Well, at least they're not related, I guess.The dynamic duo take off in the stolen truck while the hillbilly, who is named "B.J." or something although it doesn't really matter, eventually picks himself up off the dirt and stumbles home in the vampire equivalent of a post-coitus stupor, or maybe he's just really drunk. He eventually gets home and collapses on a couch. I assume it's his home, although one of the many lessons about white trash this movie has taught he is that hicks live in a Shaker-esque communal society where letting yourself into other people's houses and sleeping in their beds is as common an occurrence as, say, sex with siblings. Get it, because that's all hicks do, is have sex with their brothers and/or sisters! Man, I am on fire today.
Day breaks and eventually the hick's girlfriend wakes him from his slumber by feebly swiping him over the head with a frying pan. She starts to give him a verbal thrashing when he removes the blanket covering his face, revealing a pasty, sunken-eyed complexion, which actually isn't all that different from his original state. However, it's enough of a shock to reset his girlfriend's circuits and set her back into Attract Mode, as she cuts her tirade short and instead scuttles off to the kitchen to fix him breakfast. Soon a steaming plate of steak and eggs is set before B.J. and he turns up his nose in disgust. "What the hell is this?" he asks. The girlfriend's smile wavers. "Steak and eggs," she reminds him. "Your favorite." The newly vampirized hick is in no mood for games, though, and orders her back to the kitchen to fix another steak, rare. She meekly protests that such a steak would be "bloody" but soon catches the glint in her boyfriend's eyes and retreats, perhaps afraid of a sound beating, one of the few niceties of country life that us urban folk have forgotten the simple pleasures of. She cooks him another steak, he eyes it and instead goes for her virgin neck, she becomes a vampire, etc. This is not rocket science.
The movie cuts to another house where a girl who doesn't look a day over fourteen is rummaging through a refrigerator before pulling out an enormous cucumber and grinning wildly. Before the movie can become something else entirely, she hears a scream from the next room and quickly replaces the cucumber, saving it for another time. She runs into the den where her obese mother is dancing a jig while waving a letter. She reveals that she's the winner in a contest held by "Bull Inseminating and Room Redecorating Monthly," entitling her to a free room redecoration. The daughter shows a brief spark of intelligence, piping up that bulls don't need to be inseminated, but her nascent wisdom is immediately steamrolled by her ma's frantic gyrations, as it turns out the interior decorator is due to show up any minute.
Just then the doorbell rings, and the two run to answer it. Turns out it's the interior decorator, who is about as effeminate as humanly possible without actually being flamingly gay. Perhaps a lisp would have been too intolerant even for the makers of a movie glorifying the redneck lifestyle, so they do the next best thing and give him a horrific French accent. "Claude" is further couched in a sassy beret and a frilly shirt made out of the material normally used for pool covers. The Poissers, as the family is called (the "o" is silent), bids Claude a warm welcome and introduces him to the whole family, which besides Ma and the jailbait, consists of a disgustingly fat man-child named Li'l Junior and a father who continually shouts that he is trying to read. After the grand tour of the house the Poissers show Claude the room he is to be redecorating. "Mon Dieu!" he shouts in horror, and the audience is forced to use their imagination to picture what sort of feces-smeared nightmare lies beyond the threshold of the door. Meanwhile the Poissers cackle in glee, apparently proud of their disgusting lifestyle.
I don't know which man's expression is more disturbing.Before Claude can start on his task, Li'l Junior drags him along to find his friend Cletus, who is setting up a ladder outside a window of someone's house. Following the inviolable calculus for any attempted comedy, Cletus also turns out to be a midget, and furthermore, he is even more disgustingly midget-y than a relatively anatomically perfect specimen like Mini-Me. Cletus looks like nothing more than a sweaty overstuffed burrito who has grown cancerous nubs out of the top and bottom of his bloated frame, and whether he is toddling along on his tiny legs or guzzling a beer in the two-handed posture of a baby attempting to hold on to its milk bottle, Cletus at least reminds me of how lucky I am not to be short, fat, ugly, hairy, poor, stupid, and whatever other major negative classifications exist in this world or the next. Sadly for us, Cletus turns out not to be the most disgusting human being to make an appearance in the movie, but I will leave you in a little suspense.
Cletus and Li'l Junior scuffle over setting up the ladder for a minute, and then Cletus slowly scales the rungs, a Herculean effort for someone with only slightly more mobility than a paraplegic. Inside the bathroom window a girl strips down and begins showering, and Cletus melodramatically gawks as the girl washes herself literally three feet away. Before the girl can turn around, Li'l Junior gets fed up with waiting and throws Cletus off the ladder to claim the spot for himself. While Li'l Junior picks up drooling where Cletus left off, Cletus squirms on the ground like an upturned turtle before finally managing to synchronize his tiny flailing limbs and pick himself up. He grabs hold of Li'l Junior and wrenches him off, and while the two wrestle on the ground, Claude's curiosity gets the best of him and he begins scaling the ladder to take a peek for himself. Oh wait, the girl turns out to have a boyfriend, and now it's his turn to shower, and just as Claude peeks in he gets a heaping helping of man-ass, and before the fog in his brain lifts and he realizes that the cleavage he is seeing is not the expected kind, the boyfriend turns around and roars in rage and the three stooges scamper off while the half-naked boyfriend runs out brandishing a gun, etc. This is not rocket science.
This is the crown jewel of my erotic lamp collection, and a must-have for any serious pleasure lamp collector.
The treacherous New England Patriots are guilty of deflating their footballs. We must punish them severely in the name of holy retribution. This transgression has been the biggest headline in the United States for an entire week, and it should be the primary concern of all nations.
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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