"Vice Girls"

I was discussing women with my buddy Rhett Beavers. Now Rhett may not seem like the perfect person to talk to about it, since his principal occupation is selling top-grade Arkansas Polio Weed to guys named Leon who work at Home Depot and his romantic life ended in 1978 when he got kicked in the groin by Susie Conatser.

But he packed a WHOLE lot of experience into the '70s, so I always listen.

I was asking Rhett which was better-to kick your girlfriend out of the trailer house, or to GET KICKED out of the trailer house.

I say, "Get kicked." Much cleaner. You're on the road five minutes later. If she ever sues you, you're the victim. And, most importantly, she can't find your hiney.

Rhett says, "Kick the bimbo out." And he makes all the usual arguments about protecting your stuff. And besides, you can take all HER stuff down to Goodwill.

But here's what I've noticed. When you're the one who ends up with the dang double-wide, why is it that suddenly you have 47 shiny automatic kitchen appliances that all look like Pakistani birth-control devices, and she DOESN'T WANT 'EM?

I mean, why'd you buy 'em in the first place? If SHE doesn't know how to use that Automatic Pasta Waffle Crusher, then who the heck does?

And why are there always EIGHT blenders? What woman needs eight blenders? ESPECIALLY when we're talking about the women I know, who never blended anything more complicated than a strawberry-daiquiri-flavored low-cal milk shake?

And why are there always 37 little round plastic doohickeys stuffed up in the shelves that are supposed to be "special attachments" to all the kitchen appliances, but you never have ANY IDEA what they attach to and what they're supposed to have accomplished in the unlikely event they were ever actually ATTACHED?

And if they wanted this stuff six months ago, WHY DON'T THEY WANT IT NOW? More importantly, WHY DO THEY WANT ME TO HAVE IT?

Kitchen appliances look JUST expensive enough to keep on the shelf instead of sending 'em to Dumpster City. We guys keep 'em in the lame hope that one day we'll find a girlfriend who actually knows how to cook.

Of course, this is like betting the long odds in the '72 Preakness, but what the heck? If you could stick a sponge in Martha Stewart's mouth, it might ALMOST work, you know?

Anyhow, Rhett lost the argument. Get kicked. Much better. I do NOT wanna have to tell you guys again.

And speaking of women who'll make your girlfriend throw a hissy fit, the original Barbarian Queen is back. I'm talking about Lana Clarkson, star of "Vice Girls," the goofy story of three babe cops on the trail of a serial killer who likes to videotape young runaway girls right before he makes 'em look like a ravioli TV dinner.

Last time I wrote about Lana, she got mad at me for implying that her two enormous talents were even MORE enormously talented than usual, and she made it clear that she is a 100 percent "natural" gal, if you know what I mean and I think you do.

So, Lana, if you're reading this, they still look hunky-dory, honey. Absolutely no underwire support needed, and I say that with all due respect.

Basically what we got here is three bimbos hanging around an Irish pub, interrogating sleazeball witnesses and spying on people with the notorious Hooter Cam, featuring two remote-control Nipple Lenses implanted in the cones of a black-leather stripper's bra.

The girls have to take turns wearing it, and dancing in the appropriate manner, in order to GET THEIR MAN.

In other words, a feminist manifesto.

Six dead bodies. Twenty-seven breasts. Multiple aardvarking. Two fistfights. Boob Cam. Goldfish-eating. Orgy. Gratuitous striptease. Gratuitous tango. Kung fu. Bimbo fu. Chloroform fu.

Drive-In Academy Award nominations for ...

Lana Clarkson, as the booze-swilling cop who sexually assaults her partner in the ladies room, then says, "Well, the Captain SAID you were at my disposal," and "You're obedient, Russo-I like that in a love slave."
Hoke Howell, as the old broken-down ex-cop bartender who says, "Look-you're COPS-people get killed-that is the goddamn job."
Liat Goodson, as the cop with a guilty secret who says, "Just be careful of the nipples-they're very sensitive."
Caroline Keenan, as the p.o.ed little sister who can actually ACT.
And Richard Gabai, the director, who cast himself as the nerdy camcorder buff who thinks the story of his life should be a "neurotic thriller."

Two stars.

Joe Bob says check it out.