By Joe Bob Briggs
After receiving three million simultaneous phone letters last week asking me to run for President, I've decided to reconsider my position, but only if the American public gets done on its hands and knees, pants like a dog and begs for it.
Here's my platform. Actually, it's not a whole platform. It's more like a six-foot springboard in the baby pool, but it's all I got:
1. I would be the first President who never leaves his trailer house all day long. This means I'd never make a speech, never pre-empt prime-time programming, and never grin like a hyena at the Army-Navy game. I wouldn't sign anything or talk to anybody. Everything you own is safe with me.
2. I would be the first President to offer a complete sexual disclosure statement, including every time I've thought about doing it with Donna Rice, Jessica Hahn, Fawn Hall (this part is 27 single-spaced pages), and Lucille Ball. (Like I say, it's full disclosure, no matter who it embarrasses.) It would include a full list of the names and addresses of the girls who I never called back, as well as the one that successfully manipulated me into marrying em.
3. Free cable TV for poor people.
4. I would be the first President to think of the government as one big bankruptcy court. All the elected officials are the guys whit h bankrupt businesses. All the government employees are about to lose their jobs cause the high sheriffs can't pay em. I'm the bankruptcy judge. I can call in people like Ted Kennedy and say, "Okay, Ted, a hundred bucks for food each month is plenty. One-twenty-five for utilities. Forty for gas. Cut back on the beer. Come see me if you have medical needs. And--oh yeah--everybody working for you is fired." In one year I put the country into Chapter Eleven and balance the budget.
5. How to solve the Middle East crisis: Give the Palestinians South Dakota. We aren't using it. We don't need it. And it's an improvement over what they got.
6. I would close down Washing ton and get a cheaper facility--maybe Heritage Village USA.
7. Here's my idea of a cultural exchange. Take a Sandinista guy who's thinkin of going Commie. Pay his way to Moscow, Leningrad, and Vladivostok. Make sure he sees all the sights. Now pay his way to Vegas, Disney World, the Grand Canyon, and Geno's Southern Belles Topless on Harry Hines Boulevard. Explain the difference to him. Send him home and forget about him.
That's all I can think to write now. If you want my views on any other topic of pressing national importance, write to "Joe Bob For President Committee," P.O. Box 33 Dallas, TX 75221. If I receive at least five million more letters in the next week, I will definitely file for the Idaho primary. I will be running on the Least Common Denominator ticket.
Speaking of politics, my Secretary of Defense has got to be Carl Weathers, better know as ACTION JACKSON in the greatest exploding-Camero flick of the last 10 years. We're talking some serious stuntwork, including Kung Fu, Ninja Fu, Bimbo Fu, Flying Taxi Fu, an dmost, terrifyingly of all, Vanity Fu. She sings not one but two torch songs, pops her top, shoots up with Horse, and wears a dress that she's in danger of falling out of any any moment. This has absolutely no effect on Action Jackson, who's too busy trying to destroy the Detroit auto empire of Craig T. Nelson, who's not only an evil industrialist, but a pusher, a murderer, a karate expert who likes to beat up Chinese guys for the fun of it, the father of a psychotic mass murderer, a serial wife-killer and the kind of guy who would promise a young impressionable girl a Motown contract and then not deliver. He's such a meanie that he actually kind of likes Action Jackson, the man trying to stop him, because Action once ripped his psycho son's arm out.
We're talking drive-in classic. Number One on the Best of '88 list.
Five breasts. Sixteen dead bodies. Knife-through-hand. Twenty-story falling fireball stunt. Harpoon-through-heart. Knife-through-throat. Barbecued ninja. Three motor vehicle chases. Three exploding cars, with five crashes. Exploding yacht. Exploding character actor. Gazebos-in-a-jar. Gratuitous "no arms and legs" jokes. Gratuitous Flintstones. Karate Fu. UPS Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Sharon Stone, for a gratuitous shower and a dress with no back in it; Bill Dueke, as Captain Ambruster, Action's boss, for saying "I need to be sure your Action Jackson days are behind you"; Sonny Landham, as a weird Indian drug-pusher dude with a knife the size of Montana, for getting knocked out of one window, across an alley, and into another window; Chino "Fats" Williams as Kid Sable, desk clerk at the sleaziest hotel in Detroit; Vanity, for signing a song called "Undress," acting it out, and saying I expected a standing ovation"; Craig T. Nelson, Vanity's drug connection, for saying "You're getting one," and for a great scene where he offs his wife in mid-kiss and for a scene where he explains how "Murder is a tool"; Robert Reneáu, the kid that wrote this sucker; Craig R. Baxley, the stuntman-turned-director that brought Action Jackson to life; and Carl Weathers, for losing his lieutenant's stripes, his badge, his car, and his wallet but remaining the one, the only Action Jackson.
We're talking some Sequel Fu. This may even be the first year since '83 that Schwartzenegger's had some competition.
Four stars. Joe Bob says check it out.