So Fresh, So Clean!

East-west beefs: Biggie, Tupac, the Dodgers—who else will be lost before the madness ends? I for one want no part cutting short the career of any large cultural figure from California. Recently I've committed a couple of "lyrical drive-bys" against starlet Roxy Blaze, poking fun at her for getting poked in a flick called Chunky on the Fourth of July; she fired back a couple of angry letters. But it's time to squash this. Roxy, please accept my sincere apology for dissing you. And for the broken record: Tubby tabbies are plain fine with me. Moving on, I'd now like to spark a beef with East Coast techno impresario and all-around dipshit Moby. (Suge Knight and I have already settled our differences.)

Why Moby, besides the obvious (he sucks)? Because he produced Alien Sex Party (Eclectic), a "comic frenzy" (sez the box) likely submitted as a thesis for director Paul Yates's film school degree. (Moby's got friends in high places.) I give this G-rated B-movie an F. It's literally the worst feature film I've ever seen. The video my older brother made of him and a friend blowing up GI Joes with fireworks in 1986 is better. (Viewed today, that work presciently comments on unbridled Reagan-era military spending and America's increased vulnerability stemming from the spread of our might farther and farther beyond the homeland's borders.)

So, Alien Sex Party. Originally entitled Porno, though it is not based on the Irvine Welsh novel or in any way pornographic, this full-length but totally limp Clerks rip-off (that movie blows, too) takes place on Christmas Eve in a skin-flick store near Harvard Square in Boston. Tina Carlucci, a rail-thin blond who I wouldn't mind seeing railed, plays a slutty cashier; just coming into her own, she will make a fine leading lady in another student's mediocre short someday. Bonny lass Grace Creech makes an appearance as a squeaky-voiced 18-year-old; busted-ass porn "star" Dyanna Lauren cameos. Joe Smith, who seems to be a few hands short of a full deck to begin with, stars as the store's 'tardish, naïve owner-by-inheritance; in the director's commentary, Yates laughingly relates his discovery of Joe and Moby's giddy promise to fund anything providing an excuse to trot the freak out.

Basically these and few other massholes sit in the store and chat inanely about sex and relationships while various weirdos show up in order to make it seem as if something's actually happening. Tina Carlucci gives bad blowjob advice (something about gripping the shaft with your hand and not moving it—how quaint); the security guards act ambiguously gay (glad to see we're still getting laffs outta that old chestnut); characters lip-sync awful musical numbers; and Moby plays drums in a punk band while wearing only his tighty-whities. (That line in Moby Dick, concerning the "firm audacious staff of that flag which I fling half out to the world"? Not appropriate.)

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But oh! I've neglected to mention this week's theme, inspired by Alien Sex Party's lack of nudity: cleanliness. Although it comes to us from the good folks at Pure Filth Productions, Toss My Salad (Legend Direct) theoretically fits in here rather nicely (if I must say so myself). For those of you unfamiliar with the locution, which I learned when some dudes in a Cadillac called me and a guy friend "salad tossers" as we walked down a West Village street, it is a euphemism for licking another person's asshole. This food phrase is a recipe for giggles!

Anyway, common sense suggests that licking an asshole makes it cleaner, right? Well, no; this first occurred to me as I sat watching this movie—no kidding—munching on a chocolate croissant. (Morning session, see.) Things only got worse. We've discussed the world's worst movie; true scat aside, Toss My Salad may be the grossest porn I've ever witnessed. I literally almost tossed my chocolately breakfast. Basically a blowjobarama hitched to the chute-lapping gimmick, the flick starts off sweetly enough, with two cute goth chicks methodically sucking, then ducking below to kiss the toothless stinkmouth. I imagine the ladies flossed out nothing more than a few butthairs afterwards.

But things get really hairy when actual food products get tossed in the mix: Two women spread their men's buns and spoon in strawberry jelly; one creates nauseating swirls of hair by pouring on pancake syrup; and, worst of all, a redhead drips creamy Italian on some douchey dude. And then they eat it!

In Pussyman's Shaving Starlet's 4 (Feline), ladies scrape the creamy stuff off. With perhaps the exception of Grizzly Adams's lil'uns, we all have fond memories of Dad standing by the sink, swabbing on the shaving stuff, and dragging a razor across his rough cheeks—the splish-splash of his Gillette as he rinses it in a pool of steaming water; the powerful scent of his slapped-on cologne. But how many of us watched Mom smooth her gams in the shower? And of those, who spied Mother sculpt a landing strip 'tween her hips?

Pussyman must've been born to hippie parents or Grizzly Allison, 'cause he's obsessed with chicks removing their body hair. In a typical scene, the well-worn Olivia Saint preps for a visit from PM, drawing long, smooth ribbons up her legs and completely clearing her deck: "I hope he sucks on it like always!" A gray-haired dude with glasses, PM invariably ends up losing the specs, going low, and getting redfaced and sloppy. Truckstop-waitress-type Candy Cotton, unaccountably the Man's favorite, trims off her bush after tearing wide her mesh bodysuit's crotch.

Moby just shaved his head, I think.

Eclectic, PO Box 280 Oaks, PA 19456

Feline Films, 9145 Owensmouth Avenue, Chatsworth, CA 91311,

Legend Direct, 9145 Owensmouth Avenue, Chatsworth, CA 91311,

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