Monstervision's Joe Bob Briggs Looks At

The Toxic Avenger Part 3:
The Last Temptation of Toxie

"Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In" for 1/5/90
By Joe Bob Briggs
Drive-In Movie Critic of Grapevine, Texas

Before I tell you about "The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie," I've got a few words to say about this NC double-A dealie called Prop 42 they're voting on this week in Dallas. I'll be a delegate at the convention, representing Tarleton State Cow College, where I went for two weeks to study nuclear physics and rodeo, and I think there's a lot of MYTHS and MISCONCEPTIONS about Prop 42 that I'd like to get cleared up.

For example, people say that we wouldn't have any decent basketball teams if we enforced the new SAT scores. As it stands right now, my little nephew Wilbur could get into college as long as he could hit an 18-foot jump shot, and Wilbur can't even write his name. Shoot, Wilbur can't even PRONOUNCE his name. Now I know there are good strong arguments that Wilbur should go to college ANYWAY, like people say, "Well, Wilbur's just different. He has intelligence, it's just not ORDINARY intelligence. Like he can throw an alley-oop pass. Not EVERYBODY can throw an alley-oop pass. What difference does it make that he can't do short division yet?"
Or the other argument they make is, "See, Wilbur would never get a CHANCE to go to college if he couldn't play basketball. And you know why? Cause Wilbur is dumber than dirt. But now he CAN."
So that makes a lot of sense, especially when you realize that, if Prop 42 passes, then all college basketball players will have to score a combined 400 on the SAT's and mark all the little circles with a Number Two pencil. Last year we had some players we let in anyway, and they spent the WHOLE year in remedial classes learning how to fill in a little circle with a pencil without going outside the lines.
But think of it this way:
At least they were in COLLEGE where they belong.
One thing we started doing in Texas last year was make all the high school seniors read "Animal Farm," and then ask em questions about it, like "When the pig starts talking, what is that?"
"a) Exaggeration
"b) Satire
"c) A successful genetic cross-breeding program at Texas A&M
"d) Stupid"
The correct answer, of course, is "d," "Stupid," but you'd be surprised how many future scholar-athletes answer "c," because they believe that "Animal Farm" is an important book and so it must have important stuff in it. These scholar-athletes are the only ones for the past 20 years who can't seem to figure out that "Animal Farm" STINKS.
Of course, there's always one more argument used to say that good basketball players ought to go to college no matter what. It's that, if they go to college, it will help their "self-esteem."
Of course, the players we got here in Texas don't think there's anything else to DO in college except play basketball. I'd say their self-esteem is just fine.
I'm gonna vote for raising the entry requirements to a good firm 410 combined SAT. This means that every future basketball player who attends an NC double-A school would have to be able to operate a "Speak-and-Spell" and work the TV remote control, even if the TV is equipped for cable and has the full 83 channels on it. This is the least we can expect of our future national role models.

And speaking of role models, The Toxic Avenger is back for the third time. The 98-pound Jerry Lewis lookalike mop boy who fell into a vat of lime-green nuclear waste and ate half of New Jersey, then wind-surfed to Japan and ate half of Tokyo in Part 2, is back again in "The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie," in which he becomes not only the first superhero from New Jersey, but the most REDUNDANT superhero from New Jersey. They even did the gross-out scene from part two again, the one where this horribly mutated vegetable-face mutant is sitting on the toilet and . . . oh, no, I can't go on. Some things you can put in the newspaper, but you don't WANT to put em in the newspaper.

Anyhow, this time Toxie and his blind platinum-blonde girlfriend with enormous garbonzas have to fight a bunch of terrorists called the Warner Brothers who machine-gun video stores who refuse to accept the new "top 20 titles only" policy of the evil Apocalypse, Inc. "But we want VARIETY," the residents of Tromaville, New Jersey, whine. And then the Warner Brothers blow their heads off. Fortunately, the Toxic Avenger is lurking around the corner, and he shows up in time to rip their intestines out and skip rope with em.

The Avenger, whose face looks like a piece of lettuce that's been mashed under a dump truck wheel, wouldn't do anything to endanger the residents of Tromaville--except, of course, if somebody PAID him. And so, for a mere $357,000, the price of an operation to restore his girlfriend's sight, he decides, "Oh, well, okay, what the heck is a little PCB dumping in the Atlantic, a few radioactive hand-grenade sales to Third World countries?" And he goes to work for Apocalypse and starts wearing a traffic cone on his head and--most horrifying at all--reading Donald Trump's "The Art of the Deal" at breakfast!

In other words, this one doesn't make any sense either. I loved it!
One breast.
Twelve dead bodies.
Intestine ripping.
One pole through the ears.
One half-frog, half-duck (what do you call it?).
Head rolls.
Toxic sex.
Exploding car.
School bus crash and burn in a mud bog.
Forced child-labor Agent Orange factories.
Gratuitous "Amazing Grace."
Even more frightening--gratuitous "Chim Chim Cheree" on the accordion!
One motor vehicle chase.
Kung Fu.
Quicksand Fu.
Giant Weedeater Fu.
Video store Fu.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for Ron Fazio, as Toxie, for saying "These chemicals have taken over my life! I don't have a life! I have a half-life!";
Rick Collins, as the devil, for saying "The mind is a terrible thing to waste--and I'm going to waste YOURS" and turning into a giant green lizard-head video-game playing slime monster;
and Phoebe Legere, as the dimwit big-breasted blind blonde girlfriend of Toxie, for saying "I don't mind being blind; I'll never have to see ugliness, or poverty, or pollution, or the Chevrolet Nova";
and Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz, the producers, directors and owners of Troma Films, for setting a new record for low-budget sleaze. They spent 45 bucks on this movie.
Three stars. Joe Bob says check it out.


Communist Alert! The Redwood Drive-In in Grant's Pass, Ore., is being ripped down by Indoor Bullstuff King Norman Lear. Norm wants to replace it with a "sixplex." This is the man, after all, who thought up "The Jeffersons." Thanks to Mary Ann Pagan of Fremont, Calif., for reminding us that, without eternal vigilance, it can happen here. To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail like Joe Bob's newsletter and his leftover Christmas cards and movie posters with bloody heads on em, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.

Dear Joe Bob,
I've got a great idea for you: Russia. Ta da! With this Perry Stroycha goin around, us Capitalists need to make our move. Coke did it a long time ago, Billy Joel more recently. Now it's your turn. `Dear Joe Bob' featured in Tass. Ruskies could seek your advice, learn from your wisdom. You could mold Russian thinking for the 90's and beyond. Don't let Ann Landers or Dear Abby beat you to it. They're wimps who could never answer questions like "Since Vodka rationing wife looks like pig, what to do?"
Ben Norwood

Dear Ben:
I assume the answer would be, "Put apple in mouth."

Dear Mr. Briggs:
Regarding your article this morning on the East German woman and her Adidas fixation, two years ago when I was in Budapest, the only line up I saw for goods was at the newly opened Adidas store there. The whole "shopping scene" looked very U.S. with many privately owned boutiques and a free-spending population. The sword was over their heads, however, as the next year was to introduce them to the Income Tax! An interesting sidelight: automobiles seemed to be sold all from the same store--and I do mean store--downtown in the shopping mall. No showroom as such, but a big poster in the window listing the several brands and models (all names unfamiliar to me) along with the prices, and, lastly, the year in which you might expect delivery.
John Stackpole
San Francisco

Dear John:
On the first night of looting in Panama City, two stores were completely wiped out--Reebok and L.A. Gear. The whole world wants Adidas! People are dying for Adidas! Does anybody think this is screwy besides me?

To Joe Bob Briggs:
I have read in your column how you are available to discuss the meaning of life. Do I have to start talking first? I mean, what if I say the wrong thing and you make fun of me? I would like to have such a discussion, but you start it so I can make fun of you if you're wrong. Or better yet, we could do like my mama always said and not say anything at all unless we have something nice to say.
Keren Schlomy
Albany, N.Y.

Dear Keren:
You have identified the number one fear that prevents people from writing to my column: "Don't do it, Daryl, Joe Bob is just gonna make fun of you."
Okay okay okay okay okay, I'll be nice.
I'll go first.
The meaning of life is... er... uh... what it is, is... Keren, I can't concentrate when you put this PRESSURE on me like this.
You go first.

Dear Joe Bob:
I've just finished reading your excellent essay asking us to give up all the French things from our daily life in order to uphold and defend the moral virtues of Mickey Mouse and all his mousketeers in Frog Heaven. Well, amigo, I don't know if you've thought this whole thing through. There's a lot of things I could do without real easy: French toast, French-cut green beans, French cuffs, French dressing, French onion soup, French bread. I suppose I could give up my lifelong dream of joining the French foreign legion, where you get to wear that slick little hat with the doily on the back to keep the camel steam off your neck. My wife kinda wanted French doors out to our patio, but I guess we can keep those true American sliding aluminum glass doors that are so easy to jimmy open. I'll leave it to you to explain to Senor Mata why he has to send the French horn section out to play in the street for the French winos.

But there's just some things that are gonna be real hard to give up, like French fries, French vanilla ice cream, French kissing, and (my wife says to include) French ticklers, if you know what she means, and I think you do. And another thing I'll leave to you is explaining to Larry Bird why he has to change the name of his hometown from French Lick to Some-other-kind-of Lick, Indiana (and I wouldn't want to be standing in your Reeboks when that time comes).

I know this crisis calls for the very best that we can come up with to combat the French wuss attitude toward our heroes, M. Mouse, et al., but we're talking fundamental life style here, and I for one would like to look for some other solution. For my part, I will just not take my vacation there next weekend; maybe Belton or Temple...
Your fan from a long time ago,
Bubba Sanger
Richardson, Tex.

Dear Bubba:
You tell your wife, if she can't give up French ticklers, then we can't give up--on second thought, maybe you should introduce me to your wife.

Dear Joe Bob,
Nancy R. immortalized the phrase so many times -- "Just say NO!"
Well, listen J.B. I got one hell of a monkey on my back that many others share, and I want to obliterate it once and for all: Nicotine.
I've been a slave to those little white tubes of treachery for years and have tried so many times to quit. My calendars for the past two years have so many dates listed when I had written "Quit Smoking," then crossed it out--it looks like a scratched out racing form. I have gone four or five days at times off the weed, only to find myself lighting up again--a couple times, as long as three months. It is FRUSTRATING, man. I've tried the gum and various "Stop Smoking" systems, but find myself missing "my friend" (Ha! Some friend, huh?) and I find myself dominated by the white witch of lady nicotine once again.

I need some advice from you, J.B., so slap it to me, okay, dude? Tuck a little hard nosed willpower in that envelope along with your reply. I'll need it.
I often smoke at times out of boredom, or when I'm under stress. Then I don't know what to do, so I light up.
Your friend,
Tom Whiteman
Portage, Ind.

Dear Tom:
I was a two-pack-a-day man, quit in 1981, haven't had a smoke since, but I don't know diddly squat about it. Here's the only stuff I do know:
1) You're gonna die quicker than most people.
2) It's gonna be nasty at the end.
3) Knowing the first two things doesn't help you quit.
4) It only takes four, five days to kick the physical addiction.
5) After that, you're just doing it for psychological reasons, like times of the day when you smoke, when you're stressed out, blah blah blah.
6) Knowing #4 and #5 doesn't help you one bit.
7) Nobody has will power.
8) The moment you quit, you'll know it. You can relax. You don't have to sweat it every day. You don't have to be afraid you'll start smoking again. You just say, "That's it, man, it's over." I can't explain this, but it's kind of a spiritual thing.
9) If you quit, and then the next day you're wondering whether you'll go back to cigarettes, then you didn't really quit.
10) When you do quit, it feels great.
1990 Joe Bob Briggs All Rights Reserved

For more of Joe Bob's pre-TNT reviews in Grapevine, Texas, go to his Drive-In Reviews Archive over yonder at www.Joe Bob

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