Today's topic is The Phantom Boyfriend.
I didn't wanna talk about this. I really didn't. But modern feminist propaganda has driven me to defend the male species.
What's the No. 1 complaint of women in the '90s?
"All men are liars." How many times have we heard this in, like, the last week?
That's why I'd like to chime in with my views on The Phantom Boyfriend, also known as This Guy I'm Sorta Seeing.
The Phantom Boyfriend is the one who doesn't get mentioned right away. The Phantom Boyfriend is the one hangin' around her apartment on Sunday afternoons drinking beers while you're taking her country line-dancing on Friday nights--and you don't even like country line-dancing. The Phantom Boyfriend is the one who's never mentioned by name. He's always "this guy I'm sorta seeing." This Guy I'm Sorta Seeing will only be mentioned at all when the gal is absolutely cornered.
I've learned how to smoke 'em out right away. All you have to do is plan something that requires an overnight commitment--time when she can't be in total control of the phone.
I did this one time to Vida Stegall. I invited her to the Old Wrinkly Black Guys Blues Festival in Houston, which is just a little too far from home to get back from in one day. And that's when we had the following conversation.
"Well, you remember that guy that I'm sorta seeing?"
"You remember. I told you about him."
"You didn't tell me about any guy that you were sorta seeing."
"I did, too. We were at the movies."
You see how she's already gotten totally off the subject and is starting to convince you that you knew he was there all the time?
Ten minutes later, after you've killed several of her pets, she'll say something like: "You're being so immature about it."
"I'm being immature? You're the one who has a secret boyfriend."
"It's not a secret. I just have a problem discussing him with you."
"Starting out by telling his name would be a big help."
And this is where she'll generally start crying, and then she'll say, "I was just afraid you wouldn't understand."
"That's right! I wouldn't!"
"And I was just afraid that you would leave."
"That's right! I would have!"
Am I right, guys? Do women do this? Do they do it as more or less a system?
Please, gals, don't get started on this "men are liars" business. You really don't wanna have this argument with us.
And speaking of women who have been around the block a few times, Shannon Tweed is this week back as the creepy mom in upstate New York who wants to sleep with her stepson so she can become impregnated with the powerful secret formula that his dad fed the boy and that made him into a superhuman kung-fu master.
Of course, I'm talking about Electra.
Unfortunately, Shannon's boy has a girlfriend, and the girlfriend is not really crazy about the idea of her guy having sex with his stepmom.
Then, of course, there's the evil gangster in a wheelchair who wants the son to have sex with one of his killer Amazons in shiny black leather so he can create a master race.
The bottom line is that everybody in the movie is trying to have sex with this kid so they can gain access to the superpower formula developed by the kid's dead daddy.
It's like Superboy with lots of sex scenes.
My kinda flick.
Fifteen dead bodies. Six breasts. Neck injections.
Convulsions. Spewing. Multiple neck-breaking.
Picket fence through the neck. Boulder head-bashing.
Bloody body-hacking with an ax.
The dreaded titanium electricity torture.
One catfight, with levitation and fingertip laser fire.
One wheelchair attack, with flamethrowers.
Exploding head. Exploding Shannon Tweed. Gratuitous lesbo striptease-torture sequence.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for...
* Shannon Tweed, as the lusting mom who says, "I had to kill her, Billy. She was trying to come between us."
* Joe Tab, as the stud with the secret formula in his blood, who says, "I have something in my blood I can't risk you getting" (not the best thing to say on a date).
* Katie Griffin, as the hot little girlfriend who says, "You might as well give me what you've got."
* And Sten Eirik, as the evil wheelchair-bound master criminal who says, "For seven years I've been less than a man, but you're more than a woman. Come. We'll be the Adam and Eve of a new superior race."
They just don't write 'em like that anymore, do they?
Joe Bob says check it out.
Joe Bob's Find That Flick
This week's skull skunker comes from...James Beathard of Huntsville, Texas:
"There is a Vincent Price movie I saw once on late-afternoon TV.
I don't remember much else about the movie, except that the mad scientist (Price) was re-creating primitive cavemen--prehumans, as it were (probably before the term 'australopithecus' had even been coined). He did this by tapping into the subconscious minds of the people.
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As part of his experiment he gets in a shipment of a special chemical and shoots it up. The chemical, if I remember correctly, was termed 'lysergic acid' (obviously a reference to LSD). He locks himself in his lab, shoots up, and tries to record the feelings he's having. He begins to hallucinate and somehow winds up being one of the reconstituted cavemen.
"I've been trying to find the title of this movie for years, mostly to see if my recollections are correct. Any help would be appreciated."
A video will be awarded for the correct answer. (The winner chooses from our library of 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, Texas 75221. You can also fax them to (213) 462-5982 or e-mail them to Joe Bob on the Internet: firstname.lastname@example.org. (E-mail entries must include a postal mailing address.)
1996 Joe Bob Briggs (Distributed by NYT Special Features)