Monsters are awesome.

Whether reading about them being chopped down in classics like Beowulf or watching them wreak havoc in new forays such as Cloverfield, there seems to be a timeless love affair with monsters. And my (admittedly limited) knowledge of world culture tells me this isn’t just an American lust — Puerto Rico houses the chupacabra, Egypt touts the mummy, and Japan…well, everyone knows about Japan’s contribution.

While I love watching monsters do their whole loathe/kill/destroy humanity thing, I find it a bit more enjoyable to watch them on their downtime. It’s like being a fan of a band — at a certain point, your respect for their work drives you  to become curious about their personal lives. This is nothing to be ashamed about.

Fortunately, with the 1960’s came The Munsters — a sitcom devoted to showing how monsters really behave.

In case you’ve never seen the show, the basic premise is as follows: a Frankenstein named Herman is in an interspecies marriage with a vampire named Lily. Somehow, these two have managed to procreate — resulting in their son Eddie, a werewolf. To appease his father-in-law’s racist skepticism of Frankensteins, Herman supports Grandpa by allowing him to shack up with them at the 1313 Mockingbird Lane residence. To top it all off, Lily’s superhot (somehow human) niece Marilyn lives with them too.

The Munsters helps us learn that monsters just regular people, uh, well, regular things like  you  and me.  Also, the show utilizes laugh-tracks and fast-motion, both of which are plus-signs in my rank book.

Oh, and don’t even bother waltzing in here with any arguments about The Addams Family even being a contender against The Munsters. One is a show about mythical beings living together and the other is about a bunch of damn freaks and perverts.

If I wanted to see that, I’d just eat dinner with my family.