Dying To Meet You aka Serial Killer Massacre. (1997) – Michael W. Johnson.

Two rapaciously bloodthirsty serial killers fatefully meet, and upon discovering they both enjoy a brutal peccadillo for mass murder, this evilly-entwined pair of perfectly aligned psychopaths bloodlessly embark upon a mutually beneficial spree of atypical, (almost) deathless domesticity. While this frequently violent, no-budget psycho-slasher has all the finesse of week-old, high-summer roadkill, it doesn't stink up the joint quite as bad, honest injun!!!! I am a beer-rotten, horribly maladjusted, trash-soaked anthropoid, so my ability to guiltlessly consume moronic murder grottage like Dying To Meet You often manifests itself in more favourable reviews than more highfalutin' folk will think as being entirely just. Hey!!! It's an imperfect world, so it would be absolute hypocrisy to decry the skeezicks entertainment value of a cheapnis, guerrilla-shot S.O.V schlocker solely due on its patent imperfections. My fellow mono-brows can expect hokey repartee, Tromatic sloppy seconds, greasy synth sludge, podunk acting, bloody bath-time frolics, cheapnis gore-blasting, and a botty-wateringly maternal climax. I can vaguely recall a schlock-stuffed DVD label called Brain Damage, and Michael W. Johnson's spunky S.O.V snuff-fest would've have been altogether cosily at home there.