What are people talkin' about when they say they need to "get in touch with my Inner Child"?
I've been hearin' this for several years now, and ever time I hear it I sit there like a goombah, pretendin' I know exactly what they're talkin' about, when what I really wanna say is, "Hey, Fruitcake, how bout gettin' in touch with your Inner grownup? Maybe then I could understand what the heck you're talkin' about."
But I don't.
I just sit there goin', "That's right, Steve. Maybe if you get in touch with Inner Child thingy, you wouldn't have to beat up on your girlfriend all the time. Maybe you'd just wanna play Frisbee with her or somethin'."
Why is it that all the guys who talk about their Inner Child are potential serial killers?
You know the ones--baggy eyes, head down when they walk, mumbledy speech. They're all about as far from childhood as you can get.
Hell, there's 60-year-old men tryin' to play this game.
"I'm still lashing out at my father," they'll tell you.
Your father died in 1947, you ignorant old coot! He's a little pile of mulch by now! We could suck him up with a Dustbuster! He's not listening! He doesn't give two diddly squats about you!
Inner Child, my hiney.
Why would you wanna know what that is anyhow? So you can drool on people and spit up in public?
You know what a child does? Think about himself all day long. That's all he ever does.
Wanna find your Inner Child?
Look down there about waist level.
Find the little indented place on your tummy.
Stare.
You've found it.
And speaking of one-man bands, this week's flick is Femme Fontaine: Killer Babe For the CIA, written by, produced by, directed by, and starring Margot Hope as the killer babe her ownself.
I haven't seen a quadruple threat like this since Billy Jack.
This is the old familiar story of the Hot Honey who slinks around the globe in miniskirts and lingerie, bumping off scuzzballs for the CIA.
She's a master of disguise. Her idea of sneaking up on a guy is to knock on his door and pretend to be from an escort service.
By the time he realizes he didn't call an escort service, she'll have a lethal hat pin buried in his carotid artery.
But don't think this is all Bombastic Bimbo Creepola-Busting. Margot also has a sensitive side, complete with flashbacks to the day her dear daddy taught her to handle a firearm, and long spiritual sessions with her Buddhist monk advisor, who tells her how to be true to herself while killing people for the CIA.
Of course, you know what's coming.
A crazed band of lesbian neo-Nazis are using dimwit skinheads to get money from Chinatown drug dealers so they can sell deadly stuff that turns your face into a cheese burrito and make money off rich Ayrabs.
Or something like that.
Actually, I forgot. It's one of those flicks that are easier to talk about later than to actually watch. The mind wanders.
Still, they spent more than 47 dollars on this movie, and it shows.
Twenty-two dead bodies. Six breasts. Neck-cracking. Two fistfights. Poison beer. Hot-tub electrocution. Exploding skinhead.
Acid-to-the-face treatment. S&M. Ear rolls. Gratuitous aardvarking.
Three Kung Fu scenes. Riding crop Fu. Blow-dart Fu.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for James Hong, as the bald-headed ex-CIA Buddhist monk, for saying "What path do you choose?"; Catherine Dao, as the Chinatown gangster who says "Who would kill a bunch of innocent monks?"; Lynn Parton, as the white-haired froth-mouth Nazi leader who mangles every word of her dialogue.
And Margot Hope, writer, director, producer, the killer babe herself, for saying "That'll teach you to blow in my ear!" And "It ain't over till the fat man sings" and "Hello, Mar--or is it Heinz Muller, Nazi Scum?"
Two and a half stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
Joe Bob's Find That Flick
And this week's little puzzler comes down the pike from...
Don Hart of Webster, Texas: "Hey, I got one for you! What was the name of the movie with Connie Selleca and the giant sea turtle?
"I'd like to find a copy if I knew the name to ask for."
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 send an E-Mail to Joe Bob via CompuServe: 76702,1435.
We Have a Winner!
In a previous issue, Karl Engle of Indialantic, Fla., described a film "about a nerdy high school student (white) bullied by a big and burly, but bright, high school student (also white).
"The bully apparently tries to get the wimpy guy to stand up and fight for himself by intimidating him. There's a big stand-off in the schoolyard. The nerdy principal steps in to stop a fight; the bully clocks him in the face (?). The entire student body bears witness."
We received 12 correct answers, so our winner was chosen by drawing. And he is...
Sean Whitley of Dallas: "I think the film Karl's looking for is called Three O'Clock High. It came out in 1987 and was about the efforts of a wimpy high schooler (played by Casey Siemaszko from Young Guns) to escape from a psycho bully. The bully was known as a 'touch' freak, a guy who would go nuts if anyone laid a finger on him. At one point, the wimp pays a football player a hundred bucks to warn the bully off. The football guy makes a bad mistake and touches the guy. He promptly gets the crap kicked out of him, in a library no less. The climax takes place in a schoolyard, with the entire student body watching, and the principal does get clocked in the face. There's also a sadistic, Nazi-like hall monitor in the movie. The film was directed by Phil Joanou, who did U2's concert film, Rattle and Hum."
Copyright 1994 Joe Bob Briggs. Distributed by NYT Special Features/Syndicat>ion Sales. (To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail or his world-famous newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, Texas 75221. Joe Bob has a new fax number at his trailer house: 214-985-7448. Joe Bob on CompuServe: 76702,1435.)
