One day a thirty-something regular comes in and selects the film after a minimal bit of sales pitching. He takes the movie home among his other rentals and returns the next day. “That movie, the zombie one. It was way inappropriate.”“Right? Exactly as advertised!”
“No, I mean there's a lot of sex in there.”
“Yeah. That's part of what makes it so bad.”
“We ended up turning it off because it was so inappropriate.” This is a guy who has gone through just about everything in Fernando's horror section. He waited with bated breath for each installment of the Saw series. He thought Turistas and Hostel and Savage County were great fun, if not shining avatars of home entertainment. But poorly-choreographed hanky-panky amidst a plot which is paper-thin by zombie movie plot standards (which would make it the size of, like, the Planck length) apparently crossed the line of good taste.
“Er,” says Fernando, “I had no idea your conception of propriety didn't allow for that sort of rumpus. I'll keep that in mind for future reference.”
America's priorities and social acceptance between violent content and sexual content are well and truly fucked.