By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
By Scott Reitz
By Claire Lawton
By Kiernan Maletsky
By Anna Merlan
Does somebody really wanna hear about the frozen Three Musketeers ice cream bar they served for dessert on my plastic cafeteria tray? What do you want me to report on here--whether the flight attendant was ugly or not?
It's even more ridiculous when they say, "Have a good flight!"
How the heck am I supposed to do that? Excuse me, but were you under the impression that I was traveling alone in a Lear jet?
Whether I have a "good flight" or not is not my goldurn responsibility!
Here's one you hear at the gym:
"Did you have a good workout?"
No, I did not have a good workout.
What's a good workout? When my body only hurts 94 percent of the time?
Has anybody ever been asked this question and replied: "No, it was a terrible workout. I sat on my butt for two hours and read the instructions on the Nautilus equipment. Then I ate some Twinkies and went home."
And, of course, even more obnoxious is the big slap on the back as you put on your gym shorts, when someone says, "Have a great workout!"
I don't think this is something that you can mess up, is it? I mean, how bad could it get?
I could do abs and pecs in reverse order.
I could lose count after the eighth repetition and do two extra ones.
I might have to wait two minutes because somebody is already using the bench press.
But what exactly is it that you think is gonna go wrong here and threaten peace in Bosnia? I mean, what are people thinking?
Thanks for letting me get this off my upper body. You've been warned. Don't make me drop a barbell on your face.
And speaking of nervy performances, Rick Gianasi finally arrives this week after five years of hype from B-movie company Troma.
You know the flick I'm talking about. I'm talking Sgt. Kabukiman, N.Y.P.D., the sensitive story of a New York City cop who goes to the Kabuki theatre on the wrong night and ends up being inhabited by the soul of a samurai warrior in Kabuki makeup and a kimono while automatic-weapon fire erupts on the stage.
When the smoke clears, there's only one thing he can do--clean up the parks and streets of New York City with his amazing array of weapons, including projectile sushi rolls, projectile chopsticks that fly through the air like porcupine quills, a projectile flaming parasol and projectile Japanese sandals.
Meanwhile, he flies through the air and does goofy kung fu somersaults.
He falls in love with a mysterious Asian woman and her pet monkey--they lead him to his final confrontation with "the evil one," who might be a corporation president who uses black churches to hide his illegal drug operations.
Sure we've seen it before, but have we seen it as interpreted by Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz, the geniuses who run Troma, the lowest-budget film company in the world? I think not.
These are the same guys who brought us The Toxic Avenger, which I once called the cheesiest special-effects sci-fi flick ever made.
They've done it again.
Twenty-eight dead bodies. No breasts. Skyscraper death plunge. Offscreen baby-piercing. Offscreen samurai disemboweling.
Raw mackerel-eating. Nubile babe eaten by a tiger. Two fireballs. Two gun battles.
Gratuitous Robin Leach impersonator. Gratuitous haiku. Five kung fu scenes. Morphine fu.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for...
*The beautiful Susan Byun, as the love interest who seeks to avenge her Kabuki grandpa's sinister death, for saying, "Remove yourself from my body, you filthy oaf!"
*Joy Palevsky, as the TV reporter who shows up at the mass murder scene and says, "How did you feel when you saw rivulets of blood flowing down his beautiful Kabuki costume?"
*Pamela Alster, as the sexy kung fu beat cop who jogs in Spandex shorts.
*Bill Weeden, as the corporate raider who is the evil Kabuki spirit in disguise, for saying: "It has begun! My time has come!"
*Rick Gianasi, in the title role, for looking great in a bathrobe as he sings Puccini arias while turning somersaults, for flying over the city and throwing up on two lawyers and for saying, "I was depressed, I was confused and I was turning Japanese."
*And, of course, Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz, the producers, directors and writers, for lines such as: "Do you know what it's like to be violated by a 300-pound Filipino skinhead named Gunther? It ain't no picnic!"
Two and a half stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
JOE BOB'S FIND THAT FLICK This week's scalp-tickler comes from... Barry Jaeger of Chapel Hill, N.C.:
"There is a movie I recall from visits to the long-gone Midway Drive-In in Durham, N.C.
"It was a black-and-white flick involving a rather butch or somewhat chubby woman (I think blond) who wore these breast cones as a bra (a la Madonna a quarter century in the future). She used them to torture and kill her lover-victims.
"It was shown sometime around 1967-1970. My memory is somewhat confused by the alcohol- and drug-induced state I maintained at the time, when I was a graduate student at two local and very famous universities whose basketball teams shall go unnamed."
A video will be awarded to the correct answer. (The winner chooses from a list of about a thousand titles.) In the event of a tie, a drawing will be held. Send "Find That Flick" questions and solutions to Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221, or fax them to 214-985-7448, or e-mail them to Joe Bob on the Internet: 76702.1435compuserve.com.
JOE BOB'S ADVICE TO THE HOPELESS Victory Over Modernism!
The Country Drive-In, on West Nob Hill Boulevard in Yakima, Wash., is still popular and profitable as the last remaining outdoor theater between Ellensburg and the Tri-Cities, an area that once had 10 drive-ins.
Jeffrey Anderson runs the 9-acre drive-in, which his father opened in 1954 after buying the land and building the theater among apple orchards.
They still play double features on both screens. They've upgraded the projectors, the screens and the concession stand. The car capacity is now 600, and the drive-in now has radio sound.
Jack Laney of Kent, Wash., reminds us that, with eternal vigilance, the drive-in will never die.
Copyright 1995 Joe Bob Briggs (Distributed by NYT Special Features/Syndication Sales)
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