The Joe Bob Report

Double Standard
Super Deluxe Edition

Share |

December 21, 2009

Step right up and get your Pity Pot

Ever year my Great Aunt Bovina Briggs in Meridian, Miss, sends out a humongous Christmas letter to all 794 members of the Briggs family to tell us what ailments, deadly diseases, and divorces we all had during the past 12 months.

Unfortunately, Aunt Bovina slipped last October and broke up most of her lower body into microscopic pieces, so she’s just now gettin out the Christmas letter.

Mine showed up in the mail last week, and I thought yall would wanna hear some of it, cause you’re nosy.

Dear Briggsians,

Well, isn’t Life Wonderful?!?! I’m off the old Artificial Life-Support Equipment, which was costing me $50 a day because my insurance company Refused to pay for a spare Battery Pack and so I’ll have to sue them later, and the doctor says it’ll be no time until I can sit up permanently and move around on a Power Scooter that Medicare will Pay For. It’s Wonderful what modern medicine can do these days.

Many of you remember my nephew, little Randy Kerbow, who lost his Face in Desert Freedom, and you’ll be happy to know that little Randy was at my same hospital over in Jackson. I stopped by his room on my way out and said, “Hello, Randy, I’m already leaving but you’re still here. Isn’t it Wonderful how much more they know about Medicine since the time when they stuck You in here?” Randy didn’t say anything, but I’m sure he sends everybody his Love.

Mavis Fetlock, who never should of married Jimmy Fetlock cause he was just after her money, got a lovely new trailer home in Riverside, Calif., where she still bottles her marvelous farkleberry preserves. Don’t need any this year, Mavis!

Sarina Briggs’ unmarried son, Purvis, decided not to get his Master’s Degree at Columbia after all and so he’s in Kentucky putting on a lecture and musical show about an Indian fellow named Sant Kraskavedis who can do all sorts of tricks! Purvis wrote me a letter in Indian about World Peace. He always was a Talented Boy!

As most of you know, Arthur and Velda Scruggs bought some lakeside property up in north Arkansas, and so far they’re not telling anybody how much it Cost!

Speaking of lovebirds, Stu Wilkes and his second wife, Nadine, celebrated their fifth anniversary at their beautiful home in Mobile and decided to let Stu’s boy out of military school if he’ll stop playing that silly game with his stepmother’s car. Boys will be Boys!

My favorite cousin Joe Bob Briggs, the Writer in family, says he’s doing well but he still hasn’t made it back on the TV. Better luck Next Year, you rascal you! Ha ha!

December 15, 2009

Maybe I'm the last guy in America to find out about new trends in child development, but the kid next door dragged in one of these Dolly Doo-Doo dolls, where the great thrill is changing the little rug-rat's dirty diaper. That's fine, I thought, and then the kid showed me how the cute little dolly MAKES THE DIAPER DIRTY.

I've seen pictures of GUM DISEASE that weren't this gross.

And, of course, this makes the doll a thousand times more valuable to the kid, because, every time they do it, the big strong grownup person gets grossed out and begs the kid to stop. It's a weapon. Giving a three-year-old child a Polly Pooper is like removing some guy from the Baghdad Hospital for the Criminally Insane and giving him a three-ton stink bomb.

"I'll do ANYTHING! Just get that thing out of my HOUSE!"

What kind of meeting were they having at Hasbro?

"Well, J.T., video-game sales are off sharply this year. The Transformers thing, that was last year's toy. No, we need something dramatically new and different. . . . I've GOT IT! . . . Wait a minute. Would it work? . . . Maybe, just maybe . . . YES! What we need is a DOLL THAT MESSES IN ITS PANTS!"

"Oh, come on, Derek, that's the old Betsy Wetsy thing. It's ancient history."

"No, J.T., listen to me. I'm not talking about Number One. I'm talking about Number TWO!"

"Derek, you might have something there, but is it possible? Do we have the technology?"

"This is America, J.T. Give me six months and I'll have the DIRTIEST synthetic Number Two you've ever seen."

"Bill, can you get the head and torso designed in six months."

"If I start today, I can just make it."

"The actual butt device can wait till later. Glenda, what about hair?"

"I think we have to go with short hair on this one, J.T. You don't want it dragging in the . . ."

"Please, Glenda."

"Right. Short hair, J.T. Give me four months."

By the time they finally released it, they even added diaper rash. You have to wipe the baby's butt with a warm cloth to get rid of the rash. And sometimes the baby gets a "boo-boo" on her arm that's covered by a Band-Aid. When you take off the Band-Aid and wipe the "boo-boo" with warm water it disappears. When you wipe it with ice water, it reappears. This feature comes in handy when the three-year-old plays the game called "Bad Baby! Bad Baby! Hold out your hand!" (steel-reinforced ruler not included).

Actually, I think Hasbro stopped too soon. Why not make a Grandma Whoops! doll? (Same principle, but you put Depends on her when she makes a boo-boo.) Or how about one of these innovative children's toys:

Betty Bulimia, the "my big sister" doll: She wears petite-size miniskirts, lots of makeup, and you stuff tiny little stalks of celery in her mouth--but WATCH OUT! Better get that hand away from there quick, because pretty soon Betty is gonna become Charlotte Chunk-Spewer! Special feature: the doll actually shrinks in size after every feeding.

Gusher Gus, the motorcycle-riding "big brother" doll: When Gus falls off his motorcycle, watch the realistic blood spurt from his arm. Reach for your plastic tourniquet, squeeze tightly until the bleeding stops. Wipe clean. Now remove the arm and put it in a bag of ice cubes while Gus is taken to the Gusher Gus Hospital Emergency Room. You're the doctor who sews Gus's arm back on, but look out for that carotid artery. If you get too close, Gus spurts all his blood at once and then the game is over. (Refillable blood bank pouches and Gusher Gus I.V. can be added on later.)

Clumsy Claudia, the doll with removable eyes: When Mommy tells Clumsy Claudia to stop playing with the B-B gun, or to put down that bamboo pole because "you might put your eye out," Clumsy Claudia disobeys Mommy and PUTS HER EYE OUT. The realistic bamboo pole bends but won't break as you jam it into the socket and pop the eyeball onto the floor. The B-B gun requires a direct hit and creates a realistic "exit wound" on the back of the skull. Clumsy Claudia comes with a walking cane (for one-missing-eye play) and a detachable seeing-eye dog (for two-missing-eye play).

If we're gonna give the kids realism, let's give em something they can relate to.

December 6, 2009

Here’s the deal on the Stalker. He looks like Miles O’Keefe, only his stomach isn’t caved in like Miles’s was in Ator the Fighting Eagle. But the Stalker definitely puts in time on the Nautilus equipment, and actually he would look a lot like my ownself, if he didn’t have blond wimpola surfer hair blowing around his face like he’s just been aerosoled at Vidal Sassoon’s. This is totally beside the point, and I don’t want to have to mention it again.

We start off with a leprosy faced old man raping this bimbo who’s chained to a tree, but before he can get the job done, the Stalker shows up and spears him through the neck and runs a couple of his buddies through the ribs with a sword. One guy’s about to get away, so the Stalker has to throw his dagger forty feet through the turkey’s heart. The Stalker cuts the chains off the girl, yanks her blouse off—and then he starts to rape her. The Stalker can tell he’s doing the right thing, if you know what you mean and I think you do. Only he gets distracted and she escapes.

Next thing, the Stalker goes to see the king who’s living in a tent because Munkar the Magician stole his castle and his daughter. The king wants his castle back.

The Stalker says, “You talking to me?”

The king says he wants the Stalker to go rescue the castle, and if he wants to he can bring back the girl, too.

The Stalker says no way, José Feliciano. “I’m an outlaw,” he tells the old geezer. “I steal and kill to stay alive.”

Next thing, the Stalker goes to talk to the old prophet woman, because we all know in this kind of flick you have to talk to the old prophet woman before you get to kung fu everybody in sight. The prophet woman says the Stalker needs three things to get control of the world. One of the things is the sword of justice. The other two things are the amulet of life and the chalice of magic, but let’s face it, who the hell cares? The old prophet woman says she can help out with the sword, but Munkar has the other merchandise.

One more thing before we paint the screen red. The harem. Course, we’re talkin the evil magician’s harem, this place where all the bimbos in chains get auctioned off to wrestlers, geeks, half-human pig-face weirdoes that smell funny—basically your average dance floor on the weekend. We’ve got some ancient female mud wrestling. Munkar’s there, but he don’t even get in the whirlpool. Munkar is this bald headed weirdo with a spider painted on his head, and he likes to watch. We’re talking some nice rape-and-pillage party scenes, but here’s the topper: Barbi Benton is Munkar’s prize prisoner. Munkar buys her a see-through nightie, chains her arms and legs to a post, and tells all these extras from Planet of the Apes that they can fight over the right to “stand in” for Munkar.

What I’m leading up to is, the Stalker decides he wants to rescue the king’s daughter after all. Even though the Stalker picked up a blond nympho on the road into town, he decides to go for the groceries.

Munkar’s p.o.ed.

Munkar decides to kill the Stalker, but he can’t jack with him because the Stalker has the magic sword. So what he does is he tells one of his old ugly warriors that he’s gonna turn him into a Barbi Benton lookalike, and then the Stalker’ll toss his sword down.

Let’s talk transformation scenes. I know, I know. I said there would never be a transformation scene to compare to the kid who got changed into a giant katydid in The Beast Within.

I was wrong.

This transformation is so painful that the guy has to grab his chest and start screaming when the garbonzas start to pop out, and then he grabs a place which I’ve been asked not to write about, and when you think about it, this whole scene is very necessary to the story, because, what the hey, can you imagine what it would be like to change into Barbi Benton in two minutes?

So the Barbi Benton look alike takes his dagger and goes to the Stalker’s bedroom, and then the Stalker throws her on the bed and gets ready for business, but something tells him all the equipment is not working properly, and he gets rid of the fake bimbo before something happens that could make you vomit.

Then we got about a full hour of nonstop death and violence till it’s time for the Stalker to meet Munkar. Great Saturday Night Wrestling moves in the tournament arena. The Stalker likes to stick his sword through a guy, then twist it, then jerk it out and wipe off the blood on the dead body. The Stalker is not a nice guy.

Okay, we’re talking thirty breasts. Full exposure on Barbi Benton. Twenty-two corpses. Kung fu, sumo wrestling, and Saturday Night Wrestling. No motor vehicle chases. Six quarts of blood, most of it okay, some of it a little thin like they made it up with watercolors. Several excellent beasts, including Little Howard, Munkar’s household pet in a basket that will only eat human eyes and fingers. Not one, not two, but three heads roll. No bimbo skin defects. Great sledgehammer scene—has to be seen to be believed. Best of all, no words actually spoken by Barbi Benton.

We’re talking four stars.

Joe Bob commands you to check it out.

November 23, 2009

Holiday Greeting from Camp Sitkum

During this holiday season, I don't want y'all killing one another like you usually do, is that understood? It ruins everthing for Grandma.

"More Marshmallow Green-Jelly-Bean Fruit Salad anyone?"

Like one theory I have about why people start getting depressed and thinking about death around the holidays is cranberry sauce. We all hate cranberry sauce. The only people who like cranberry sauce are named "Estelle." Eleven months of the year we don't even have to think about cranberry sauce. And then what happens?

Jigglin purple igloos sloshed on your plate.

People see that, they just go crazy, start killin the in-laws.

Another reason: People walkin around the house wearing house shoes that look like moose heads. This wouldn't be pleasant even if your relatives looked like the Radio City Rockettes, but since your relatives probly don't look like the Radio City Rockettes, since the prob'ly look more like the night shift at Dunkin Donuts, then this is like watchin a coffee-table leg model underwear.

"You don't mess with the Kitchen Force"

That's why I've come up with a few common-sense rules for getting through the holiday season without (a) dying, (b) serving 20 to life, or (c) mutilating a pet. Listen up, I don't wanna have to tell you this stuff again.

(1) Conversation: Never start out a conversation with somethin' like, "I told her she never should of married that Jimmy Bohannon." Try somethin like this: "Loretta and them moved to Waco." Don't add anything to it. Stop right there. Don't say, "Loretta and them moved to Waco, she's so NICE." This starts an argument about how nice she is.

(2) Food: Never ask who made what unless you already know the answer. Never say, "Who made the marshmallow jelly-bean fruit salad?" unless you're sure the marshmallow jelly-bean fruit salad is (a) all gone, and (b) nobody scraped it off into the garbage disposal.

(3) Football: Never ask any embarrassing questions about the team, like "Who's playing?" or "What's the score?" unless you're sure all the old men in the room are awake. Just remember this: It's always the most important game of the year. If it wasn't, then you'd all be in there clearing off the table.

(4) Presents: When you open it up, never state what it is while you're opening it. Just say, "That's so niiiiiiice! Thaaaaaaaaaank yooooooouuuuuuu!" And then figure out what it is later. Also, as soon as you get out of sight of the house, destroy all bottles of men's cologne so you won't be tempted to throw it in the drawer at home with all the 48 other bottles you got at other holidays, cause someday you just might go over the Jade East limit and send a dear beloved family member a bomb in the mail.

(5) Divorces: Anybody that was there last year but not this does not exist. Always remember this. Your life could depend on it.

November 17, 2009

Cat’s Eye is about this little obnoxious cat that runs all up and down the East Coast, looking into the camera and saying stuff like, “Hey, how else could Big Steve go take three of his old short stories and hook 'em together if I wasn’t here to make it look like there’s some deep reason for it?”

Damned smart cat.

"From the Cheap but Effective School of Special Effects"

So first the cat runs into the story “Quitters, Inc.,” the one about the guy who goes to Marlboro School, but when he gets there, a Mafia guy is waiting. If you can’t quit smoking, they turn your wife into a human cattle prod.

James Woods can’t quit smoking, so Alan King lights up the Juice Room with a little spouse meat, till Jimbo learns his lesson. I won’t give away the ending, but fingers roll.

"It's all fun and games until somebody turns on the electric floor."

Then the cat runs off to Atlantic City and watches a fat-cat gambler bet Robert Hays can’t walk all the way around a high-rise on the ledge. First prize: the fat cat’s heavy wife. Great Klaxon-horn impalement, but they wimped out and didn’t do it onscreen, the disgusting way Big Steve wrote it.

"Someday I'm gonna show my ta-ta's to David Letterman."

Next the cat busts into Drew Barrymore’s bedroom and fights against a midget troll monster to prove it’s not cats that steal children’s breath but ugly little rat-face trolls that jump out of the wall and slobber all over the Tinker toys. When the cat and troll battle to the death, it’s one of the finest special effects sequences ever filmed in Wilmington. North Carolina.

What we got here is no breasts. (PG-13 on a Big Steve flick?)

One-pint blood. Three beasts, including Alan King. Barbecued cat. Barbecued wife. Cameo appearance by Cujo. Gratuitous double plug for the song “I’ll Be Watching You.” Head rolls. Finger rolls. Two dead bodies. One dead bird. Cat fu. Troll fu. Reddy Kilowatt fu.

Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Candy Clark as the evil wife of the year (she tries to kill the cat); Kenneth McMillan as the fat cat; Lewis Teague, who said, “I know I screwed up Cujo, Steve, but I can direct, really I can”; Dino De Laurentiis, the D-Man, who was the first to say, “When monkey die, everybody cry”; and Big Steve, the one and only.

Call it three and a half stars.

1/2

Joe Bob says check it out.

November 8, 2009

Hogzilla (2007)
Hypoluxo Pictures

I want you all to gather round the bug-zapper for the greatest story ever told since the day the baby Jesus came to earth.

Yes, I starred in Hogzilla, the best of the three killer pig movies released all in the same year.

This trifecta of Animatronic Razorback Horror was predicted by Nostradamus hisself and corroborated by a mysterious image that appeared on a grilled cheese sandwich I once had in Albuquerque.

A tabloid news crew ventures into the backwoods of Central Florida to investigate reports of an aggressive feral hog who the locals have dubbed Hogzilla.

What they end up gettin' is the usual pant-load of demons, devils, creepin' things and some good old fashion pure pig-spitting evil thrown in for good measure.

Director Diane Jaques delivered this horror parody for the fine folks over at the SCI-FI Channel (or whatever they are calling themselves these days).

Some say it's so bad it's probably pretty good. Heck, this educational nature flick somehow managed to predict how dangerous these critters would be a full two years prior to the arrival of the dreaded swine-snot-piggie-flu.

The Surgeon Generalissimo should have saw this one coming.

An Indoor Bullstuff Cinema masterpiece and future classic. Four stars.

Joe Bob says check it out.

November 5, 2009

Editors Note:

Joe Bob has a brand new advice column!

Visit www.prettyscary.net to see it in 3-D Stereo-Scopin' Vision.

They will even let Joe Bob's unwashed masses in if we behave ourselves.

Dear Job Bob,

I've started dating a white man in his mid thirties whose house is filled with horror posters, DVDs, creepy masks, weapons, slasher action figures, and movie collectables. Nothing else; just gross horror and torture stuff...
He thinks living in this environment and watching horror movies 24/7 helps discharge any of his homicidal tendencies. But I can't help thinking when he's gently making love to me under his Texas Chainsaw poster that he'd rather be hanging me on a meathook. Or at least carving a hole in my cheek and fu**ing that orifice instead.

Am I overreacting? Or should I run before the restraints, Cthulu mask and power drill get brought into the bedroom?

Signed,
Not Really Feeling It

Dear Not Really,

The chances of your boyfriend actually fashioning a new orifice are extremely remote because the aficionado of gory dismemberment is, in almost every case, a copycat.

Unless you've starred in any slashers yourself, he's unlikely to be turned on by anything about your body, person, or behavior that reminds him of you. When you're making love with this man, he's envisioning a cinematic female who was created on a movie set, then refashioned in his own imagination into a willing blood sacrifice. The main thing you have going for you is that you (presumably) have all the same limbs and organs in all the same approximate places on your body as did the slut of his dreams.

You should refrain from making any noises, especially any idiosyncratic ones, as it would tend to reinforce the idea that he's having sex with his actual girlfriend, as opposed to the bimbo he uses for his cellphone wallpaper.

So relax and have fun!

blog comments powered by Cold Taters and Old Hot Dogs





	OLDER POSTS >>

Double Standard Super Deluxe Edition

Double Standard
Super Deluxe Edition