Sanchez.dlos@Xerox.ARPA (04/07/84)
----------------------------------------------------------------
Date: Fri, 6 Apr 84 15:09 CST
From: Sanchez.dlos
Subject: JOE BOB BRIGGS GOES TO THE DRIVE-IN (4-6-84)
To: HAMILTON.ES
cc: Crankmail.dl:;, Sanchez
Reply-To: Sanchez.dlos
WANDA'S TALKIN' BREACH; WE'RE TALKIN' MEAT BEACH IN "WHERE THE BOYS ARE"
Rhett Beavers got back from Florida last week with one of those
I-bought-a-flamingo-ashtray grins on his face, and I could already tell
he was missing a few cards. Rhett never did have what you would call a
Sears Diehard upstairs, and let's face it, the boy hadn't been the same
ever since that rap for possession of 72 pounds of Arkansas Polio Weed
for his personal use. Rhett hadn't been in town more than two, three
days before Wanda Bodine was swearing out a warrant again, telling
everybody Rhett breached her, when everybody knows Rhett couldn't breach
diddly. The boy was paralyzed on that stuff for 7 weeks.
Anyhow, all I was able to find out is Rhett made some kinda deal with
Vida Stegall and Vida quit her job at Le Bodine right in the middle of a
wet-set.
Vida said she'd be danged if she was working anymore in a trailer house,
even if it did pay $2.10 an hour, because Wanda Bodine promised three
months ago to put Vida's name on the Porta-Neon sign out front and give
her a promotion to aerobic-dance-instructor, but that fell through when
the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders announced they were having a written
test this year and so Wanda had to devote all her time to giving private
lessons to the bimbos who ponied up 300 cold American apiece for
"Footloose" routines.
Then when Rhett got back from jacking around in Florida, he went
straight to Vida Stegall and claimed he had exclusive North Central
Texas rights to Irlene Manderell's Texercise. (Irlene is Barbara's
little sister, one of the finest actresses in the history of "Love
Boat," and looks like she was shot through the back with a couple of
Cruise missiles.) Rhett's deal was simple. "He would put Vida in a
permanent structure of some kind" within one-half mile of Six Flags
Mall. (It was the mall part that got Vida's attention.) He would also
deliver 200 posters of Irlene wearing a Danskin the size of a washrag,
and it would say on there "Everyone will want to take me home and
Texersize!" Vida had to provide enough blow-dryers and "ladies'
stimulated fingernails" to get in the beauty-parlor bidness, and she had
to come up with a name for the place. Vida decided on Vida's House of
Shellac.
Soon as Vida was able to rent a Porta-Neon, Wanda said, "We're talking
breach."
I don't want to go into all the details, because I'm too lazy, but
basicallly it came down to how Wanda is already the exclusive Eastern
Tarrant County franchisee for Rockabilly Glamourcize, and anybody who
teaches Rockabilly Glamourcize has to sign a slave clause that says,
according to Wanda, that Wanda can dump Vida into a Commercial Osterizer
and turn her into grape syrup. Basically speaking, that's the kind of
lawsuit we're talking about. I'm staying out of it , because I think we
already got too many lawsuits in America, and we oughta learned by now
that the best way to settle out differnces is to knock the bejabbers out
of one another.
Now, what this is leading you to is, Rhett came back from surfola
bimboville, puked all over his floormats on re-entry, and started
babbling about this flick in Lauderdale called "Where the Boys Are." I
told him I saw the sucker. He said there's another one. I said, yeah I
know, it is called "Spring Break," about all these turkey college kids
who go down to Lauderdale and get nekkid and drink Miller Lite and have
a wet T-shirt contest. It gets four stars if you'te drunk on Miller,
two stars sober, three stars drunk on Bud. Rhett said I didn't know
what I was talking about because there was a flick called "Where the
Boys Are" at the Century D.I. in Grand Prarie, and I better check it out
because it had a pretty active porkchop counter.
I'm here to tell you, this is the best movie about stupid white people
since "Summer Lovers." No plot to get in the way of the story. Total
IQ of the cast: 17. Starring these four bimbos whose philosophy of
life is "all you need is a bikini and a diaphragm." We've heard this
before, of course, but it was the way she said it.
Now. A lot of people wonder why Lorna Luft hasn't never made it in the
movies. She was waiting for the right role, that's all. Lorna is the
daughter of Judy Garland and Sid Luft, so you know she's got talent but
also she's got the looks: She looks exactly like Sid Luft. In this
flick Lorna plays the boring bimbo with a boyfriend back home. Lisa
Hartman is the virgin. Wendy Schaal is the valley girl. And LynnHolly
Johnson is just horny. She goes around trying to have a religious
experience with Conan the Barbarian.
We've got a lot of Beach meat on the screen here some halfway decent
drunks. a Hot Bod Contest, some romantic scenes with a rubber blowup
dummy, three parties, a woman who walks around with her grabonzas all
caged up and some real bad singing. The turkeys who made this dude
didn't even have the decency to find Connie Francis.
In other words, you people in Lauderdale are sick.
Eleven breasts. No blood. One beast (Conan). Great scene with Rod
Stewart's wife trying to go to bed with everything that moves. Two
motor vehicle chases one with a crash. Lorna Luft does something
pretty amazing with a cucumber. One Aggie joke. Heads do not roll.
THREE AND A HALF STARS ON BUD. THREE STARS ON MILLER. FOUR STARS ON
ARKANSAS POLIO WEED.
************************************
THE JOE BOB BRIGSS WEEKLY REPORT ON CENSORSHIP IN AMERICA: "JOE BOB
GOES TO THE DRIVE-IN" BANNNED IN FORTH SMITH, ARKANSAS. ONE MORE TOWN
GOES COMMNIST ON US.
JOE BOB'S MAILBAG
J.B.
What happened to being the "Rockwall" movie critic. You move to
Arlington or something.
Bob Kirtley
Tampa, Fla
Dear Bob:
Ever since the high sheriffs in L.A. signed up Henry Kissinger to write
a column, all our mail has been getting mixed up. I've told Henry the K
that if this don't stop soon. I'm going to have to take somee
unilateral Kung Fu City.
*******
Dear Joe Bob,
Last night I had an argument with my boyfriend and I got real mad and
said why don't you act like a real man and he said like who and I said
like Joe Bob Briggs and he said ha.
Then he said that Joe Bob Briggs wasn't a real person. He said that
your columns were written by someone else he didn't know who but that it
was the same person who did Hints from Heloise.
Please say it isn't so, Joe Bob. Please Please Please Please Please
Please Please Please. You are my idle. Even when you were in New
Orleans preaching to the transvestiutes I knew you'd be back. I know my
boyfriend's lying. I know your're for real.
Your biggest fan
Shirlene Poteet
Fort Worth
P.S. If my boyfriend isn't lying could you reprint your column on making
sit-upons?
Der Shilene:
Even though your boyfriend should have his eyeballs knocked back down
into his boots for comparing my ownself to a tidy-bowl lady, you quit
harping at that old boy and act like a real woman and take him to Billy
Bob's Texas and get him drunk and he'll be just fine.
*********
Dear Joe Bob,
I'm a law strudent at Texas Tech University School of law, which is
where you would go if you want to be a lawyer . I just wanted you to
know that I learned more about justice from "Sudden Impact" than I did
during a whole semester of Criminal Law. That wimpy bimbo judge at the
beginning of the movie made me want to puke, but don't worry, all of us
legal types aren't pinkos like her. I personally would rather see a
low-life criminal get his gazeboes blown off than see the taxpayers
waste money trying and incarcerating the scumbag. You can't even make
any money off the slimeballs because court appointed attorneys don't get
paid worth a damn.
Keep up the good work, J.B. We love you in Lubbock because you're our
kind of folks,. In fact, sometimes your colunm sounds just like the
editorial page of the Lubbock Avalanche-Hournal, which is a very strange
name for a newspaper if you ask me, but they know what's what.
Sincerely,
Big Dave
School of Law
Texas Tech University
Lubbock
Dear Dave;
I swear I didn't do it.
**********************************************************************************************************************************
JOE BOB REMAINS YOU THAT THERE ARE ONLY TWO DRIVE-INS IN THE ENTIRE
NATION OF MALAWI. WITHOUT ETERNAL VIGILANCE, IT COULD HAPPEN HERE. TO
DISCUSS THE MEANING OF LIFE WITH JOE BOB WRITE TO JOE BOB BRIGGS AT THE
ADDRESS BELOW;
ALL LETTERS TO JOE BOB SHOULD BE SENT TO;
JOE BOB BRIGGS
MOVIE CRITIC OF ROCKWALL, TEXAS
LIVING DEPT.
DALLAS TIMES HERALD
1101 PACIFIC
DALLAS, TEXAS 75202
----------------------------------------------------------------Sanchez.dlos@Xerox.ARPA (04/16/84)
Sorry the column late, but some of us do have to work sometimes. So
without further ramblings here is this weekend's column. ENJOY!!!!!
JOE BOB ANNOUNCES 1983 DRIVE-IN ACADEMY AWARDS
I had to take Rhett Beavers out to the faith healer in Mabank last week
or else I would had this sooner. A lot of you turkeys have been writing
saying, "Hey , what the hey, where the hey is the 1983 Drive-in Academy
awards?" and I'd just like to point out that I don't take this
responsibilty lightly. This is not any Hollywood indoor bullstuff deal,
where they wheel'em from Palm Springs every year to cast ballots for
people who send out hams in the mail. This is not any
teensy-wensy-screen TV jerkola banquet where they listen to Herb Alpert
play "Oh what a feeling." This is a legit deal. This is for the
non-Communist drive-in going public of America. You know what I'm
talking about. It's that time of year again. It's time to give out
Hubbies. (Junior Bodine's shop out in Mineral Wells did a great job
this year engraving the Chevy hubcaps. He only had to cross out the
letters five or six times.) Okay, let's get down to the nitty.
BEST ACTOR:
Chuck Bronson ("10 to Midnight"), blowing scum off the streets and
saying and saying lines like "I hate quiche."
Vic Morrow ("1990 The Bronx Warriors"): Remember when he rides in with
900 guys carrying industrial-strength blowtorches and orders them to
burn the eyes out of everybody they see?
Bruce Campbell "(The Evil Dead"), who makes the mistake of not
chainsawing his girlfriend after she turns zombie on him.
Christopher Walken ("Dead Zone"), the geek schoolteacher who runs his
VW bug into a milk truck and doesn't wake up for five years and ten his
eyes bug out like a katydid and he starts twitching around the room.
Wings Hauser ("Deadly Force"), kicking hineys all over the Elephant-Man
theraphy institute.
AND THE WINNER IS: (DRUM ROLL MAESTRO PLEASE)
Big Chuck, of course.
BEST ACTRESS:
Kathryn McNeil ("The House on Sorority Row"), making like Jamie Lee
Curtis.
Lynda Speciale ("Screwballs"), for her moving performance as Purity
Busch, the ice queen and official school virgin.
Ellen Sandweiss ("The Evil Dead"), the bimbo who gets raped by the
forest.
Monique St. Pierre ("Stryker"), the garbonza woman forced to fight it
out with the bald-headed fu-mancu hookarm turkey.
Corinne Alphen ("Spring Break"), the brunette Penthouse Pet of the Year
who sings "Do It To You" and makes all the guys smash Miller cans on
their heads.
AND THE WINNER IS:
Monique, for her enourmous talent.
BEST BEAST:
Miles O'Keeffe ("Ator the Fighting Eagle"), the beefcake Tarzan turned
barbarian, trying to keep his breechcloth on.
The 300-pound Baby Huey in "Midnight" who hangs around the graveyard
and carves up Babtist preachers.
Lou Ferrigno ("Hercules"), the man has veins like a road map of
Louisiana.
Little Howard ("Deathstalker"), the household pet in a basket that only
eats human eyes and fingers.
Christine ("Christine"), drop a cigarette on the upholstery, and this
'58 Plymouth Fury might have to dump your body in a Goodwill box.
AND THE WINNER IS:
Christine, for the best performance by a motor vehicle in history.
BEST KUNG FU:
Jim Kelly ("One Down Two To Go"), shoeleather to the groin on 14 white
guys.
Johnny Yune ("They call me Bruce?"), he got his black belt in a state
where they just have a written test.
Fred Williamson (1990 The Bronx Warriors"), Fred against eight punkola
freaks on roller skates.
Jacky Chan ("Eagle's Shadow"), master of the snake style and
cat's-claw, who thwocks and whooshes his way through 15 complete fight
scenes including everything from one-on-one to eight-on-two, then grabs
Old Goat-Hair in the place we can't talk about in the newspaper and
watches the turkey.
Sho Kosugi ("Revenge of the Ninja"), kicking in the heads of punkola
wierdos in the park, Ninja warriors, Mafia guys, using hands, feet,
Nunchakus, blades, throwing stars, and those little pointy things that
look like jacks but make your face look like it caught on fire and
somebody put it out with a meat tenderizer.
AND THE WINNER IS:
Sho Kosugi, teh only actor ever to win a high-speed chase when he didn't
even have a car.
BEST SUPPORTED ACTRESS (FORMERLY BEST CHEST):
Sabrina Siani ("Ator the Fighting Eagle"), bleach blond Amazon bimbo
who wins the contest when they tie up Miles O'Keffe and have a nude
mud-wrestling match to see who get to be his sex object for one night.
"High Test Girls", the entire cast, 83 full exposures from Lisa
Roberston, Nancy Patricks, Polly Quigley, Sherri Richards, Kathy Close.
Linda Shayne ("Screwballs"), Bootsie Goodhead herself, who made movie
history in the now famous drive-in scene when the nerd jumps out the
back of the van and the door catches on Bootsie's halter top and she has
to rub her breasts against the back window for a full minute.
Betsy Russell ("Private School"), teh blonde witch bimbo who like
aerobic dancing leotards, underwire bras, group showers, and Lady Godiva
imitations.
Barbie Benton ("Deathstaker"), chained to the wall in a see-through
nightie while extras from the "Planet of The Apes" fight over groceries.
Ashley Ferrare ("Revenge of the Ninja"), teh blonde who demonstrates
bimbo-fu at its finest.
AND THE WINNER IS:
Bootsie Goodhead, the one and only.
BEST SPECIAL EFFECT
"Midnight", the women-in-dog-cages scene, where they get fattened up
ofr Baby Huey blood-drinking scene.
"Timerider", first motocross western, where Lyle Swann gets time-zapped
into 1877 by the Reagan Administration.
"High Test Girls", 12 complete bouncing breast in one shot while the
bimbos are running nekkid through the woods; still unknown how they
found a camera that could handle it.
"Screwballs", the famous bowling-alley scene where the ball gets stuck
on an important anatomic part of stuntman Alan Daveau's and the
explosion that gets it off.
"Wavelength", when the bald-headed space babies come to life in their
sterilized barrels in a secret laboratory underneath Hollywood.
"Deathstalker", when the magician turns the Stalker into a Barbi Benton
look-alike and he nearly dies of chest pains.
"Amityville 3-D" when Candy Clark burns up on camera.
"Escape 2000" Olivia Hussey's stunt breasts in the shower scene.
AND THE WINNER IS:
"Screwballs" for the bowling ball levitation scene.
BEST GROSS-OUT SCENE
"They Call me Bruce?", the part about the guy who gets his jollies out
of being whipped on the back by Margaux Hemingway; not a pretty sight.
"Ator the Fighting Eagle", the tarantula torture scene.
"Bloodsucking Freaks", when the doctor decides to do "a little elective
neurosurgery" with a power drill while he's humming "The Marriage of
Figaro."
"Madman", when Madman puts Dave's head between the carburator and the
fan belt on Betsy's truck and turns his face into a pizza.
"The House on Sorority Row", head-in-teh-toilet scene.
AND THE WINNER IS:
"Madman," for terminal engine trouble.
BEST PICTURE:
"Hell's Angels Forever", documentary of the year, with a lot to say
about the correct role of women in society today; best on-camera use of
a ball peen hammer.
"The Evil Dead", Spam in a cabin.
"Revenge of the Ninja", every kind of kung fu known to man.
"Deathstalker", starring Barbi Benton's upper torso and a Miles
O'Keeffe look-alike who goes around throwing spears through people.
"Screwballs", most imaginative use of female breasts, best Porky's
ripoff.
AND THE WINNER IS:
"The Evil Dead", was there ever any doubt?
------------------
NOW FOR THIS WEEK'S REVIEW "NIGHT OF THE ZOMBIES"
"Night of the Zombies" is this flick about a SWAT team in Italy that
blows away some terrorists and then decices to go the jungles of New
Guinea to find out why everybody down there at the chemical research
center is turning into zombies. What the hey, they just has a little
genetic DNA accident, and now these rats are eating off people's faces
and all the lab assistants are turning zombie and chewing off each
other's shoulders. But when the SWAT team gets over there with this
blonde-bimbo TV reporter, they find out that a lot of the jungle tribes
have turned into Buckwheat zombies and making little boys eat their
daddies and stuff like that and the only way to get rid of 'em is to use
a shotgun on their brains until they disappear. Meanwhile all the
zombie natives start eating dead people and the bimbo decides she needs
to stop this by painting big white circles on her breasts so they'll
think she's one of them, but then things get a little too nasty when the
zombies want to eat her fingers and so she has to escape with the SWAT
team in a four-wheel drive vehicle and then take this Evinrude out to
the island where the research center is, and then they have to fight
about 9,000 Buckwheat zombies at once.
We are talking seven breasts. Maggot closeups. Forty-six dead bodies.
One motor vehicle chase. Five on-camera vomiting scenes. Heads roll.
Hands roll. Fingers roll. Forearms roll. Intestines roll. Seven
Quarts of blood. Two soldiers eaten alive. Two rat dinners. Two and a
half stars. Joe Bob says check this sucker out. Sanchez.dlos@XEROX.ARPA (04/23/84)
Friday the 13th, part 4 had better be good -- they've made it 4 times. By Joe Bob Briggs Remember when Betsy Palmer got her head sliced off with a machete and movie history was made? Course you do. We all do. I think all our lives were changed on June 13, 1980, the original "Friday the 13th," the dawn of the eighties, the day red meat came back into the American diet. In Friday NUMERO UNO Betsy played "I've Got A Secret" one too many times, and then when she shot bing Crosby's son through the eye with an arrow, let's face it, it was all over, the woman was setting herself up for the benihana treatment. I don't want to get all choked up talking about past history, though. I'm not even gonna mention the ax in the face, the double-reverse blade through the bombo's throat, the scene where Jason becomes a born-again mongoloid, or the national "Friday the 13th Part 2" scandal when the Motion Picture Airhead Association told everybody they were gonna X-rate the sucker unless the spear-through-the-twin-humps scene came out. We all have our personal favorite "Friday the 13th" highlight scenes. Mine is the one in NUMERO TWO-O where Jason sticks Betsy Palmer's mummified head in Alice's icebox. That scene always said a lot to me personally. In my book, it pretty much stated the final word on the subject of personal grooming in America. I've said it before, but I've got to give credit where it's due. Some people know how to make sequels and some people don't. Like "Halloween III," the one that didn't have Jamie Lee Curtis, we all know that was a joke. But these "Friday the 13th" people know their sequels. These people don't just make up n new story. These people made the exact movie four times in a row. I guess you know what I'm leading up to. I guess you know what day it was last week. It's time again. "Friday the 13th, Part 4" starts with Jason the Mongolard getting crated up and put in the ambulance and took off to the morgue so they can put him in the deep freeze. Well we know this don't mean diddly to Jason, especially since he already spent 22 years growing moss on his arms at the bottom of Crystal Lake, and while he was down there he had time to find a hockey-goalie mask to wear over his lizard face. First thing off the bat, this nerd working at the morgue is horsing around the utility room trying to get a nurse to get down on the concrete and make like Fritz Von Erich (a wrestler) trying to execute a double leg lock. Only all the bimbo will do is toss off lines like, "I am not going to fake any more orgasms for you," and "You're the Super Bowl of self-abuse," until the guy gives up and goes back to watching TV Aerobicise to get his jollies. We know what this means. It's biodegradable human garbage time. These two jerkolas didn't even have actual human sex before Jason decided to turn their bodies into grape Jello. They just thought about it a lot. (One thing I like about these numbers is they have a lot of moral philosophy mixed in.) He gets a hacksaw to the throat with a twist. She gets sliced open like a fried catfish. And then a few minutes later after that this fat girl is sitting by the raod eating a banana and trying to hitch, and somebody comes along and shoves a knife throught the back of her throat so it comes out the front, and I know, you probly have problems with this one. You're thinking, Is the fat-girl throat-gouging necessary to the plot? After all, she didn't ahve sex. She didn't screw around with anybody. She didn't even get a ride. But you have to remember, she was FAT. As you all know, I don't approve of gratuitous violence unless it's necesary to the plot. That's way I had to explain about the fat girl being fat. Okay, who can tell me what happens next? That's right. The kids go back in the woods. Why do they go back in the woods? Because they think Jason's dead? Becasue they are horny? Because they like to drink Coors and play Def Leppard on their Sony Walkmans and make like fruitcakes. Nope. Basically, it's because they're all dumb as a box of rocks. This, of course, is why they all deserve to die. Down to the nitty. First this brunette sex machine (Julie Aranson) decides to take off all her clothes in the middle of the night and go down to Crystal Lake and swim around and lay in the liferaft. It's not so bad when Judie gets a metal underwater surprise, but when her boyfriend (Alan Hayes) swims out there to find her, we're talking shishkebab action right through the lower privates. Then Jason puts his hockey maks back on and starts breathing around the screen and we get some more plot development: corkscrew through the hand, butcher knife in the forehead, bimbo-through-a-plate-glass-window, a particular nice scene where a guy is stabbed through the stag-movie screen, a guy who gets his skull mashed into the bathrooom tiles and his eyes gouged with Jason's thumbs, a little nympho who gets an ax through her terry-cloth jumpsuit, another guy who gets his hands nailed to the door, the big paint-the-house-red finale, and some stuff that the high sheriffs won't let me put in the newpaper. There's also some grisly scenes. They are calling this sucker "The Final Chapter," maybe because Jason's head gets turned into a box of melted Milk Duds at the end, but I wouldn't worry about it. The mongo's died four times now. We're talking 13 bodies, as usual. Sixteen breasts. Ted White does a hell of a Jason. Two gallons of blood. No motor-vehicle chases. No kung fu. Heads roll. Hands roll. Academy Award nominations for Kimberly Beck, the blonde fox Jamie Lee Curtis screamer role; Corey Feldman, this creepy kid who hangs around making slime glopola masks; Camilla and Carey More, as identical porkchops who ride around on their bikes trying to have mindless sex in Jason's woods. Joseph Zito, the director, gets one-half star off for cutting away too quick, especially on the butcher knife to the forehead scene. It's Joe's first time out, so I'm letting him off with a warning, but I want to tell you this one more time, Joe, if you're gonna make a sequel, MAKE A SEQUEL. THREE AND A HALF STARS. RED MEAT CHAMPION OF 1984. JOE BOB SAYS CHECK IT OUT. --------------------------------- JOE BOB RENMINDS YOU THAT THERE ARE ONLY 295 DRIVE-INS REMAINING IN THE ENTIRE NATION OF CANADA. WITHOUT ETERNAL VIGILANCE, IT CAN HAPPEN HERE. TO DISCUSS THE MEANING OF LIFE WITH JOE BOB, WRITE JOE BOB BRIGGS, P.O. BOX 225445, DALLAS, TEXAS 75222 ---------------------------------- JOE BOB'S MAILBAG To Editor (San Francisco Chronicle) One cannot help wonder that if children were being stripped naked, or stabbed with butcher knives repeatedly, or blown to pieces by a sawed-off shotgun, what kind of person "Joe Bob" would be considered then. If homosexuals were diemboweled with power drills or blacks hacked with an ax, what type of public outrage this would cause? And yet, in film after film, women are subjected to this treatment and nothing is thought to be wrong. Women are not products, we are human beings. We are like you. We get angry, cry, meet disappointments, get bored, frustraded. We get up in the morning, go to work, pay bils, clean sinks. This attitude indulged in by "Joe Bob" can only be inspired by hatred and fear. This sort of thing is not funny; it is only hurtful and degrading. Please stop. Cheryl Cain San Francisco Dear Cheryl: I hear you babe. But what about a nekkid black homosexual child that attacks ladies and squeezes their eyeballs out while they're cleaning the sink? Are you gonna tell me THAT's not funny?
wmartin@brl-tgr.ARPA (Will Martin ) (06/11/84)
So, are the Joe Bob columns we've been reading on the net the chainsawed censored ones, or the true gospel out of Texas? Will
Sanchez.dlos@XEROX.ARPA (06/15/84)
HERE IS A SPECIAL TREAT ALONG WITH TODAY'S COLUMN FOR ALL YOU JOE BOB
ADDICTS. I HOPE THAT IT DOESN'T SPOIL YOUR DAY. THE ARTICLE IS AFTER
THIS WEEKS REVIEW AND COULD ULTIMATELY SPOIL YOUR CONCEPT OF WHO JOE BOB
IS.
MIGUEL
---------------------------
YOU KNOW WHAT WE'RE TALKIN' ABOUT IN "BREAKIN'" -- A WHOLE LOT OF DANCE
FU.
There used to be some racists in my neighborhood, so every once in a
while me and Bobo Rodriguez would go over and beat the tar out of 'em.
Normally I'm not a violent kind of guy, specially when it means I might
get my face mashed into a potato pancake, but one thing I learned form
"Billy Jack" is there's times when you just have to let a 32-ounce
Louisville Slugger do the talking or else the violent bigots and
intolerant people will take over your city.
I never did ask Bobo what race he was, but I'm pretty sure he was a
Negro. His skin was the color of Taster's Choice Decaffinated, which
means he could go either way, but one time he tried to change is name to
Bobo al-Salaam, and when he did that everybody started calling him "Al"
because they thought he was saying "Al Sloan," and he kept trying to
pronounce it for three, four weeks but finally he gave it up and went
back to Bobo Rodriguez. The only thing I ever heard Bobo say about his
roots is his family come from somewhere in Norway.
Anyhow, Bobo's the guy that first taught me about racism. Bobo's the
guy who showed me it's not the color of a man's skin that matters, it's
how much money he's got. Bobo used to say, "Hey, look at Sammy Davis
Jr. He's black, he's Jewish, he's short, he wears too much jewlery.
But let's face it, he did it his way."
I used to be a racist. When I was growing up out in Lamb County,
Texas, it was against the law not to be a racist. Even the black people
were racists. They had to walk 10, 15 miles out of their way to find a
Meskin farm-worker they could refuse to talk to. And the Meskins were
just waiting around for the Vietnamese to show up so they could make
boat people jokes. That's what happens when you lose a war. Pretty
soon you can't go in SevenEleven without wondering whether those guys
are putting dog meat in the frozen burritos.
I got over that pretty quick, though. Racism is a nasty beast. It
makes you stereotype people. I first realized this when Bobo introduced
me to that enormous contribution of the black-skinned peoples of the
earth to this country of ours. You know what I'm talking about.
I'm talking Negro Dancing.
Rhymin' and climbin', boppin' and hoppin', glidin' and slidin', jukin'
and pukin' -- whatever you want ot call it, we're talking a whole lot of
g's missing out of their words.
Bobo Rodriguez was a great Negro Dancer his ownself. Back in the
sixties he was one of those guys who would do splits out in front of the
high school marching band and lean back so far he could turn his body
into a piece of human salt-water taffy and touch the Astroturf with his
forehead between his ankles and keep on stridin' till he did a 360 flip
and wrapped his ankles around his neck and spun a baton around his
wrists like a peice of Jimmy Dean Sausage. It was too bad Bobo wasn't
in the marching band and so he got kicked out of school for doing that.
Anyhow, I was thinking of Bobo last week whe I headed out to the
Century D.I. in Grand Prairie to check "Breakin'," starring Shabba-Doo
and Boogaloo Shrimp. (It's fairly obvious that these Muslim names are
catching on.) We got some of the finest Negro Dancing since the time I
saw the halftime show between Grambling State and Texas Southern in the
Cotton Bowl. And those guys didn't even know how to dance on their
heads. To me there's basically three kinds of break-dance head spins.
1) Basic Skull Fracture: at least three times all the way around,
with major hair loss.
2) The Suicide: arms straight, legs straight, ready to use your face
for a Dr. Scholl's arch support.
3) Premanent Brain Damage.
"Breakin'" shoulda been called "How To Teach Stupid Honkies How To Rip
Up Their Danskins and Thrive on Jive." It starts off with this
"Flashdance" lookalike bimbo named Kelly doing a "Staying Alive" dance
class routine where the object is to see how much of your jumpsuit you
can get bunched up around your rear end before you lose your PG. Kelly
is one of those Rhodes Scholars whose idea of a good time is to go sit
on the beach with guys from the chorus line and talk about their
Liberace record collections, if you know what I mean and I think you do.
So Kelly meets this gay Negro who takes her over to Venice Beach so she
can watch people do some pretzel-sandwich moves, and pretty soon a
couple of brain-damaged jukers named Shabba-Doo and Boogaloo are on
their way over to the Arthur Murray Studios to hassle Kelly's extremely
white teacher. He kicks 'em out for dancing like black people.
Next thing, a couple bad dudes from Watts show up and call the two
jukers "chicken." I guess you know what that means.
Dance Fu.
But Shabba-Doo and Boogaloo blow it when the big Friday-night rumble
dance comes along. The guys from Watts wipe 'em off the floor because
they have a hot bimbo and Our Team don't. So what do they do? They
decide they're gonna teach a white person to dance. So they start
practicing in the garage where Shabba-Doo and Boogaloo live, only when
it's time to break for lunch they go down to the nearest country-western
redneck bar for a bite, cause what the hey, there won't be anybody in
there that cares about two black dudes walking around with a white girl.
I think you might be starting to see what we're dealing with here: IQ's
in the single digits.
Anyhow, there's a lot more plot in there, specially after they get a
Tony Franciosa lookalike to be their agent and he gets 'em, booked in
the big dance contest where everybody does ballet except for these three
geeks in tennis shoes. But at the last minute Shabba-Doo decides he
don't want to show for the contest and Kelly keeps trying to tell him
he's just acting black, but he says "No way Jose, I'm not going unless
you see something first." And so he takes her out to where this
crippled kid with no legs is break-dancing on his crutches and she
thinks. hey, if I think black maybe I can be black, and pretty soon
they're on their way to the big production number, which I won't reveal
except I'll say, we're talking serious brain damage.
No blood, no breasts, no beasts, but a whole lot of killer dancing.
Kung fu. Dance fu. Great broom-dance scene. Heads spin. Legless
break-dancing. Drive In Academy Award nominations for Lucinda Dickey,
as the white guinea pig; Shabba-Doo; Boogaloo; and Bobo al-Salaam, who
made it all possible. Three and a half stars.
Joe Bob says check it out.
---------------------------
JOE BOB'S MAILBAG
JOE BOB REMINDS YOU THAT THERE IS ONLY ONE DRIVE-IN REMAINING IN THE
ENTIRE NATION OF PAPUA NEW GUINEA. WITHOUT ETERNAL VIGILANCE, IT COULD
HAPPEN HERE. TO DISCUSS THE MEANING OF LIFE WITH JOE BOB, OR JUST TO
WASTE 20 CENTS ON A STAMP, WRITE JOE BOB BRIGGS, P.O. BOX 225445,
DALLAS, TX 75222.
Dear Joe Bob
On September 1, 1984, after 26 years on active duty, over 20 of which
have been spent as an attorney with the Judge Advocate General's
Department, Lt. Col. Harold A. Teeter will retire from the U.S. Air
Force.
Teeter, as he likes to be called, is probly your biggest fan in Europe
and is single-handedly responsible for spreading the gospel according to
Joe Bob to American military attorneys throughout Europe. Of course, we
must live vicariously over here. There's no Drive-In Heaven season over
here in Germany. We are talking only indoor crapola starring the likes
of Dudley Moore and some royal jerkolas from Ponca City. Through it
all, Teeter has kept us supplied with the latest from the Drive-In Mecca
in Rockwall,Texas. Now that he is retiring, panic has begun to
insinuate itself among the ranks. Where will we get our next Joe Bob
fix? (Teeter's daughter, a student at North Texas State, faithfully
mails your columns every week.) Part of the problem is that we're too
cheap to subscribe to the Times Herald. Besides, the way the mail moves
over here, we wouldn't see this week's review until after then next
Texas-OU game.
Teeter wote to the Stars and Stripes ("an unoficail publication for US
Armed Forces overseas ... published in conjunction with the Armed Forces
Information Program of the Department of Defense," if you know what I
mean and I doubt anybody does) to see about getting your column in that
rag. He received an encouraging response from one of the editors who
was familiar with your work. However, it's been six months and still no
Joe Bob. Rumor has it that the wimpola high sheriffs don't like your
frequent references to Arkansas Polio Weed, sex and gratuitous violence
against women.
To get back to the mission of this missive, I need a favor. Before
Teeter goes out to pasture, we plan to give him a real bash (more like a
roast -- no blood, breasts or bimbofu, but as I said, the military
doesn't appreciate humor) with a momento or two he'll appreciate. A
letter from Joe Bob would be the ultimate gift.
Joe Bob, if you can find the time to reply in between your busy
drive-in schedule, please send it to me for presentation to Teeter.
Don't be afraid to let 'er rip. Our best to Wanda Bodine and UOAS.
James A. Young III, Major, USAF
APO New York
Dear Major Jimbo:
Anything for our fighting men, specially the ones we send over to
Europe so the Communist German girls with hairy underarms can spit on
'em.
Even though Teeter's a lawyer, I'm sending a little present his way.
Tell him it's in the box marked "TEETER'S EYES ONLY CONFIDENTIAL SUPER
TOP SECRET MP'S KEEP YOUR GODURN HANDS OFF."
Did you know they grow some fake Arkansas Polio Weed over in Turkey?
---------------------------
Dear Joe,
Joe Bob my husband is reading the paper he's laughing and carring on
about the great movie critic. Ha! Ha! I think that's a matter of
opinion. I bet you watch the movies on your big screen T.V. Sitting
back with your favorite beer and porobably some Dr. Scholl's foot
powder. (If you know what I mean) (foot in mouth)
It just goes to show ya everything's big in Texas including your mouth.
And an awful lot of hot air lately. You've been real busy the way the
wind's been blowing around here. When I saw the ad in Friday's paper I
was convinced. More than likely you have a woman helping you write all
those things. A man couldn't do it alone. I hope this letter raises a
brow like it did on my husband's.
Jean Smith
Mesquite, Tex.
P.S. If you ever need any pointers just call.
Dear Jean:
On your husband's what?
---------------------------
HERE COMES THE SPOILER SO IF YOU DON'T WANT TO FIND OUT WHO IS THE REAL
JOE BOB DON'T READ BELOW THIS LINE.
CONSIDER YOURSELFS WARNED.
MIGUEL
This Man Writes Joe Bob (from the San Francisco Chronicle, Sunday, May
27).
SPOILER! The "real" Joe Bob is revealed in this article.
Though he has never publicly admitted it, John Bloom, an award-winning
writer for the Dallas Times Herald, is the man behind the Joe Bob Briggs
column that now extends weekly to 28 papers across th country. Besides
the Sunday Datebook, Joe Bob now appears in the Denver Post, Cleveland
Plain Dealer, the Seattle Times and the Phoenix Republic Gazette. The
L.A. Times, which syndicates the feature, said it is "adding two to
three papers a week."
Editors at the Dallas Times Herald could not have predicted such
popularity for Joe Bob when the column was introduced two years ago. The
feature was actually created largely by accident, a mischievous device
to report a tired topic.
"The whole thing started as a Sunday feature assignment," recalls
Special Sections Editor Ron Smith. "Everyone had been writing stories
about the death of the drive-in movie. "We though that was bull." So
Bloom was put on the assignment. "It would have been just another Sunday
story if Bloom hadn't come up with the idea of writing it from the
perspective of a drive-in regular."
Bloom says the idea percolated almost from the time he joined the Times
Herald. He saw it as a way of serving readers interested in the films
typically shown at drive-ins without taking the movies too seriously.
In a previous stint with the Times Herald as a reporter, Bloom won two
Headliner awards and a Robert F. Kennedy award for social reporting for
articles on the Ku Klux Klan, an investigation into the death of a
Mexican-American at the hands of police and a series on police abuse of
minority groups in the Southwest. But he had never worked as a movie
critic and wasn't quite sure how to approach the assignment.
"When I first started as film critic, I felt it was my responsibility to
review everything that opened in this market. I was turning out columns
with for or five sraight reviews and then a couple of films like 'Dead
and Buried.' After a few weeks, it struck me as silly to review these as
art. I wanted to find a way to treat them as they were meant to be
treated, as a product. Joe Bob was the result."
Bloom introduced Joe Bob with a longish biographical sketch. Joe Bob, he
explained, was about 19 years old, had at least three ex-wives (he may
have forgotten a couple), was unemployed and claimed to have seen 6800
drive-in moves, counting triple features.
"Joe-Bob's personality, his love life--it all grew out of the movie he
reviewed," says Bloom. "The movies came first and the persona just
evolved. We tried to imagine what a person who liked these movies would
be like and to create a consistent character. I began giving him friends
and girl friends and so on."
In the time since Joe Bob began, Bloom has hired an agent, signed with a
syndicate and shopped for the biggest book advance he could get. The
book, an autobiography of Joe Bob from the day he was born in Frontage
Road, Texas, is due from Dell this fall. Its title: "A Guide to Western
Civilization."
According to Bloom, the columns are among the easiest writing he has
ever done for pay. Each column requires three hours of his time, he
says. Two hours to see the movie and one to write 1200 to 1500 words.
Asked whether he might eventually grow tired of Joe Bob, Bloom answers,
"It isn't the sort of thing that can go on forever. I imagine reader
interest will die out after a while. But I guess I'll be writing Joe Bob
for at least the next four years." That's the length of his syndicate
contract.
"It doesn't bother us that Joe Bob probably will offend some people,"
says Angela Rinaldi, managing editor of development for the Los Angeles
Times Syndicate. "Controversy attracts readers. Besides, this is an
extremely good-humored and well-controlled kind of offensiveness."
Interestingly enough, drive-in theater owners don't like the column,
Bloom says. "They don't think Joe Bob is typical of the average drive-in
movie patron. They think he creates a bad image for the drive-ins.
They've been trying to bill themselves as a family entertainment since
1946. It has never worked, but they don't like to be represented as the
garbage pit for exploitation movies."
Bloom has never appeared in public as Joe Bob and chooses to keep as low
a profile as possible. He began to realize the extent of Joe Bob's
popularity on Halloween weekend in 1982 when he went to the Gemini Drive
in outside Dallas for the First Annual Drive-In Film Festival and Car
Rally. "A group of Joe Bob enthusiasts and supporters surrounded the
concesssion stand and chanted, "We want Joe Bob! We want Joe Bob!" They
refused to leave, and were threatening a small riot, until I made an
announcemnt over the P.A. system and the crowd dispersed. But I didn't
appear in person."
On another occasion a mental patient came to the lobby of the Times
Herald and refused to leave withou an audience with Joe Bob. Bllom
remembered: "She carried with her a trash can filled with weeds. She
started screaming and was getting violent until someone was able to
appease her. But she never got her audience with Joe Bob."
Bloom says he has received anonymous letters where the columns have been
cut into pieces with such notes on the margin as "You're going to die!"
and "Death to Joe Bob!" Despite the fact Joe Bob is his creation, Bloom
laments that his red-neck spoof has proved more popular than some of his
serious work. He and Texas Monthly Associate Editor Jim Atkinson spent
two years researching and writing a book on the Candace Montgomery
murder case. A serious piece of journalism, the pair thought it would be
fairly commercial, because the case was so sensational. But they had to
beg agents to handle it and publishers to look at it. "But then Joe Bob
comes along," says Bloom, "and I have publishers begging me for a book."
Still, one gets the impression that the 31-year-old columnist is
enjoying the notoriety that surrounds Joe Bob. He says his wife reads
the column "without fail every week and falls down laughing." Bloom is
"continually amazed" at reactions from other cities. Pro and con leters
to various newspapers have numbered in the thousands (the Chronicle
alone has received nrearly 500 pieces of correspondence). "In San
Antonio," he said, "my column was completely accepted as a part of life.
On the other hand, San Francisco has evoked the most vociferous
reaction. Usually the protests to Joe Bob come from the conservative
side. But the Bay Area readership has ben the most aggressive, a mixture
of hate mail and loyal suport. Joe Bob is enjoying it." And then Bloom
added, with just a touch of nervousness tinging his light Texas accent,
"I'm sure it's a wonderful city, San Francisco, as long as I don't have
to visit there."
------------------------------------------------------------howes@unc.UUCP (Byron Howes ) (06/19/84)
Folks, I hate to be a party-pooper (I really do) and I enjoy Joe Bob Briggs
as much as anyone, but.... If I recall correctly, Joe Bob's column is
copyrighted by the Dallas Morning Herald. I haven't seen a 'copied with
permission' notice (or even a copied 'without' permission notice) on any of
the transcriptions of the column appearing on the net. C'mon folks. Read
the usenet Emily Post!
--
Byron Howes
UNC - Chapel Hill
({decvax,akgua}!mcnc!unc!howes)Sanchez.dlos@XEROX.ARPA (07/30/84)
OK, Gang here is this week's column enjoy. Yes I managed to catch up with putting the column out weekly again. But, alas I must tell all you faithful followers of JBB, with a sad heart that I will be out of the office all next week and will not be able to put out the column for 8/3/84. I will try to get a copy of the column form one of the faithful here in Dallas so that I can type it along with the 8/10/84 column. Miguel JOE BOB GOES TO THE DRIVE-IN JOE BOB DEFENDS MISS AMERICA 1984 AND "CANNONBALL II" Why are we discriminating against this woman just because she's black, female, nekkid, AC-DC, and Miss America? I want you people to back off and give Vanessa a break so she can get her head together and maybe go do some boat shows or something. I'm sick of this kind of racism in America and I don't want to have to tell you again. Vanessa's tough, though. She can handle the p.r. She can handle a lot of things. She can handle slimeballs like Bob Guccione. She can handle handles. She can handle pothographers who don't know how to focus the dang thing. She can handle millions of Americans making fun of her garbonzas. Vanessa can handle it all. Vanessa took a licking and came back ticking. Out at the Century Drive-In in Grand Prairie the other night, we all took a poll on Vanessa: 1) Is she or isn't she? 2) Does she or doesn't she? 3) Would she if you gave her a hundred bucks? Vanessa got extremely high marks on all three questions. That's the kind of healthy American female we're talking about. Besides, the people that run that contest in Atlantic City should of known something was wrong in the first place. I didn't know the bimbo was black until they put in in the paper. I thought she just had a great tan. When she meets people, the probly say "Funny, you don't look black." Vanessa's the whitest black person since the Amos and Andy Show, and so my guess is the Miss America people didn't know what they had till the morning after the pageant was all over, and they woke up and said "Oh My God we elected a Negro!" and somebody said, "I told you it would happen if we kept putting one in the finals," and then ever since then they been trying to get the goods on the woman. I mean, what if they looked at the private pictures of every bimbo elected to be Miss America? They'd probly find doggies and elephant harnesses and all kinds of stuff. But that's what happens when you're black and nekkid in America. Speaking of famous black people, Sammy (I Did It My Way) Davis is one of the 17,000 stars in "Cannonball II," and the reason I bring it up is I notice Sammy han't been on the Carson show for several days now and so I wondered what happened? Sammy, baby, slap that knee and let us know you're around, how bout it? Now I figured it out, though. Sammy was busy making "Cannonball" which is one of the best sequels since "Death Wish II." Remember how the first "Cannonball Run" was already a sequel since it ripped off "Canonball," one of the all-time great cross-country road-race flicks? Remember how "Cannonball Run" didn't make any sense cause you couldn't tell who was winning the dang race until the end? Well, it's hard to believe, but in "Cannonball 2" you cain't even tell at the end. They made the exact same movie, except they told Farrah Fawcett to take a hike because she was zero in the first one and she refused to pop her top for Burt Reynolds, and they forgot to put the ending on it. Speaking of Dean Martin, I forget what he does in this flick except I remember he checks into the Dunes and Sammy hangs outside Dean's 18th-story hotel window in one of those hilarious Rat Pack scenes. Then Dean does a great joke about his drinking: "My liver died last year." (While I'm thinking of it where the heck is Joey Bishop? If you're gonna do "Cannonball," let's get the entire Rat Pack to do "Cannonball.") Let's see, who else we got? Oh yeah, how could I forget? Telly! The original Mr. T. Kojak gets to slap Charles Nelson Reilly's glassess off. Then there's Sussan Anton and Catherine Bach, who oil up their skin and go around stealing cars by exposing parts of their jumpsuits. And, of course, we got Sid Caesar and Tim Conway and Don Knotts. How about Arte Johnson? George "Goober" Lindsey? You want to talk acting? What do the words Joe Theismann mean to you? I'm talking Mel Tills. I'm talking Ricardo Montalban. I'm talking Jim Nabors and Shirley MacLaine and Louis Nye. Excuse me, I'm getting carried away. Finally, we're talking two of the biggest stars in drive-in history. Big Frank, who looks like he was so excited about being in "Cannonball 2" that he put on and extra 40, 50 pounds to get ready for the performance. And . . . hold your breath . . . Jacky Chan. Mr Kung Fu 1982. The New Bruce Lee. The only thing better than Jacky Chan's kung fu in this flick is the scene where Goober fights with a monkey. Well, I take it back. There is one scene where a pickup drives over a Firebird that's pretty good, too, and then there's the scene where the Racing Nuns go buy a six-pack and some chili dogs, and I almost forgot the one where Sammy, Dom and Burt all dress up like women and dance to a Supremes song, but for my money the best scene in the flick is where Jacky Chan kung fus 12 Hell's Angels for no apprarent reason. Absolutely no plot to get in the way of the story. Two breasts. Half pint blood. One beast (Telly Savalas). Two solid hours of motor vehicle chases. Five automobile crashes. One Marlon Brando imitation. One levitating car. One underwater car. Every guest on the Carson show for the past 20 years except David Brenner. Great kung fu. Monkey fu. Some bimbo fu. Monkey driving limo. Four brawls. One little old lady thrown through a plate glass window. One trailer house crash. Arab jokes. Jap jokes. Sammy wears all his jewlery. Three stars. Joe Bob says check it out. FROM THE JOE BOB RELIGIOUS NEWS DESK: HOUSTON (AP) - A Baptist preacher whose wife is accused of prostitution has been acquitted of aggravated assault against a sheriff's deputy in an altercation that followed the woman's arrest. The Rev. Larkin Power . . . had been accused in hitting Stamper in the Sheriff's Department parking lot (right where it hurts) after Power had been taken to the station for investigation of promotion of prostitution. Power's wife, Josephine Elizabeth Power, had been arrested that afternoon at a Holiday Inn . . . after a "party" arranged by vice squad officers. Power was taken into custody at the hotel when he emerged form his weekly Rotary Club meeting and saw his wife being taken away in handcuffs. It's a pretty sick society we got when a Babtist preacher, minding his own business in the privacy of his own Holiday Inn, gets kicked around by the cops like this. I'm sure his bimbo was just in there witnessing to some sinners, and matter of fact, I wish she'd come up here and witness to me. JOE BOB'S MAILBAG JOE BOB REMINDS YOU HAT SWAZILAND IS DOWN TO ONE DRIVE-IN AND MOST OF THE FLICKS ARE FOUR, FIVE YEARS OLD. WITHOUR ETERNAL VIGILANCE, IT COULD HAPPEN HERE. TO DISCUSS THE MEANING OF LIFE WITH JOE BOB, OR TO FIND OUT HOW KERRY VON ERICH DOES THE IRON CLAW ON CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING, WRITE JOE BOB BRIGGS, P.O. BOX 225445, DALLAS, TX 75222. Ciao, JBB, I'm about three weeks behind in your column, so I don't know if you've heard the latest news from Bella Roma. Some enterprising Roman cartel decided not everything in Texas should be bigger, so the Circus Maximus has converted to the World's Biggest Drive-In. However, since Romans are not the best drivers in the world, no one is allowed to drive in. You have to park outside (ragtop up!) and walk in. Now this should be a fine idea, but personal hygiene doesn't seem to have a high priority here (If you know what I mean, and I think you do) and the Circo Massimo seats THOUSANDS! Imagine thousands of Italians screaming as heads roll. Arrivederci, mio amico Debbie Saunier American Embassy Rome, Italy Dear Deb: The diplomatic personnel of this country are disgustingly ignorant. Don't you know the Romans INVENTED rolling heads? All we did was take their idea and make it into an art. Dear Joe Bob: Greetings form the Imperial City! Just wanted you to know that some of us here in your nation's capital are keeping eternal vigilance down at the bastion of LADEDA (we have no fun here) journalism, the Washington Post in order to get them to run your column. Joe Bob, you gotta help! How's about a little pressure from your end - maybe send a few of them long-horn bimbos up to Ben Bradlee's place for some friendly persuasion (if you know what I mean, and I'm sure you do)? We'd do just about anything to spread the word sabout the impending demise of the Drive-In as we now know it. Hope you can lend a hand. Sincerely, Rich Miller Washington, D.C. Dear Rich: We don't have any horned bimbos here in Texas. You must be talking about some kind of East Coast pinko-media bimbo that's only found in the Greater D.C. area. I'll check Oklahoma, but if they don't have 'em, could we just send some HORNY bimbos? They can do the job if you'll be in charge of getting 'em cleaned up before they go in to see big Ben. Dear Joe Bob, What about the religious implications of the drive-in? Do you perceive any theology - either latent or up front - in any of these outdoor epics you write so stirringly about? Maybe during one or more of your drive-in evenings you've run across a movie that my readers should know abut. Perhaps a possession/exorcism/ demon-worship story along the lines of "Amityville Horror", or "Children of the Corn." Is God at the drive-in? Please advise. Cordially, John Justice Raleigh, N.C. Dear fellow Babtist: Yes I do perceive some latex theology at the drive-in, but you'll have to read about it in my book in the chapter "Where Are You Parking in the Drive-In of Life?" about the night I wlaked that drive-in aisle and got saved. Course, the most religious double feature ever made was that Roman Catholic twin-bill, "I Drink Your Blood" and " I Eat Yor Skin."