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Joe Bob Briggs

I have a question. Whatever happened to the 40-hour work week? I don't know ANYBODY who works 40 hours. I know guys who work zero hours and I know guys who work 80 hours. I don't know anybody in between. And the guys who work 80 hours are not complaining...
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I have a question.
Whatever happened to the 40-hour work week?
I don't know ANYBODY who works 40 hours. I know guys who work zero hours and I know guys who work 80 hours. I don't know anybody in between.

And the guys who work 80 hours are not complaining. They're ready to sign up for 80 MORE.

If you say to 'em, "You know, Roger, maybe you could do with a little more slack time," they'll get MAD at you.

"Don't you see I'm under stress? I'm under pressure? I've GOT to work these hours."

Of course, one thing that's causing Roger stress is that Little Roger Junior is calling him up at the office at 9 o'clock at night and saying, "Daddy, are you coming home?" Puttin' MORE pressure on the guy to WORK HARDER.

Then we've got the old overtime issue. For some reason, back in the '80s, every company in America just flat-out decided they wouldn't pay any overtime. They just stopped.

Of course, they didn't SAY they stopped. You just got the message every time you went into Mr. Cardwell's office and said, "Uh, Mr. Cardwell sir, I, uh, worked 12 extra hours this week."

And Mr. Cardwell would do one of two things. He would say, "Why don't you take some comp time?" or, "We don't like overtime here. Can't you get your work done during regular hours?" Which is illegal.

Or he just wouldn't say anything. He'd just glare at you.
Overtime is old-fashioned. Overtime is passe. Overtime DOESN'T EXIST ANYMORE.

But that's only half the problem. The main part of it is that these guys WANT to go into the office on Sunday afternoon. They LOVE taking business calls from Japan at 3 a.m.

So my question is this.
How come, a hunnerd years ago, every man in America believed that a 40-hour work week would be a great thing for our HEALTH? It would make us BETTER PEOPLE. It would free us up to hang out with the kiddos and write plays in our spare time.

And today, almost everybody believes the 80-hour week is GOOD FOR YOU.
Do you get this? 'Cause I don't get it.
And speaking of things I don't understand, how did Denis Adam Zervos turn up in this column twice in three weeks? I just reviewed this writer/producer/director/editor/singer's weirdbeard flick Romeo: Love Master of the Wild Women's Dorm where he plays the biggest hunk in the history of UCLA.

And now we have Space Freaks From the Planet Mutoid, in which Denis saves the world from nuclear destruction by singing EIGHT soft-rock songs about peace and love--songs so powerful that they destroy a 10-foot, purple-faced space-alien creature who goes around New York City encouraging people to mug one another.

Denis! Take a vacation! Please! I've heard of working cheap and fast, but this is ridiculous.

Denis plays a hunky ex-boxer and rock singer who, once again, is so handsome that all the women working in topless bars fight for his attention.

One night, he's accosted by a frizzy-haired girl in a punk wedding dress who says she's from another planet and has been searching for Denis for 212 years.

She has a gift for him, and it involves going to his apartment and making the sign of the triple-finned lint-gobbler.

Pretty soon Denis gets a record deal, a tour, and a new song called "People Need To Rock" that causes everyone in New York to stop fighting and start dancing.

Bad rock 'n' roll will ALWAYS make people drop their weapons.
Five dead bodies. No breasts. Six fistfights.
Aardvarking. Multiple cheesy monster attacks. Gratuitous propeller bra.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for:

*Tamela Glenn, as the outer-space sex goddess on a mission, for saying, "In this room I feel the echo of a thousand dreams."

*Harry Sando, as the sleazy gangster who tells his goons to "Make it painful, and get me a souvenir."

*And Denis Adam Zervos, the one-man army who fights off muggers by singing to them, for writing and performing a song called "Don't Wanna Be Radioactive."

Two stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.

Joe Bob's Find That Flick
This week's noggin-knocker comes from Marian Broussard of Irving, Texas:
"My co-workers are trying to remember a movie, so I have attached the office banter from our electronic bulletin board.

"I hope you can answer this thing for us. Here goes:
"Duane: 'I have been trying to remember the name of this movie for about five years. I saw it about 10 to 15 years ago, and was probably only around 9 or 10, so I may not be too factual on some of the points.

"'The movie made reference to the book of Revelation. In the beginning of the film, a boy kills his mom--with his dad's approval.

"'There was a reference to the 13-headed dragon (it was a company, possibly oil).

"'A black leader got killed when someone turned on a helicopter and the blade chopped his skull open. Someone else got killed by an access gate that closed on him.

"'I don't really remember the plot. If you've seen a movie that sounds like this, let me know.'

"Burleigh: 'Excellent flick! The name, I believe, is Dawn of the Dead or Dawn of the Living Dead.

"'If this was the same movie, the black man was a zombie who was climbing on a pile of crates when his head hit the blades. I think the other man was in the mall when the gate hit him.

"'If this is the same movie, then it was more funny than scary. I like the mall scene.

"Duane: 'Sorry, not Dawn of the Dead. The guy who got his head chopped off was a politician or something similar.

"'He was waving to a crowd of people when someone turned on the helicopter and it chopped his cranium.

"'This was a serious movie. It scared the hell out of me. "'
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, Texas 75221, or fax them to 214-985-7448, or e-mail them to Joe Bob on the Internet: [email protected].

1997 Joe Bob Briggs (Distributed by New York Times Special Features)

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