Week of November 30, 1997

Eds.: Joe Bob Briggs, after 16 years of constant scribbling, is burned out and taking an extensive vacation in South America. He asks all his loyal clients to please forgive him!
This is his final installment.

'MARRIED PEOPLE, SINGLE SEX':
MAKES DANCING LOOK LIKE FUN

One thing you should never tell a woman: "I don't wanna dance."

We're talking instant divorce here. We're talking a three- day fight that ends with tears and broken dishes and the closing line: "You're no fun anymore!"

Take it from me, guys:

Dance.

Dance every single time she wants to dance. Don't EVER refuse to dance. It's not worth it. Women are born with a Dancing Gene. When the Dancing Gene starts throwing off happy-foot sparks, the girl has GOTTA DANCE. It doesn't matter where you are. You could be at your sister's wedding. You could be on the beach at midnight. You could be at the Holiday Inn in Elkhorn, Wis.

"But, honey, there's no band here."

"WE'LL DANCE TO THE MUZAK!"

They can't help it. They've either got to dance or else go to Dancers Anonymous. You're talking to a drughead.

Another thing you should never say:

"We've danced enough."

There is no "enough." A girl's dancing has no time limit. You can be standing in a club at 3:30 a.m., the deejay announces last call, and she'll say, "Where else can we go?"

Don't hesitate. Find the after-hours club and CONTINUE DANCING. Another thing you should never say:

"That's a stupid dance."

To a woman, there is no such thing as a stupid dance. In fact, the more stupid the dance LOOKS, the more she likes it. Country-western line dancing, which was apparently invented for 300-pound buffalo women in plaid shirts and giant hair-dos that frizz out like satellite dishes, is NOT STUPID TO A WOMAN. Scoot your boot, and boogie your butt.

There are also no age limits to this. They start when they're 3, begging their mamas to put em in ballet class, and then they join the drill team, the cheerleading squad, and, when they're older, GANGS of crazed girl dancers who roam up and down places like El Lay's Sunset Strip and Miami's South Beach and Dallas' Greenville Avenue and New York's Webster Hall, and when they're through with that, they say, "Honey, let's take TANGO LESSONS!"

Listen to me. You've only got one defense. Just don't ever BRING UP THE SUBJECT.

Maybe they'll forget they have legs.

It's your only shot, you know what I mean? Speaking of the way people who love each other always hate each other, this week's flick is "Married People, Single Sex," which I realize has been in the video stores a LONG LONG TIME now, but I don't always keep up with these drive-in video trends _ I'm not PERFECT, OK _ and I'm catching up on a whole new genre for the '90s, which is flicks that are EROTIC, but they're NOT erotic thrillers.

People are finally so sick of erotic thrillers that they're not rentin em anymore, unless they have Shannon Tweed in em, or maybe Tanya Roberts _ or, come to think of it, Traci Lords.

But now the tide is turning, and we've got these new dealies, the Stare-at-My-Navel-and-Whine-a-Lot Dysfunctional Sex Tape. "Married People, Single Sex," is filmed to look like a documentary, and it tells the story of three married couples who can't seem to get their sex life together in the '90s. And so they go through affairs, and phone sex, and arguments, and kinky guys who come to the house in the middle of the afternoon, and cocktail parties where everbody gets embarrassed, and vacations to the Caribbean, and lingerie parties, and topless bars, and, I don't know, after a while you just wanna scream at em:

STOP THINKIN ABOUT YOURSELF SO GOLDURN MUCH! Join the Kiwanis Club!

Volunteer at the hospital!

Find some friends with LIVES!

Meanwhile, though, we got some monster sex scenes. It's one of those movies where you watch it, thinking "Wow! This is great! Great acting, great scenes, much better than I thought," and then when it's over, you go, "Who WERE those people?"

And you feel like somebody just ran over you with a dumptruck. Hey, it's January, I liked it.

    No dead bodies (unless you count the SOULS of these people).
    Twenty-four breasts. Multiple aardvarking.
    Cat-mask Fu. Dog- collar Fu. Pick-up truck Fu.
Drive-In Academy Award nominations for...
    Josef Pilato, as the frustrated construction foreman who turns to a phone-sex relationship, for saying "I'm married to the Frigid Witch of the West";

    Chase Masterson, as the confused little girl who has to get roughed up to enjoy sex, for saying "All you talk about is growing old together! I'm not ready to grow old!";

    Wendi Westbrook, as the cheating wife who can't get her husband to get kinky with her, for saying "I want the LUST to be there";

    Robert Zachar, as the shy topless-bar patron who says "If you love somebody, you do what's natural, and that's enough";

    Darla Slavens, as the uptight wife who doesn't want sex at all, for saying "I feel like I'm being punished";

    Teri Thompson, as the girl who learns to love phone sex, for saying "I am so sick and tired of being the other woman";

    Shelley Michelle, as the anything-you-want-is-fine-with-me topless dancer;

    Samuel Mongiello, as the handsome womanizer who says "You're so good at being bad";

    Bob Rudd, as the can't-live-with-her-can't-live- without-her husband who says "Getting a divorce is the only way we can stay friends"; and

    Mike Sedan, the producer/director, for inventing a new way to get totally depressed and enjoy it.

Four stars.

Joe Bob says check it out.

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