed it to some dogs or something. Also, that movie sucked. Why did we both see it?

"I thought it was an important film."

Jennifer: That said, obviously kill Jack Torrance because cooped up writers are annoying, and… wait. Wait. You cannot fuck Patrick Bateman. If you fuck Patrick Bateman, he will kill you.

Ashley: It’s true. The only way to survive Patrick Bateman is to marry him, in which case he will openly resent you forever. But he won’t kill you. It’s how he loves.

Jennifer: I know. The scene where he realizes Evelyn doesn’t love him is actually very sad. I mean, he put all that work into not killing her.

Ashley: Look, I think all of these men are objectionable. So one’s decision must fall to physical attraction and will to survive. I think you kill Lecter because he is the most effective murderer and the least hot. That leaves Bateman: hot, highly but not always effective. And Torrance: least effective, not hot per se, but ’70s Jack Nicholson was super hot, so the hot is in there… somewhere.

All this could be yours!

Jennifer: You think serial killers are objectionable? Really?

Ashley: I figured I’d step out on a limb there.

Jennifer: 70’s Jack Nicholson did bang Anjelica Huston, so he must have been hot or had a “personality” or something.

Ashley: Seriously. Also, he’s pretty legitimately hot in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.


Ashley: No in the other 98% of the movie.

Jennifer: Oh, good, just wanted to make sure we were on the same page there. But we’re talking about these characters, and honestly, I can’t think of anything more stab-yourself-with-a-fork irritating than trying to have sex with an alcoholic writer who is slowly losing his grip on reality. And Patrick Bateman doesn’t kill all of the non-Evelyn women he has sex with. He lets Courtney live. Also, Allison Poole.

Tough but fair.

Ashley: Hear me out. I’m thinking kill Lecter. You have the lowest chance of survival by keeping him around. Fuck Bateman because he’s the hottest and just start running before the last Phil Collins song is over. Marry Jack because he’s reasonably good looking, only has like 1 kill, and if he doesn’t kill you, at least you’re married to a writer, and they’re cool and tortured and stuff.

Jennifer: NO. Okay, Hannibal has the greatest capacity for love or at least some sort of attachment to other human beings. He groups people into categories of “people I like” and “people I do not like” and it’s only the people in the latter category who are up for the killing. Besides, he’s a proud man. If he married you, he would never be able to kill you, because it would be tantamount to admitting he initially put you in the wrong category, and that his judgment was in error. Patrick Bateman is insanely hot, though frankly, I’ve never thought the sex would be that good. But it would almost certainly be better than sex with a writer. I mean, an alcoholic, highly emotional, losing his grip on reality writer.

Ashley: Wait. That’s a really, really good point about Lecter. He’s from a different time, when divorce or eating your spouse’s brains just wasn’t an option.

"I just believe in the sanctity of marriage."

Jennifer: He is! He’s a traditionalist! I can see him moving away, taking up with some FBI agent, leaving you in the palazzo to cry bitter tears, but he won’t eat you. It’s just not done.

Ashley: Hm. But I’m just not attracted to him. You still have to keep in mind ’70s Jack.

Jennifer: Angelica Huston!

Ashley: Yeah, exactly. You have to think that under the corduroy jackets and ribbed turtlenecks, Jack Torrance was–wait. I just googled Jack Nicholson’s height and apparently he was only 5’7” and now I feel incredibly lied to. I’m killing Jack Torrance now out of spite for Nicholson’s legacy as a tall man.

Jennifer: Weirdly, I think to get out of this alive I might have to kill Bateman. I feel like I could outrun Torrance. I mean, a child can outrun him.

Ashley: It’s true. Plus, hedge mazes work in your favor. If anything, The Shining just established that Jack Nicholson will only get you if you’re old and bow-legged.

You win some, you lose some.

Jennifer: That’s true! He’s comically ineffective!

Ashley: Ugh. You know what? I’m sticking to it. I’m marrying Torrance because as long as I’m not old, I’ll live. Seriously, even if I’m a child and my only defense system is some hedges and a big wheel, I’ll live. Also, in all honesty, I’m going with Torrance because The Shining is the best movie among them.

Jennifer: Wait – I’m sorry?

Ashley: You heard me.

Jennifer: I guess some people love big wheels, huh? Anyhow! It would break my heart to kill Bateman, but I’d never survive that one. The Talking Heads would come on, and you know I wouldn’t leave his apartment until “Naive Melody” finished.

Ashley: You would be killed.

Jennifer: I mean, almost certainly.

Ashley: Maybe you’d get lucky and he’d put on Huey Lewis, though, in which case you could split without much yearning.

Can you imagine a baby conceived to this?

Jennifer: TRUE. How bad would it be to be married to him? Bateman, I mean. He’d probably leave you largely to your own devices, right? I mean, sure you could never have the rich, glorious, deeply fulfilling life you’d have with Hannibal. But you’d have plenty of money and he’d call on you when he needed someone to show off at Holiday parties which… is insanely lonely. But alive! Meanwhile, fucking Hannibal Lecter seems like it would be an amazing achievement. Because he gives no signs of being that sexual in the book. So, because I cannot stomach the thought of sex with 5’7 Jack Torrance, marry Bateman, fuck Lecter, kill Torrance. Can I cheat on Bateman with Lecter? Option?

Ashley: No. Anyway: I’m still with kill Lecter because the hot to survival ratio is not in your favor. Fuck Bateman but don’t take your eye off him and if you have to run down a staircase, stick to the inner corners, far from the rails. Marry Jack because at least we have some superficial things in common and if he goes crazy, all you really need is a big wheel and an unseasonable chill to live.

Jennifer: You have no superficial things in common with him other than being writers who drink a lot.

Ashley: I marry for love, Jennifer. Call me old fashioned.

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