White Bunbusters (Gregory Dark, 1985)

Don't worry, I'm going to talk about Shanna McCullough's killer thighs and what is easily the best porn movie theme song of all-time, I just want to discuss the A-Busters' business model before I go any further. Oh, and, just in case you're wondering, Shanna McCullough's killer thighs and the best movie theme song of all-time both appear in Gregory Dark's White Bunbusters, the zany poop-chute compromising fuck-flick that bills itself as: "The World's First All Double-Penetration Shocker!" Okay, from where I was sitting, it would seem that the A-Busters provide a service. As to what exactly this service actually entails is still a bit of a mystery to me. Sure, they have an office. They have tools. They even advertise (their radio spot is heard during the film at one point). But what do they do? They will tell you that they help women overcome their reluctance to allow grown ass men to insert their erect penises into their brownish assholes. But all I saw was a couple of rapists who force their mostly female victims to endure a steady barrage of condom-free cock in every orifice imaginable. Granted, there is an instance where a porn star named Cha-Cha (Rachel Ryan) enlists the help of the A-Busters (she says something about wanting them to loosen her rectum before a big shoot), but more often than not, The A-Busters basically show up at your door (wielding an inordinate amount of crap pipe-related gear and equipment) and sexually assault you... in the ass.

Of course, the reason I think the A-Busters are glorified serial rapists, and not entrepreneurs, is because I'm not currently existing in 1985. You see, back in 1985, door-to-door anal rape startups were seen as no big deal. But in today's outrage obsessed nothing-verse, companies like, The A-Busters; Rectally Yours; Sphinctersoft (softening your sphincter since the mid-1970s); and All Up In Your Bum, Inc., fail within the first two months. And not because of poor business acumen on the part of the owners. But because door-to-door anal rape is frowned upon. And I, for one, I'm glad it's frowned upon, as there's nothing funny about door-to-door anal rape. On the other hand, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a thoroughly repugnant, occasionally hilarious hour long ode to the door-to-door anal rapists of yore. And that's exactly what this is.

Besides, even the most humour-challenged, politically correct nincompoop will love the film's catchy theme song. Written by Johnny Jump-Up (a.k.a. Antonio Passolini) and Wavy Dave, the song, which is playful, funny, clever and frightfully stupid all at once, will bore its way into your brain, and remain there for the rest of your life. Seriously, it's the kind of song that can and will pop into your head at any given moment.

"I'm going to call the White Bunbusters. And no matter where you are, they're going to bust your fucking buns. White Bunbusters, they're really going to bust some buns. White Bunbusters, they will fuck anything but nuns. "They're the WHITE!!!! Bunbusters! WHITE!!!! Bunbusters! Call White Bunbusters!

The almost five minute long song plays over the opening credits, which boasts a montage of all the wacky degradation we'll be "enjoying" over the next hour or so. If you don't like what you see during the opening credits, you might as well tap out now, as the montage is a pretty accurate sampling of what's to come. However, you would be a fool to "tap out." Unless, of course, you have an aversion to killer thighs. You don't, right? Have an aversion to killer thighs? That would be sad if you did. Anyway, the prospect of being rewarded with the sight of Shanna McCullough's shapely thighs encased in red fishnet stockings is worth any mental anguish you might suffer at the hands of this double-penetration opus.

An opus that opens with John Doe (Tom Byron) plowing into his wife's vagina with his cock. Utilizing the missionary position, John's bunny slipper-wearing wife, Jane (Shanna McCullough), doesn't seem all that responsive to the humping her hubby is putting forth for their mutual benefit. Checking her nails in-between his lackluster thrusts, Jane looks like she would rather be somewhere else.

Noticing this, John decides to mix things up, and sheepishly tries to insert his cock into Jane's anus. This hangdog attempt to penetrate her chocolate starfish does not go over well, as Jane protests by telling John, flat out, that she doesn't want his dick in her ass. Realizing he's in a no win situation, John backs down, and says to Jane: "Will you at least suck my penis." After thinking it over for two, maybe three seconds, Jane agrees and takes John's dingle-doodle  tonsil deep until it spews tiny droplets of cum all over her face and hair.

At work the next day, John and Bob (Greg Rome), his friend/co-worker, are sitting around the offices (their desks, by the way, are made out cardboard boxes) of ACME Proctological listening to Dark Brothers radio (the official radio station of the Dark Brothers). When the topic of anal sex comes up, Bob tells John all about the A-Busters. Actually, the ad for the A-Busters that airs on Dark Brothers radio does most of the legwork when it came to explaining the A-Buster's modus operandi. Either way, it's obvious that John is intrigued.

We get more information about their unique methods in the next scene, when we're whisked into the offices of the A-Busters. From what I could gather, the A-Busters seem to be two guys, Tex (Marc Wallice) and Doc (Steve Powers), who share an office (like ACME Proctological, their desks are made out of cardboard boxes). And every once and awhile, their phone would ring. This usually prompts them to yell "Ayyyyyyy-Busters!" When they do this, you can almost guarantee that some poor woman is about to get her buns busted.

Since it wouldn't be a Gregory Dark movie without Jack Baker, the animated actor appears briefly as a man whose wife (Erica Boyer) won't let him fuck her in the ass. When the A-Busters show up, wearing their trademark orange-tinted goggles, work boots, yellow suspenders and orange baseball hats, they grab Erica Boyer and begin to violate her. Eventually, the A-Buster's cocks wind up in Erica Boyer's vagina and butthole simultaneously. I thought it was odd that the A-Busters felt the need to penetrate Erica Boyer vaginally as well. I mean, they're the "A"-Busters," not the "V"-Busters." Whatever, they ejaculate seminal fluid all over Erica Boyer and Jack Baker pays them. Wait, did Jack Baker just pay two guys dressed like gay disco plumbers to rape his wife? Again, I'm not quite sure what kind service the A-Busters actually provide.

After the A-Busters are finished busting Erica Boyer's buns, you'll notice that Tex and Doc spray their flaccid bun busters with some kind of liquid. I'm guessing it's disinfectant. Sort of like, Lysol Antibacterial Kitchen Cleaner. Except instead of spraying it on counter tops, they spray it on their cocks.

Since Jane still isn't providing John with the anal delights he desires, John decides to stick his cock in the ass that belongs to Bobette (Keli Richards), Bob's wife. However, as Bob clearly states, this is a one time deal. The look on John's face when Bob says, "I can't let you come over every night and fuck my wife in the ass," spoke volumes, as I bet he genuinely thought that this could be a regular thing.

When a budding secretary (Jennifer Noxt) shows up at ACME Proctological for a job interview, John and Bob pepper her with questions: "How's your typing? Do you take shorthand? Dictation? Do you take it up the ass?" Anyone care to guess what happens next? That's right, they fuck her in the ass. Well, one of them fucks her in the ass, the other one makes his home in her vagina.

The great thing about this scene, beside the fact that both cocks move during the double-penetration phase (in scenes like these, one cock typically does the bulk of the thrusting, while the other one just sort of sits there languishing in a vaginal/colon stew), is that Jennifer Noxt's Velveeta is the only woman who is seen standing in this film. Come to think of it, they actually showing her walking at one point. This blew my mind. Seriously. Standing and walking? Madness.
  

After the A-Busters are done busting the buns of a new wave punk porn star named Cha-Cha (Rachel Ryan), she has sex with some guy (Dick Rambone) she had hidden under her bed (talk about filler).

Will John call the A-Busters, and get his rectal reward... Hold on. Let's say he does call them, and they come over and penetrate Jane's a-hole with their cocks. What happens next? Call me crazy, but what I think the film is trying to say is this: After the A-Busters have "serviced" your wife, she will allow you to penetrate her anus with your penis. Personally, if my husband did this to me, I would call the police. That being said, this is the type of film that shows a woman standing and walking for a split-second, while the rest of the time they're usually lying spread eagle or on all fours with their asses in the air. In other words, good luck getting the cops to be on your side.
   

  
On the bright side, all the women, except for Erica Boyer, wear lace fingerless gloves, stockings, high heel shoes during their sex scenes. And I did laugh when Shanna McCullough says to John: "My Mama told me, Jane, don't stick things in your ass."  [If you want to be cool like me and watch White Bunbusters, head on down to Eyesore Cinema and they will hook you up. Tell 'em Yum-Yum sent ya.]

The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning (Gregory Dark, 1986)

A lively debate about the difference between a "hoe," a slender tool used mainly for gardening purposes, and a "ho," a derogatory term used to describe a woman who is drawn to the seminal fluid of others, is just one of the many unexpected treats to be found lurking underneath all the untoward thrusting and exhausted panting in The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning, Gregory Dark's epically bizarre interpretation of an adult classic. Fully aware that I have not seen the original Devil in Miss Jones from 1973, or, for that matter, the Henri Pachard-directed sequel, I've elected to skip forward to part three for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I was so impressed with the Dark Brother's New Wave Hookers, that I decided that I would pretty much watch anything he made during that particular era–even something with a title like, "Let Me Tell Ya 'Bout White Chicks." Secondly, the film features the exceedingly luscious presence of Lois Ayres, who, as far as I'm concerned, is the unofficial face of 1980s. The look she sports throughout this film perfectly encapsulates the stylistic temperament of the decade. Using words that are different than the ones I just typed, it is safe to say that the decision to bypass the first two chapters was a relatively easy one.

Blissfully unaware of what I was about to get myself into, it turns out the combination of Gregory Dark and Lois Ayres was so potent, that I almost had a new wave-induced body fever before the opening credits had even finished...crediting. It's true, I had readied myself beforehand like I usually do with some mild stretching exercises followed by a long, vigorous bike ride through the suburban nether regions of my mind. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Lois Ayres (also spelled "Ayers") showering to the awesome strains of "A Christian Girls Problem" by The Gleaming Spires. "I am talking serious drugs / I am talking mental health..."

The camera carefully follows Lois's cleansing motions as she washes every nook and cranny of her tantalizing frame. The sequence also gives us the viewer the chance to familiarize ourselves with her organic structure, which is important because we'll be seeing a lot of it the course of the next seventy-something minutes.

After the shower, we learn that Lois Ayres is playing Justine Jones, a woman who it turns out is the focal point of a some sort of documentary that involves former classmates, ex-boyfriends, clergymen, family members, and others being interviewed by an unseen man with a probing voice. An ex of Justine's named Bill (Tom Byron) is the first to be questioned and tells the mystery man an anecdote about an argument they had over the phone. You see, while Bill was talking, he was also lathering up the crotch of a woman in white lingerie (Jennifer Noxt). With a pink razor in one hand and a telephone in the other, Bill pathetically attempts to do both things at once. As expected, the former wins out as the activity Bill's simple mind would most like to focus on. Hairless in an instant thanks to this wanton act of pubic desecration (cunt-ruining reprobate), Bill's erect penis can be seen burrowing itself inside her many openings with the enthusiasm of an agitated mongoose.

Frustrated by Bill's insistence on fornicating with women who are not her, Justine's heads out to a local tavern. However, before she can go in, she is verbally accosted by a pimp ("crazy ass white bitch!"). Anyway, the scenes on the street and in the bar are the first where we really get a chance to appreciate the immensity of Lois's awesome hairstyle. The way her platinum blonde follicles seemed to reach out toward the sky was awe-inspiring. Complimented by a colourful dress and a saucy pair of red gloves, Justine looked like a cross between Margaret from Liquid Sky and Christina Moser from the Italian new wave group Krisma, particularly during their Clandestine Anticipation period.

Once at the bar, Justine meets a stood up groom in white (Paul Thomas). After some friendly banter, the two of them end up in bed together. Except, they don't sleep, their swollen genitals wind up hammering out an acceptable compromise with one another. I found the groom in white's gentle fondling of Justine's bright red stockings to be entirely satisfying. It was a rare tender moment in a film full of intrusive, ungentle prodding.

The slow motion shot of Justine's hindquarters undulating under the weight of the groom's thrusting bureaucracy was not included in order to crank up the titillation factor, but to accentuate the minor tragedy that was about to unfold. Crashing headfirst into her bed's purple headboard, Justine wakes up alone and naked in a very dark place. After some moments of semi-consciousness, Justine finds herself unwittingly discussing the mysterious allure of homonyms with a demented man dressed in clear plastic. It turns out Justine is in Hell, a fabricated netherworld full of fire and a smattering of brimstone, and the guy in plastic (Jack Baker) is her guide. Of course, she doesn't believe this for a second and demands that she be shown the way home.

The overt strangeness of The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning really starts to come through once the Hell Guide's human horses start screwing. The Hell Guide rode in on a female horse (Chanel Price) and when he's ready take Justine to the first room of Hell, he calls a male horse (Steve Powers) and instructs him to stick his phallus in her lilac-scented poop chute. At first, I thought he was speaking metaphorically, but that's exactly what he ends up doing. This scene doesn't really exploit Chanel's 6ft. 3inch frame (being a horse, she spends most of her time on her hands and knees), which is a shame, but it does emphasize her wonderfully large rear-end, boast multiple participants in fingerless gloves, and features equine-based sound effects.

Entering the first room of Hell, Justine and her guide witness a place where voyeurs are forced to watch others have intercourse until the end of time. Torn fishnets and some strenuous spooning are the highlights of this room's first encounter, one that sees Marc Wallice and Careena Collins getting all up in each other's beefy junk like nobody's business. Only problem being that Marc's upside down banana dick didn't seem to want to remain ensnared inside Jennifer's precisely tuned vagina. The second encounter sees one woman–a silver pump-wearing Amber Lynn, who tosses her fingerless glove out of the arena with a breathless panache–take on two poles at once. A reinvigorated Marc Wallice and a buff Peter North (Party Doll A Go-Go!) insert their man-things simultaneously, causing a bit of a fleshy impasse. Nevertheless, the transvestite in the wedding dress, Justine's college roommate (Kari Foxx), and the three guys in tuxedos watching seem extra excited by the coordinated poking transpiring in front of them. And, of course, I liked the way the perspiration on Amber's red-hot thighs seemed to glimmer in the murkiness of the unflattering light.

Coming face-to-deformed-face with the unsavoury realm of the Slutmen, Justine is about to enter the film's most disturbing room. Animalistic in nature, the Slutmen are the definition of cloaked debasement. Their nasty charm entices Justine to the point where she winds up allowing two of them to ejaculate sperm on her. Thankfully, her wily Hell Guide steps in before she becomes addicted to their sticky deluge. You see, unlike the room where you spend eternity watching sex, this room, where the Slutman is king, you are forced to have degrading sex with them for, you guessed it, an eternity. It also explains why Justine and her Hell Guide are wearing plastic; it's basically raining cum in there.

Having sex forever is exactly what happens to Vanessa De Rio's Mandy (a woman who was in the same aerobics class as Justine). The sequence that follows is an unpleasant enterprise involving five Slutmen taking turns violating Mandy's ample, candy-flavoured clitoris. The pig noises, the gold chains, the deformed faces, and the general moistness of this scene all combined to create something that was truly sick and twisted.

The topless aura of Lois Ayres's bare performance reminded me of a lot of that other great topless performance by Gisele Lindley as the Princess from the Forbidden Zone. Sure, others have been topless in movies before, and, sure, I have a tendency to reference Gisele's blouse-free work in the Richard Elfman directed classic a little too often, but it takes a special brand of actress to be able to not have their performance overshadowed by their perpetual toplessness. The ability to create an air of nonchalance surrounding one's unclothed upper torso is an innate skill, much like, macramé or synthesizer repair.

Having only seen Lois Ayres in photographs and the odd movie clip, I was delighted to finally hear the sound of her non-moaning voice. I was afraid Lois's appeal was going to be limited to the boldness of her killer look, but all that seemed to melt away the moment she began hurling insults at the creeps trying to grope her cookies as she made her way to the bar.

She had a snotty intelligence about her that elevated the proceedings beyond your typical girl goes to Hell, fucks a bunch of guys flick. Her un-PC give-and-take with Jack Baker was hilarious at times and everything from their exchange about poet Robert Frost to their homonym debate ("Do I look like a garden tool to you?") crackled with an unforeseen sharpness. This sharpness came as a bit of a relief, because the film ends with a cliffhanger, and you know what that means? That's right, there's a part four. Woo-hoo?

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