BowlesSR.dlos@PARC-MAXC.ARPA (06/04/83)
Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In
By Joe Bob Briggs
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Bimbos behind bars:
Joe Bob says it's good
to be back in America
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Wanda Bodine claims I ruined her Rockabilly Glamourcize tape
and I owe her 45 bucks for a new one, but she's lying through her
fangs. The only reason I went by Le Bodine last week was to find
out how in the name of Frogs she got somebody to take her back to
France this year, especially since I told those Turkish sailors
in Houston she was gonna try to make a run for it and they put
out to sea two days early so they wouldn't get trapped and have
to haul her across again.
But when I got out to the Grapevine Highway, I knew things
were a lot more serious. Next door to the trailer house Wanda
put up a Porta-sign-on-wheels with neon letters hanging off it,
and it said:
INSTITUT DE BEAUTE BODINE
"Look Like a Hundred Francs"
Vertical Hair-do Training
Aerobic Dancewear
Exclusive Mid-Cities Franchisee
for "Rockabilly Glamourcize"
Opening July, 1983
There wasn't nothing back of the sign but a big pile of
gravel that Lute Fenwick had evidently brought over from
Cleburne, because Western Auto managers get a break on rock
prices and he's been trying to find some way to get Vida
Stegall's attention. I know Vida was there because as soon as I
flung open the door to the beauty-parlor side of the trailer, all
I could see was about 17 porkchops stuffed in yellow stockings
that had "Le Bodine" stamped right across the garbonza portion.
They had the Rockabilly Glamourcize tape going so loud that it
made you part blind, and if you squinted your eyes and looked
across the *top* of the room all you saw was these heads poping
up and down like jumping jacks. I never saw so many stacks of
shellac in my life.
I did the only thing a man in my position *could* do. I
yanked "Rockabilly Glamourcize" right out of the Betamax.
The first thing I saw when my head cleared was Cherry
Dilday, wearing one of those ribbon scarf doohickeys that you
just wrap around three parts of your body and tie behind your
neck and everything else shows, and I have to say the sight was
so disgusting that it reminded me of that movie Cherry made in
New Orleans, "Mardi Gras Massacre," where the director had her
get buck nekkid on a table so a geek could tie up her arms and
legs, slice open her chest, and pull out her heart on camera.
Cherry's last words in that movie are, "Whatever turns you on."
This particular scene at Le Bodine did not turn me on.
Now I think my views on aerobic dancing are well known to
the general public by this time, and I think my views on the
character of Wanda Bodine, Cherry Dilday, and the entire
Rockabilly Glamourcize dance team are also well publicized. As
you turkeys know, I'm not a violent kind of guy. I could've
turned Wanda Bodine's face into a Cheese Whopper, but that's not
too cool, is it? I probly could've sliced open Cherry Dilday's
upper chest cavity with one of the super-size steak knives they
give you at Dunston's. That would have been rash and messy.
So all I did was rip up one little bitty Rockabilly
Glamourcize videotape and tell Wanda she's as dumb as a box of
rocks and the only sign that place needed was "See Rock City" and
then I suggested what she could do with her pink Renault, and as
soon as I said that she started screaming because that wasn't
*her* Renault, it was one that Maurice bought for Ugh Barclay's
sister so she could sell Mary Kay Cosmetics in it.
I figured it out as soon as she said "Maurice." Remember
the guy last year who wanted to show Wanda his hotel room in
Italy, and she went with him and showed up a week later with
enough jack to change Le Coiffure to Le Bodine and hire Vida to
do manicures only? *She found the sucker again this year.*
Touched him for another few hundred, got him to spring for a
Frog ticket, told her he'd build Institut de Beaute Bodine on the
side of the highway. Probly took her back to Italy, too, and
he'll regret it the rest of his life. I never met Maurice but I
imagine he was fairly normal and decent, for a Frog anyway,
before all this happened, but he don't have a prayer now.
It was so depressing that I needed a good women-in-cages
flick to give me some perspective on real life. Of course, most
of you maniac turkeys already know what I'm talking about because
you were all acting like gorillas last weekend at the Astro D.I.
We're talking lust. We're talking perversion. We're talking
male guards in a female prison.
We're talking best Bimbos Behind Bars of 1983.
We're talking "Chained Heat."
"Chained Heat," of course, is Part 2 of the serious
documentary study of our nation's prisons that began with "The
Concrete Jungle," currently No. 2 on the Joe Bob Briggs Best of
'83 Drive-in Movie rankings. The same turkeys made this one,
only instead of Jill St. John as the crooked prison officer, they
got Stella Stevens. And instead of Tracy Bregman as the little
lambchop that gets put through a commercial Osterizer, they got
Ms. "Exorcist" herself, Linda Blair.
You turkeys know how I feel about sequels, and the reason
"Halloween III" was a ripoff and "Friday the 13th III" was such a
great flick. If you know what you're doing, the sequel can be
*exactly the same movie* as the first one. That's what we got
here. It starts out with Linda Blair going to prison for *no
reason at all.* She really wanted to be an interior decorator,
but then she killed this guy in a car accident, but it wasn't her
fault, but it doesn't matter because they pack her off to the
Crossbar Hotel. Okay, then we got the Good Friend (poufy
brunette named Sharon Hughes, about a 6 on a 10 scale) and the
Evil Friend (Sybil Danning, a blonde fox, as the white gang
leader). Then we got the black gang leader, Tamara Dobson. In
this version she's a graduate of Vassar. We got the warden, John
Vernon, who likes to take jailhouse bimbos to his hot tub and
entertain, if you know what I mean and I think you do. We got
the S & M freak guard, Henry Silva, who does pimp and drug work.
This one has some plot, but it doesn't get in the way.
These bimbos-behind-bars people are definitely maturing as
artists. "The Concrete Jungle" had less than 10 breasts. This
time we got 33 complete breasts without any body-stocking fakes.
One shower scene. Three rapes. One bimbo neck impaled on a
wire. Two strippers doing their stuff. One transvestite
wrassling scene. Minimum of lesbo stuff. Two brawls, one black-
one-white, with plenty of gouging, hair-pulling, knees in
embarrassing places. Pretty good hot-tub murder. Nine corpses.
No motor vehicle chases. Another death-in-the-john scene.
Moderate kung fu. Heads do not roll.
Academy Award nominations for Stella Stevens, Sybil Danning,
director Paul Nicolas, Henry Silva as the geek sadist prison
guard. I would've ranked this one higher, because I was
expecting some pickets from the feminine movement, but I han't
heard a peep out of those bimbos. So, three and a half stars,
and it goes to No. 7 on the Best of '83 list, right behind "10 to
Midnight," the best Chuck Bronson-sweeps-the-scum-off-the-street
flick of the year, and just ahead of "The House on Sorority Row,"
about a psycho who makes meat salad out of college girls.
Joe Bob says check it out.
*
A lot of you asphalt-brains asked me about "King Frat," but
everybody who knows their outdoor flicks would know that this is
a 1979 drive-in classic that they just brought back for a little
trip down memory lane. "King Frat" ranks as the finest "Animal
House" ripoff ever made. It's so disgusting that I can't tell
*any* of it in the paper, but if you rearrange two letters in the
title you get the general idea of what 80 percent of the jokes
are about. If you know what I mean. And I think you do.
Hang in there.
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