I thought I knew the game. Slasher flicks don’t usually stray too far from the prescribed formula, relying on our pulses to fake entertainment. So I figured I’d review one for The Sun, make some dipshit jokes about boobs and blood, and be on my way. But I swear, Sorority Row is like staring in a mirror. It probed the darkest corners of my soul, had my emotions swinging from one extreme to the other, and easily made my top ten list of the worst movies ever made.

I sat down Sunday night with some friends — for our purposes, they’ll be Matyeuh, George and Kahllin — and made some predictions. Most importantly, we couldn’t decide how many tits these girls were going to flash. How willing was Sorority Row to push the envelope and show something new? Maybe some mangina? Perhaps a third nipple? The over/under on breasticle sightings was settled at 5.5, and we strapped in for the ride.

Sorority Row centers on a ka-yute group of Theta seniors all super excited to graduate. They like to party — standard — and do things college kids do. Matyeuh realized 45 minutes in that not only did we not know any of their names, we didn’t really care. I came up with a code. There’s Bitchy, Nerdy, Slutty, Moody and Asiany. Their roles play out accordingly.

By the time the first girl gets rocked through the sternum and the plot’s set, George — our resident EMT — had already spotted some serious holes in the movie’s medical procedures. Most notably, you shouldn’t perform CPR on someone who’s been stabbed with a tire iron, just head to a hospital! Strike one, Sorority Row. So the bloody deed’s been done, Bitchy swears them all to secrecy, we move on.

Over the next half-hour or so, the killer shows up dressed in a graduation gown and hood and goes to work, repeatedly slicing and stabbing in the face. I liked the intensity. Eye of the tiger. Our hooded hooligan knows that the Thetas killed and dumped their friend in a ditch after she faked overdosing to get back at a cheating boyfriend. Classic Theta!

More importantly, however, we get some crucial sneak peeks into sorority lifestyles that can apply to Cornell. First, their love interests. Can’t get that letter-bag hardbody to look your way in Comm? Throw on a vest, gel that hair, down some Rockstar (blue can, obviously) and get a dad who’s a Senator. If that doesn’t fly, change your name to Chester, Skylar or Hamburgler. Next, reasoning. Are you a sorority sister who’s alone? Scared? Naked? Walk down a hallway — slowly — and quaver out, “Hello?” to the darkness. Do this all the time. The silly ladies kept thinking somebody was gonna respond, but our boy just kept puncturing their necks with that damn tire iron. Coincidentally, it was around this time the booby over/under was breached.

Anyway, so this ladykiller’s slicing these sweet honeybabies left and right. He’s got some knives attached to the tire iron for a little oomph, and soon we’re left with the three Thetas who have the most emotionally complicated dynamic. It’s like they planned it! Unfortunately, they also killed off the siiickkk bros, leaving the question of who would can headbutt the wall hardest unanswered.

I will say that at this point all of us watching the movie were deeply involved. Matyeuh can’t get over the nonsensical camera movement, while my man George is totally frustrated … the medical know-how of these girls is completely backwards. Moody didn’t even check for a pulse when Asiany gets a flare gun stuck through her neck. Strike two.

Where it all turned around, however, was with the Great Unveiling, where Shaggy and Fred pull off the mask to find the groundskeeper. But it wasn’t the reveal that got me, it was the reasoning. To quote the killer:

“Reputation comes from the company you keep. And the company you keep? Bitches … Say farewell to the bitches of Theta Pi.”

I knew what I was getting into when I sat down to watch this movie. It tries to do everything a horror movie should, from raised pulses to the epic dialogue (“You always had my back … but you never had a backbone”). But this was really, really one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. I hope the script was written by an Arizona State fratstar while he was tripping balls on the green dolphins he scored from T.J. That would at least give them an excuse. The attempts at humor are pathetic, the plot has gaping holes and the cast averages out to about a seven when they needed dimes across the board. Strike three.

Sorority Row, I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.