"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 8/14/92
cutline: Webb Wilder (with the glasses) and his band star in yet another strange made-in-the-South professional home video called "Corn Flicks."
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas
Echoing throughout the country is the song of the Texas drunk:
"You know what? I'm gonna sue the government. Then I'm gonna sue this paper. Then I'm gonna sue you. Then I'm gonna sue my ex-wife. I'm gonna sue this bar. I'm gonna sue the Jack Daniels Distillery. I'm gonna sue . . . uh . . . I forgot who I was gonna sue."
The difference, though, is that, in Texas, when we hear somebody talking like this, we just say, "Oh well, he's drunk."
But in the rest of the country, THIS ACTUALLY WORKS.
I know about twenty examples in the last MONTH of somebody getting what they wanted just because they THREATENED a lawsuit. And I'm not just talking about fake-whiplash cases.
It works on newspapers: "Well, Joe Bob, yes, we agree with you. You have the right to say whatever you want to about the mayor. It's only satire. And we have no doubt that we would win the case. But the costs of litigation are so high that . . ."
It works on TV networks: "We just don't wanna get into a catfight with some lunatic from Mississippi. It's a waste of time."
It works on city councils: "Mr. Mayor, I would suggest that we follow the recommendation of the city attorney, and give this developer a COMPROMISE version of what he wants, in order to avoid costly litigation later."
We've even got lawyers now who charge $500 an hour to keep you OUT of a lawsuit. Isn't a lawyer supposed to be the guy who gets things settled IN a lawsuit?
The same thing works in the other direction. I had a lawyer tell me one time: "We represent big guys that are being sued by small guys. We represent corporations, insurance companies, banks, that are constantly being harassed by small claims. So we make a decision. How much will it cost us to grind em down--just draw out the lawsuit so long that the plaintiff runs out of money or patience? And, in most cases, it doesn't take that much."
In other words, when the person says "I'm gonna sue you," you just say "You might sue me, but you're gonna feel like I'm suing YOU."
Then there are these guys called arbitration judges. They're used if you wanna sue somebody, but you don't wanna wait for the thing to go through the courts. It's like saying "Meet me after school--we've got something to settle." And then the other guy says, "After school? I'm gonna kick your butt right NOW!"
What's all this suing ABOUT anyhow? Why do we sue each other more than any country in the world? Why are we so HACKED OFF all the time?
It's because we all think WE DESERVE BETTER. We shouldn't just have whatever it is we have. We should have what somebody else has.
This, too, is like the Texas drunk. We have a way of dealing with him, when he starts whining and crying and getting angry and saying, "I'll tell you ONE goldurn thing . . ."
We just get in his face and say, "YOU'RE DRUNK!"
And isn't this basically what's going on with your Lawsuit City people? Yall are just drunk.
And speaking of people who look like they've dusted off a few Coronas in their day, weirdbeard country-western singer Webb Wilder has a new movie out called "Corn Flicks" which pretty much sets the standard for movies made in the South with budgets of fifty bucks or less. (Has anybody besides me noticed that there are THOUSANDS of guys with cheap film cameras in Florida and Georgia and Tennessee, turning out low-budget movies like they were cornbread muffins? Where do these people come from?)
Anyhow, Webb Wilder is a puddin-faced marble-mouthed hipster who wears a zoot suit and looks like he hangs out in Austin vegetarian bars a lot. He raves about flying saucer conspiracies, dropping acid, and worshipping Elvis--sort of like the National Enquirer with a guitar. It's hard to tell whether this movie is one long music video, a deranged info-mercial for Webb's new compact disc "Doo Dad," or something just scripted by transvestite performance artists.
What we've got, actually, is three short movies on the one tape, beginning with "Horror Hayride," starring Webb as a Tennessee rock-and-roller trying to figure out why the governor's daughter has fallen in love with the shady symbolism-loving director of the state's new driver-education film. What we've got here is a whole lot of deadpan country actors mumbling most of their lines. The second flick is called "Aunt Hallie," about a Mississippi grandma who finds a used condom on her lawn and spends the rest of her life convinced she's been contaminated by it. And the last, and best, one is called "Webb Wilder, Private Eye," and it's already been on late-night cable a lot. It's about what happens when a plug-ugly trailer-park housewife named Pristene Suggs is evidently carried off by flying saucer people, and her grieving goofball husband Hiwayne Suggs becomes a media celebrity.
One dead body. No breasts. Head rolls. LSD montage. Gratuitous rock and roll. Pitiful kung fu. Spiked-punch Fu. Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Jimmy Lester, as Arvid the dimwit band member who wants Webb to buy a "cellulite phone"; Bodie Plecas, as avant-garde driver's-education film director Briley Parkway, creator of the epic "Slug Trail"; Roger Brinegar, as the blubbering Hiwayne Suggs, who keeps saying "They got my sweet thing"; and, of course, Webb Wilder, for singing a song about Elvis with the lyric "If you don't think he was number one, then you're full of number two."
It's kind of one of those "you have to see it" flicks.
Two stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS
Victory Over Communism! The Twin Drive-In, at Milwaukee and Hintz roads in Wheeling, Ill., has three screens, three channels of radio sound, a playground--and is having a spectacular year, according to Bonnie Rosenblatt of M&R Amusements. Kurt T. Schluter of Hoffman Estates reminds us that, with eternal vigilance, the drive-in will never die. To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and Joe Bob's world-famous "We Are the Weird" newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.
Yo Joe,
You've been blasted in the San Francisco paper. I agree with the statement that editors often find items prejudiced if they themselves are prejudiced against the groups named. The motivation to take offense is elusive. Are terms offensive because of implied hatred or because a group seeks to not be recognized as a group?
At a point where pride and group unity occur, terms become meaningless. Within groups themselves terms that would cause violence now are terms of endearment.
The fact that people have been attacked throughout hundreds of years of history show conditioned defense. Life is often difficult. Humor has been associated with healing and pain. To choose who can tell jokes about whom is a further barrier between people and lessens understanding between people.
Charles Fleming
San Francisco
Dear
Charles:
Another explanation might be, "Those people are slime."
Dear Joe Bob,
Question: Uncooked pinto beans have dark brown spots on them, but when they are cooked they turn brown and the spots disappear. If someone had a head (Alien Nation) like a pinto bean, would their heads turn brown and spots disappear if exposed to a very high temp?
Rebecca Fox
Claremont, N.C.
Dear
Rebecca:
Only if you caked their skulls with chili first.
Dear Joe Bob,
What I really want to know is why do women who think they know it all seem to have large behinds?
Paul Finlayson
Columbus, O.
Dear
Paul:
All that knowledge eventually has to settle somewhere.
Dear Joe Bob:
We received your recent letter, questioning our concern and compassion because we work in Elay and, to use your words, "charge a thousand dollars an hour just to plead guilty to a parking fine."
The reason you may misunderstand our concern and compassion is that you misstate our billing and plea procedures. We charge a thousand dollars an hour to plead Not Guilty to a parking fine. We care about our clients.
Never forget, without eternal vigilance, it can happen here.
Best wishes to the keenest wit in, um, New York?
Warmest regards,
Bruce C. Fishelman
Stanbury, Fishelman & Levy
Los Angeles
Dear
Bruce:
I guess to plead guilty, it's TWO thousand dollars, right? Otherwise, the job is over too quick and you can't rack up any hours.
Dear Joe Bob,
I am the weird. I am the weird! I am the weird! I am the weird! When does the past become the present? When yesterday becomes today? And when does the present become the future? When today becomes tomorrow? So if A is equal to C, the past is equal to the future? And B is the middleman, as is the present?
Think about it!
What does this mean to you or me? Not a whole hell of a lot actually!
All I can figure is: either a) "She Devils on Wheels" is the original screenplay for "Pretty Woman"! b) Jackie Chan, Sho Kosugi and Jack Palance should get together and make cowboy movies! c) the original "Nightmare on Elm Street" series is actually a bunch of sorry "Partridge Family" home videos!
Hey, J.B., maybe you can explain the concept of something for me. What in the hell does blaxploitation mean?
Peace to all my fellow weirdos!
Dr. Fishbone
Dexheim, Germany
Dear
Dr. Fishbone:
Originally there were
"exploitation" movies. Then, in the sixties, Variety started
calling them "sexploitation" when they had nudity in em. Then, in the
seventies, when "Shaft" and "Superfly" came out, they
changed it to "blaxploitation."
You learn something every day, don't you?
O Joe Bob Briggs, Thou Succulent Tower of Man-Flesh:
Greetings from the blazing pit of hell. This is Shannon Frach, editor of Brownbag Press and divine initiatrix of adolescent Mongolian busboys.
I found this copy of "We Are The Weird" nestled in my mailbox right beside the rattlesnake the neighborhood brat, Hondo the prepubescent retard, slipped in there to pay me back for striking him between the eyes with the garden hose.
I was just sitting here watching "Wild Guitar" in my trailer and attempting to suckle the tiny little toes of a nude Icelandic teenage virgin frisbee champ, when this uncontrollable thought began creeping through my engorged brain stalk . . . it's getting warmer outside. Honeysuckle is blooming. There are young, tender boys in tight Levis to be deflowered. Yesiree, Bob--it's time to start looking for a goddamn DRIVE-IN!
I have no idea if the drive-in in Gypsy, West Virginia is still operating (it was as of last year). Thing is, it's so small that instead of a drive-in screen, I think they're showing the films on some trucker's fat, pimple-bespangled ass, but never mind. The point here is that it's still a drive-in, and that's the only place for a chili-chompin' lust-wombat like Your Editor.
And now a word form my learned colleague, Randal "Lug Nuts" Seyler:
"I ain't got nothin' to say to a buncha hoity-toity, big-city Communists. Now hand me that damn recycled toilet paper or I'm gonna club you until you see in triplicate!"
Randal also has the following question for you:
"If I get in touch with my 'feminine nature,' will I have to throw away all my 'Hustlers'?"
I'd better close this off. My love-slave is getting surly again, and I'm simply going to be forced to douse him in Pennzoil and lash him with the car antenna again.
Write soon or don't. And remember that we love you with the all-encompassing love of a thousand sex-starved surf-vixens.
Shannon Frach
Morgantown, W. Va.
Dear
Shannon:
Tell Randal not to worry about his feminine nature. Why do you think Hustler puts all the lesbos in there anyhow?
© 1992 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved