"Joe Bob Goes to the
Drive-In" for 1/18/91
cutline: The director of "Bad
Girls From Mars" finally had to strap Edy Williams to a railroad trestle
to prevent her from ripping off her clothes AGAIN
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine,
Texas
Wanda
Bodine said to me, "Joe Bob, how can you go to the drive-in when this
country is at WAR?"
And
I said, "Well, I didn't realize that if I went to 'Bad Girls From Mars,'
American soldiers might suffer as a result."
"It's
just not RESPECTFUL," Wanda told me. "Soldiers are fighting, missiles
are being launched, the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and you . .
."
"What's
a handbasket?"
"What?"
"You
said the world was going to hell in a handbasket. What's a handbasket?"
"It's
a BASKET you carry in your HAND."
"I
don't get it."
"You
don't get what?"
"I
don't get how hell can be carried in a handbasket, even in a figure of
speech."
"You're
scum," Wanda told me. "You're useless scum."
"I
guess you're one of those people who thinks we oughta cancel basketball games
till the war's over?" I said to her.
"Yes
I do."
"Because
if we got busy watching basketball, then we wouldn't be sending the necessary
Shirley MacLaine psychic VOODOO ENERGY over to the Middle East to help our boys
kick hiney."
"Well,
it would probably help their morale," Wanda said, "if we concentrated
on their problems."
"Maybe
I oughta just stop everything till the war's over," I told her.
"Maybe I oughta stop watching TV, stop writing movie reviews, stop
drinking beer . . ."
"Yes!
I agree!"
".
. . stop eating Eyetalian food, stop shaving . . ."
"You
don't have to get carried away."
".
. . stop taking showers, stop changing clothes . . ."
"No,
I don't think so," Wanda told me.
"Oh,
I guess what you mean is that I should just stop doing the PUBLIC things. I
should stop having any kind of good time out where people can see me. But in
private I should act just like normal. Kinda like church on Sunday morning--you
need to bow your head ever once in a while so nobody'll notice your LIFE.
Something like that?"
And
then Wanda got all outraged, and she said, "Well, it's not like America
fights wars just so that people like you can spend all their time going to
drive-in movies."
And
she walked out on me--stormed out of the room--and so I never had the chance to
answer her. But what I would have said is:
That's
EXACTLY the reason America fights wars. People in Russia stand in line all day
to get food. People in America buy VCRs. People in Iraq tell lies to important
people so their children will be allowed an education. People in America go to
the mall. People in China keep their mouths shut at all times. People in
America go down to the federal building and hassle the bureaucrats, then go
home and get a good night's sleep without giving it a second thought. People in
Albania wonder which of their neighbors is a spy for the security police.
People in America wonder which movie to go watch.
The
way you know a place is free is that people feel like it's okay to be TRIVIAL.
The big stuff, they don't even have to talk about it.
So
I went to the drive-in this week, too. After all, it was the patriotic thing to
do.
Speaking
of national treasures, Edy Williams is back! Edy the double-threat
exhibitionist who demands to be allowed to take her clothes off in every scene!
You scoff? Are you counting the years? Okay okay okay, MAYBE a few creases on
the backside. Okay okay, MAYBE a little cellulite on the thighs. Okay, MAYBE
she jiggles like a bowl full of jelly--but it's AMAZING jelly. In "Bad
Girls From Mars," Edy is stalked by a killer transsexual dressed up like a
ninja in a Jason mask who's trying to replace her as the star of a B movie.
It's the old "Hollywood Boulevard" plot, back for the ninth time,
thanks to the king of the B-movie quickies, director Fred Olen Ray. It's one of
those B movies within a B movie that's a SPOOF of B movies while BEING a B
movie and making fun of the SPOOF B movie and the REAL B movie at the same
time. I think.
In
other words, there's a whole bunch of nekkid dinglebobbers in this one. In
fact, this is the first movie I've ever seen where a woman has these great
headlamps . . . on her headlamps. To be precise . . .
Forty-nine
breasts. Seven dead bodies. Groin-bashing. Lesbo catfight. Throat-slitting.
Wrestling babes. Exploding supporting actress. Heads roll. Hands roll. 937
inside jokes for B-movie fans. Gratuitous blow-up party doll. Gratuitous
liquor-store holdup. Kung Fu. Bimbo Fu. Cellulite Fu. Drive-In Academy Award
nominations for Jasae, as the actress who says "We need healthy young
earth studs to repopulate our world--we need your love rocket"; Brinke
Stevens as the wardrobe mistress, for stripping during the boring scenes, and
for saying "I can't find the right person to kill to get into the
movies"; and, of course, Edy Williams, for stripping off all her clothes
nine times (including twice in the back of a moving convertible in the middle
of Beverly Hills) and for saying "The smell of garbage turns me into a
wild woman!"
Three
stars.
Joe
Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE
HOPELESS
Terrorism Alert! A new weenie
indoor-bullstuff multi-barf-plex opened last summer in San Mateo County,
Calif., called the Century Park 12, and it's on the hallowed graveyard where
the Redwood Drive-In once stood! Didn't these people see
"Poltergeist"? It took TWELVE--count em, TWELVE--indoor screens to
replace one drive-in. Sandy Chapin of Redwood City asks "What is this
world coming to?" and reminds us that, without eternal vigilance, it could
happen here.
To discuss the meaning of life with Joe
Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and his world-famous "We Are the
Weird" newsletter, write P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221, or leave your
name and address on Joe Bob's comedy line, 1-900-4-JOEBOB ($1.50 first minute,
75 cents each additional). Joe Bob's Fax: 214-368-2310.
Dear Joe Bob,
After a recent purchase of a new vehicle,
it is my personal theory, most murders are committed because of car salesmen.
Could this be true?
Also, with the interest rate they gave me,
hell I could have charged it on my Visa and been better off. Please remind your
readers to take a big jar of Vaseline with them when they go car
shopping. I wasn't even kissed.
Beverly Vickers
Garland, Tex.
Dear Beverly:
Are you saying you thought $28,000 was
too much for that Yugo?
What kind of Fantasy Land are you living
in?
Dear Joe Bob,
Tell me what kind of a moron decided to
include in the warning list on a hair dryer, "Do not use in the
shower"?
Sincerely,
Kevin Werth
Topeka, Kan.
Dear Kevin:
It's that guy whose eyes point in
different directions.
Hey Joe Bob!
All the videos we get over here in
Operation Desert Shield have the breast scenes hacked out of them. Maybe the
new NC-17 ratings will bring a resurgence in fleshtones and jiggle/wiggle
shots.
I'm in one of the USAF bomb disposal teams
out here (classified location) waiting out the news. It's been 62 days abroad
now, with no end in sight. Biggest entertainment so far is hearing about the
budget shenanigans! Nothing like a healthy tax hike and a layoff to go home to.
Keep the inspired work coming.
Yours sincerely,
Stan Whitney
U.S. Air Force
Saudi Arabia
Dear Stan:
You know what they do to you in Saudi
Arabia if they catch you looking at a nekkid breast?
They "correct" your eyeball.
Don't even think about it.
Joe Bob Briggs:
I read your "Joe Bob's America"
in which you stated that no one has printed the 2 Live Crew Lyrics. Since I
wrote an editorial for the Indiana University newspaper in which I quoted
extensively from my own cd of 2 Live Crew, I thought I'd send you a copy.
As you can guess, it sure caused a stir.
The feminists were mad because I propagated lyrics harmful to woman, the serious
journalists declared I was sensationalistic, and the church groups, well, you
know how they complain. Surprisingly enough, though, the high sheriffs of the
Indiana Daily Student decided it was courageous and stood firmly behind it.
Anyway, just thought you might enjoy the
article. I must admit, controversy sure is fun. This isn't the first time I've
been in trouble with the bimbos and the Bible-thumpers, but it certainly is the
most trouble I've had with them. Oh, well, you know how it is.
Stay in trouble,
Robert Warren
Bloomington, Ind.
Dear Robert:
The college press has been very hip on
this issue. Evidently it takes a lot of years and a lot of money and a whole
lot of TV-watching before you develop the soul of a censor.
I think we should bring back the battle
cry of the sixties:
Don't trust anybody over thirty.
Joe Bob,
Last night I understood. But that was last
night before Uwanda the swamp witch and that was before the curse had been
placed upon my head. Honest, my name's not Eric the Stainmaster, but alas that
is part of the curse as well. I sure hope you can help cause this is my last
piece of paper and I don't have much in the line of toilet paper either.
O.K. All right. I guess I had brought it on
myself. Christ! If I had known. Blackness. Complete and utter. It was as if the
ground beneath me was a storm. Shaking. What could one expect? Uwanda the Swamp Witch weighed in at an easy
460 pounds. The gnarled and wiggling front tooth called to me as she smiled and
said "No, prob. Luvem' cracker!!" Her bloated and fungus-covered
black body seemed to disappear as she shifted past a large pile of coal she
used in the furnace in her hut. Teeth. Eyes. Palms. Uwanda.
"Voodoo is ma' ting," she said as
she flicked a fist-size wad of dried mucous from her crossed eye. Cool, I
thought. The grand master of Ointment had put the Voodoo on me, or so my
connections in Utah had said. Now, I would intercept and set myself on the Funk
Voodoo Jive Offensive. FVJO for short.
She engulfed my entire head and up to my
chest with her huge mouth. A kiss. Oh Uwanda of the mucky mire, I thought. She
spewed my body on the dirt floor and began a chant. A little chant something
like this:
He's only 30 years old
But his face looks like a weathered road
He only likes one thing
That's why they call him the Cacti King
For the words of the prophets were written
on the studio walls Concert hall
Wait . . . wait . . . What the hell is
going on?!!
"Watch that phosphorous
appendage!!" I shouted as Uwanda danced insanely over a bowl full of
Cheetos. "Woo Woo, Cracker in the West gonna gets' it good!" she
belched. I could only nod as my head spinned at the sight of all the empty Taco
Bell bags littering the floor of the hut. I managed a smile. "Stains!
Stains! Chicken blood fall like rain!" she screamed. It was done. The
spell was cast. The grand master of Ointment had the Voodoo curse coming
down. Chronic bed-wetting would be the technical term. The plastic sheet boogie
is what Uwanda whispered in my ear as I headed for the door. Her jiggling lips
smacking on those fruit pies told me that I had paid her well.
It had been quite a night. I laid in my bed
staring at the ceiling. I could still se Uwanda--black, robust. I laughed as I
injected the syringe. Mr. Ed. Ride em' cowboy. The number 4.
Daniel E. Weber
Seattle
Dear Dan:
It's time to tell ALL the NICE people at
the Schick Clinic about Uwanda the wicked black voodoo lady. Don't you think
so?
© 1991 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved