Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 10/13/89
cutline: Gail O'Grady in "Blackout"--a fun date, just keep the screwdriver away from her
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
My buddy Buster Peebles, who was the first rancher in Texas to invest all his life savings in llama breeding, was back in town last week for the State Fair, begging him to go with him to look at some "ostrich opportunities." Have you heard about this. It's the latest thing for guys like Buster to start selling back and forth to one another. So we went to the ostrich show to see why, after all these years of ranching, Buster still didn't have any 300-pound birds with legs like baseball bats walking around on his ranch.
"Buster," I told him, "I'm not spending one dime on any ostrich ranching."
And he said, "That's what's wrong with you, Joe Bob. All you care about is boring, traditional animals like cows, sheep, goats. I guess you want us to just keep buying more cows, sheeps, and goats. I guess that's YOUR idea of a progressive, modern ranch."
And I told him, "Oh, I see your point, Buster, those animals have only been making money for about six, seven thousand years. You're right. They're gonna go out of style any day now."
So Buster just snorted at me and led me over to the special State Fair Ostrich Display where there was a "mating trio," three birds that looked like roosters that were sprayed with Agent Orange and stuffed in a giant vat of Orville Redenbacher's microwave popcorn until their necks shot up out of their bodies like squishy Q-tips.
"Very handsome animals, Buster, but I've never heard of a mating trio."
"They're kinky little rascals," said Buster.
I was afraid he'd explain, so I changed the subject. And about then, the owner of the prize ostriches, Lou Feinstein of Sallisaw, Oklahoma, walked up. Lou is the only Jewish farmer in his part of Oklahoma. Actually, he gave up most of his farm to become an ostrich broker.
"It's the wave of the future," said Lou as we stood there staring at their fat shiny necks. "It's the largest bird in the world. I clocked one of these ostriches at 42 miles per hour--faster than my pickup." And he slapped me on the back. I told him, in the future, to slap Buster Peebles on the back, because Buster's the one who would be buying ostriches.
"Wave of the future," Lou said again.
"All right," I said, "I guess I might as well go ahead and ask. What are they good for?"
"What are they good for?" Lou said. "What are they good for?" He laughed. Buster laughed, too, so I had to wait for the hysteria to die down.
"What are they good for?" I said.
"Some of the finest boots in the world," Lou said. "Ostrich skin. Ladies shoes. Belts. Luggage."
"You put 350 pounds of feed in this bird to make a belt?"
"And, of course, the feathers. European knights wore ostrich plumes. Very fashionable in Europe."
"Okay, that sews up the European knight market. Then we've got your ostrich-skin pumps--probly sell twenty, thirty thousand of those to American Airlines stewardesses. What else?"
"You ever see one of those fancy Easter eggs like Andy Warhol used to make? Ostrich egg. Largest egg in the world."
"Oh! Wow! Okay, now you're talking. That brings in the New York art market AND the European knights."
"But those are all just extras," said Lou. "You wanna know what we're really doing with these birds?"
Lou waited a minute. I leaned forward. Buster leaned so far forward he looked like an ostrich.
"Health food of the nineties," said Lou. "I kid you not. Ostrich meat. Twice the protein of beef, but fewer calories, fewer carbohydrates, less fat, less cholesterol. You ever hear of an ostrich getting a heart attack?"
"Never!" said Buster.
"One dressed ostrich will yield about 125 pounds of red meat," said Lou.
"And let me guess," I said. "It tastes EXACTLY like chicken."
"Nope," said Lou. "That's what you'd think, isn't it? No, it's more like milk-fed prime veal."
"Do you think it's too late to get in on this," Buster said.
"Buster!" I was doing my best. "Have you paid for all those llamas yet?"
But Buster could no longer hear me.
"Too late?" said Lou. "Too late! You're my first customer today, Mr. Peebles."
"Just one more question," I said. Lou looked at me like "You screw this up and I'll feed you to an ostrich."
"And the question is, what are ostriches being sold for, right now, in 1989, at the Texas State Fair? Not in the future. Right now."
"Primarily," said Lou, "the ostriches produced in the United States today are sold for breeding purposes."
"Yall are just trading em back and forth, one to another, aren't you?"
But by that time, Buster was whipping out his checkbook. As they walked away, arm in arm, I could hear Buster saying "So tell me about this mating TRIO business."
And Lou said, "Mr. Peebles, what you might prefer is a mating QUARTET, or perhaps a full orchestra . . ."
And speaking of sexual combinations we'd rather not think about, "Blackout" is a new flick coming out on video about . . . well, er . . . it's about one of those FAMILY things. It was written by Joseph Stefano, the guy who wrote "Psycho," only this time instead of being a guy having trouble accepting the death of his Mama, it's a girl having trouble accepting the death of her Daddy. It happened 14 years ago, when she was seven, and ever since then she's wanted to stab men to death with a screwdriver whenever they try to get too close to her. Of course, I've encountered this "killer screwdriver syndrome" with several women during my lifetime, so that's not so uncommon. What's weird is that someone is living in the attic of her Mom's house, sneaking around through the orchards at night in a raincoat, and watching porno movies on a really bad VCR. Maybe the crazy lady at the gas station will have a clue. Then again, maybe it's too late. Maybe dear old Dad's up there cracking teenage girls upside the head with a two-by-four for the fun of it. I can't tell you what happens, cause it's no fun if you know Janet Leigh is gonna DIE.
Call it "Psycho From a Woman's Perspective." One of the NASTIEST movies I've seen in a long time. Four breasts. Five dead bodies. A 24 on the Vomit Meter. Boyfriend stabbing. Forehead clubbing. Gratuitous shower scene. Screwdriver Fu. Sleeping pill Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Michael Keys Hall, as the creepy uncle, for saying "Regret is so quiet"; Joanna Miles, as the crazy old lady, for saying "I'd give my soul to plant a kiss on his grave"; Gail O'Grady, as the daughter, for getting knocked out repeatedly and saying "I've been in a kind of shutdown"; Carol Lynley, as the meanest mother in film history, for saying "If you want, I'll give you the name of a good gynecologist in Oxnard" and making it sound like "You SCUM!" and, in her most sensitive moment, "Go back where you came from"; and Doug Adams, the director, for doing it like Hitchcock.
Creepy. Four stars. Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Communist Alert! Buffalo is down to its last two drive-ins after years as one of the nation's great drive-in cities. Gone are the East Twin, the West Twin, the Sheridan 1 and 2, the I-90, the Batavia Drive-In, Connesus Drive-In, and--for the people who drove to Rochester on Friday nights--the Lakeshore, Washington, Starlight, Central and Empire. Among legendary drive-ins, that leaves only the Transit, scene of the historic screening of the Eyetalian classic "Confessions of a Sex Maniac to the Captain of the Mobile Squadron." Preciate the help of Robert Merritt of Fairport, N.Y., in compiling this disgusting Buffalo Report. Remember, without eternal vigilance, it can happen here. To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail, or to get Joe Bob's world famous newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.
Hey--
Every day I pass by the cable company & they have a big standup of Joe Bob. Every day I stand in reverence for ten minutes worshipping his grandiose celluloid splendor. I cry tears of countenance.
His books are like Bibles of the wretched, & I quote from them daily to the shameless masses. They need me not, but huh, the joke's on them. They will have no popcorn in the afterlife. I have written a poem as a small token for my admiration of Minister Joe Bob:
RAW THREATS II
(For Joe Bob)
Pinned down like a biology frog
Getting fragged
For the fun of watching the birth
of red hot welts
Yer done wid scumtongue
Gonna send yo Mamma
A Valentine's heart
Ventricles n' all.
I hope you like it.
Kill me please,
Ken Zilla
Cambridge, Mass.
Dear Ken:
I can't even (sob, sob)--I'm so choked up--just a minute, let me regain my composure. . . . Ken, I've never heard anything so beautiful. You could make music videos for a living.
Yo Joe:
I really dig the color of your aura and feel that the harmonic convergence will actually make it more visible to the naked eye.
Joshua Itman
Minneapolis
Dear
Josh:
I really dig people who still say "dig."
So you like it, huh? My aura is called "Aqua Pearl," also known as Revlon Color No. 254.
Hey Joe Bob,
Dolph Lundgren is certainly NOT better than Arnie. At least, he's not SMARTER. Even if he DID get all his words right in "Red Scorpion," he still goes out with Grace Jones of "Conan the Destroyer." Ugh.
Tom Collins
Ojai, Calif.
Dear
Tom:
Maybe at night, when she's alone with Dolph, Grace takes off the leather bicep-straps and the gold glitter on her eyelids.
Naw, probly not.
Dear Joe Bob,
Attached is just another example of them ungrateful English.
[clipping: "To the editor: As a Brit visiting San Francisco it was with some disappointment that I read Joe Bob Briggs' article about his recent visit to London. Neither I nor most of my friends and acquaintances work for the British government, nor do we find Benny Hill amusing, but if we do happen to suffer heart attacks our "Communist" medical system would treat us all alike, regardless of our financial status.
I came to the U.S. for the first time just three weeks ago. I had read articles about America and its people, both complimentary and otherwise, before I came. However, I embarked upon my visit with an open mind and have been absolutely delighted with you and your country and its people.
I too would urge Americans to visit Britain, but do so with an open mind, not one full of details from somewhat prejudiced newspaper articles.
J.E. Avery
Bath, England"]
Joe Bob, they are no doubt still unhappy about losing the War of Independence!
Another thing that still gets me is how they messed up our English language.
Now don't be too hard on them folks. Just remember we need their Jaguar cars. What else would a self-respecting pimp be seen driving?
Sincerely,
Mike Duggins
San Francisco
Dear Mike:
I forgot to mention the famous British sense of humor.
Dear Joe Bob,
Please help us! We are being held against our will here in Chapel Hill, N.C., the home of the illustrious Jesse Helms. Mr. Helms has decided to save money on a new zoo and has fenced in Chapel Hill. He plans to make money by charging admission! What can we do?
Rob & Debi Hooke
Chapel Hill, N.C.
Dear Rob and Debi:
Open a fossil exhibit. Jesse will feel at home there.
© 1989 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved