Roller Blade (Donald G. Jackson, 1986)

Roller skates, big hair, butterfly knives, leotards, portable cassette players, black thongs, neck-gore, skateboard punks, shopping carts and hand puppets. Oh, hi. In case you're wondering, I'm not just listing random things in order to kill time. You won't believe this, but all the stuff I just mentioned actually appears in the amazing Roller Blade at some point or another. Sure, it's lacking a few things here and there (for starters, there are no black silk stockings featured in this film whatsoever), but as far as post-apocalyptic skate-sploitation flicks go, it's pretty much got everything you could ask for and more. It's true, it doesn't quite reach the dizzying heights of Shredder Orpheus when it comes to overall greatness, but it's definitely better than Prayer of the Rollerboys. While it's true, Roller Blade and the films I just mentioned do have a lot in common, I think this particular film, written and directed by Donald G. Jackson (Hell Comes to Frogtown), has got the others beat in terms of sheer insanity. I know, Shredder Orpheus is all kinds of insane. But once you see the outfits worn by Mother Speed and her roller-skating sisters, you'll start to see what I'm getting at.

The only way to describe their outfits is like this: Imagine if the Ku Klux Klan decided to consulate Gucci to remake their signature look.

While it pains me to compare their look to that of the KKK, their outlook is all about peace and understanding. That being said, they will straight-up stab your ass if you as much as look at them funny. But, if they like the cut of your jib, they might just heal your ass. That's right, the sisters can heal people. And they do so by waving their magic butterfly knives over the affected area.

Of course, the haute couture KKK outfits and butterfly knives that heal are just the beginning when it comes to understanding the scope of this film's nuttiness.

As things get underway, I wouldn't chastise you for thinking that this film had a Fred Olen Ray quality about it. Hell, I, too, thought the film reeked of Fred Olen Ray (and believe me, as someone who has seen Evil Toons, that's a stench you do not want to reek of). However, the second Mother Speed (Katina Garner), the leader of The Cosmic Order of Roller Blade, and Marshall Goodman (Jeff Hutchinson), the protector of the Third Harvest of the New Order, open their mouths and start conversing with one another, I knew this wasn't your typical slab of cinematic trash.

As Mother Speed and Marshall Goodman are chatting, Sister Sharon Cross (Suzanne Solari) is writhing in bed. Having a nightmare, one that involves Baby Saticoy dragging her into a vat of acid, Sharon's black thong would dig into her anus with every writhe. How do I know this, you ask? Let's just say I've been watching hot chicks in black thongs writhe for quite some time now.

Anyway, it would seem that in the old days, people skated for fun. But now people either skate or they die. Case in point, Hunter (Shaun Michelle), a freelance bounty hunter, stabs and kills some guy who wasn't wearing skates. Now, would he have lived had he been wearing a pair of roller-skates or riding on a skateboard? Who's to say. All I know is, those who do not skate in this film's universe are easy pickings.

The so-called "Roller Patrol," lead by Marshall Goodman, try to police this unruly wasteland (L.A. during the Second Dark Age), but it's clear to anyone with eye-holes that still sort of work that chaos is calling the shots.

What's that? Who leads chaos? As most of you know, chaos doesn't usually have a leader. But if you were to ask the demented Doctor Saticoy (Robby Taylor), he would probably tell you that he's the one in charge... of chaos.

Since the Roller Patrol are no match for Doctor Saticoy, it's up to the Cosmic Order of Roller Blade to stand up against his unique brand of villainy. Unfortunately, three roller blade sisters are captured by the Samurai Devils, a gang affiliated with Doctor Sacticoy... (Don't forget Baby Saticoy.) Ah, yes. Baby Saticoy. The face of chaos for the majority of the film.

As I was saying, three roller blade sisters are captured by the Samurai Devils. Two of them are forced to wrestle one another, while the third one watches from the discomfort of  a shopping cart. If you thought writhing in bed caused your black thong to press tightly against your anus, you should see what wrestling does... to your anus.

Don't worry, though, Mother Speed launches a rescue mission. And you can almost guarantee that the mission is going to be a success, as it's lead by none other than Sister Sharon, whose butterfly knife swooshes open with a shitload of vigor and at least six tubs worth of moxie.

When word gets out that Doctor Sacticoy wants someone to steal the Cosmic Order of the Roller Blade's magic power crystal and that he's willing to pay a hefty sum for it, Hunter jumps at the chance (after all, her Walkman needs new batteries). In order to infiltrate the cosmic order, Hunter pretends to be a damsel in distress. The plan is to have the sisters think that she wants to join the order, and when they're not looking, nab the magic power crystal. However, things get a tad complicated, when Hunter, who is re-branded as "Sister Fortune," starts to bond with Sister Sharon.

I can't say I blame her. I want to bleed to death all over Sister Sharon's supple hindquarters... let my blood nourish her smooth thighs and tasty buttocks.

Things go from being a tad complicated to extremely complicated when Waco (Sam Mann), a shopping cart pushing bounty hunter (dig the swimming goggles, man), kidnaps Marshall Goodman's son for Doctor Sacticoy. But don't worry, things go back to being a tad complicated when Waco sees Sister Sharon's aforementioned smooth thighs and tasty buttocks. What I mean is, Waco switches sides when he realizes that's there's more to life than ball bearings.

Even though Roller Blade looks like it was made for no money, it still manages to create the sense that this world actually exists. You see, by simply using their surroundings (Sun Valley, California) in an imaginative manner, the producers were able to construct a universe that seemed authentic and totally lived in. It didn't hurt that old-timey second person singular pronouns were added to the dialogue during post-production, and that Michelle Bauer makes a brief appearance as a "Bod Sister."

Smart, funny and profound are three words. And, believe or not, I'm going to use them to sum up my feelings about Roller Blade. And while I'm at it, you can add: Sexy, unique and stupefying. Go forth now and skate the path of righteousness.

Cavegirl (David Oliver, 1985)

The last thing I expected to hear at the beginning of a film produced by Crown International Pictures was the synth-tastic sounds of SSQ's "Synthicide" blasting on the soundtrack. Another thing I didn't expect was the sight of a helicopter zipping across the sky. I mean, since when did films produced by Crown International be able to afford helicopters? And I'm assuming they had more than one helicopter since the helicopter in the opening scene is being filmed from what looks like another helicopter. Complicated aerial photography and the music of SSQ?!? Something does not compute. You think that doesn't compute, eh? Wait until I tell you the name of the movie I'm currently writing about. What's that? Oh, you say you already know the name of the movie I'm writing about. Well, anyway, for those who don't, it's Cavegirl. It's been a dream of mine to watch a film that features nothing but SSQ songs on the soundtrack, and it looks like Cavegirl is the film that has decided step up to the plate to fulfill that dream. I repeat, Cavegirl is the film that has made my wish to hear non-stop SSQ music in a motion picture finally come true. Cavegirl. Sure, you can hear SSQ's music in The Return of the Living Dead. You can even hear it at the end of Beyond the Black Rainbow. Yeah, but Cavegirl is not only wall-to-wall SSQ, the film's score is by Jon St. James, and even Stacey herself has a small post-prehistoric role as the enabling girlfriend of a bully/asshole.

In case you're wondering, SSQ (who started off just as "Q") was a music group who produced high-quality synth-pop in the mid-1980s. The band renamed itself Stacey Q shortly afterward, and released the worldwide smash "Two of Hearts." Of course, the focus had shifted to Stacey Swain at this point, but Jon St. James continued to write and produce her music.

In fact, Stacey Swain and Jon St. James recently collaborated on a new Stacey Q album called "Color Me Cinnamon" (an obvious allusion to the name of Stacey's character from the television show The Facts of Life). I've listened to some of the new songs, and, I must say, they're pretty good; I'm partial to "Euphoria" and "Pandora's Box."

I'm no behavioural expert, but you don't sound too pleased. What are you talking about? I was just giving you a brief refresher course on the history of Q/SSQ/Stacey Q. No, you don't seem too thrilled about the idea of watching a movie that is basically about a dork in a fedora who falls for a prehistoric blonde. I'll admit, it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for. I mean, synth-pop and prehistoric times don't really go together; they're not a natural fit.

However, any movie that kicks things off to synthy sounds of SSQ's "Synthicide" is okay in my book. Besides, I like prehistoric blondes. As Stacey is singing about her digital fix ("I gotta have my digital fix today"), we follow a helicopter flying over an arid landscape. Communicating with a nearby computer truck, the helicopter seems to be testing some sort of missile system. I don't know how this all fits into the plot a film called "Cavegirl," but I am somewhat intrigued to find out.

Meanwhile, an anthropology student named Rex (Daniel Roebuck) is clumsily making his way to school on his bike. As he's doing this, you'll notice that a slowed down instrumental version of "Synthicide" is playing in the background.

If you thought Rex's attempt to get to school was clumsy, you should see his attempt to ask Karen (Syndi King) out on a date. Let's just say, it doesn't go all that well. Instead of stammering nervously about food, Rex should have complimented Karen on the white scarf she had in her hair. Chicks dig it when you notice their accessories.

In order to meet his obligation to Crown International Pictures, writer-director-cinematographer David Oliver has Rex accidentally wander into the women's locker room. How did he mange that, you ask? One of Rex's primary tormentors removes the 'wo' from the women only sign on the door. How he got in there doesn't matter. What does matter is what he saw once he got in there. Removing her top almost immediately, Michelle Bauer and a bunch of her soon to be topless friends enter the locker room with a girlish glee. When they discover that a doofus named Rex in their midst, they proceed to chase him around the locker room; if you look closely, you'll notice that Michelle Bauer is brandishing a tennis racket during the chase.

Even though he survived the attack of the topless coeds, Rex isn't out of the woods yet. While attending his favourite class, anthropology, more pranks are pulled on him. What is this, Prank Week? I think the reason we're being inundated with scenes that feature Rex being humiliated is to show that humanity hasn't evolved much over the past 25,000 years, and to make us understand Rex's reluctance to want to go back to 1985.

The pranks continue as Rex, his fellow students, and their professor go on a field trip. Visiting a mine/cave complex, Hank (Chris Noble), doesn't waste any time as he instigates a multitude of pranks on Rex seconds after they arrive. One involves putting a stink bomb in a portable toilet (while Rex is inside, of course) and another has to do with replacing the contents of Rex's backpack with rocks.

Keep an eye out for Stacey Swain during the portable toilet mischief/backpack tampering sequence as it's the most time she spends onscreen. You mean to say that Stacey Swain isn't the cavegirl? I already said she plays the girlfriend of one of the bullies who gives Rex such a hard time. I know, I was just expressing my dissatisfaction regarding the puniness of her role. Are you good? Yep, I think my dissatisfaction has been properly expressed. So, I can continue? Yeah, go ahead.

Remember that helicopter? Yeah, well, the missile test it was conducting, and some weird crystal, cause Rex to be transported back to prehistoric times. If I sound a tad nonchalant about all this, I'm not alone, as Rex seems to take his relocation in stride. Oh, sure, he seems concerned, but not to the agree I expected. After being chased through the brush by some cave people, Rex takes some time to reflect on his unique situation. Wondering if this all a dream, Rex stares at the sky, which is gorgeous (nice work, David Oliver), before falling asleep by a rock.

The cave people during this period must have had a pretty sweat dental plan, because the cave woman, or "cavegirl," who wakes Rex up is sporting perfect teeth. You were looking at her teeth? Huh? Never mind. If you want to nitpick, I don't think cave people had perms, either. Okay, so Eba (Cynthia Thompson), a.k.a. "cavegirl," doesn't look like your average cave person. But remember, this isn't a documentary (there were apparently no humans in North America during this period as well). Though, I must say, the location of Twin Oaks, California had an authentic, prehistoric quality about it.

Stuck in prehistoric times with a leggy blonde who doesn't speak English, Rex must learn to survive in an environment that is foreign to him. Luckily, his trusty backpack is filled with everything one could possibly need to survive in the wilderness; deodorant, Animal Crackers, a Walkman, a tarp, waterproof matches, a bear-shaped bottle of honey (or, as Eba might called it, "bincha-shaped"), and a can of shaving cream.

The shaving cream actually comes in handy in a way that doesn't involve shaving. You won't believe this, but Rex uses it to bond with the other cave people; the inquisitive Argh (Jeff Chayette), the chubby Aka (Cynthia Rullo), the perpetually dumbfounded Char (Charles Mitchell), and, of course, the Patti Smith-esque Saba (Saba Moor-Doucette). It also gives David Oliver an excuse to use "Walkman On" by SSQ, as the song goes perfectly with the sight of three cave people and a socially awkward dingus in a fedora spraying shaving cream on one another in a playful manner. Giving up trying to teach Eba to say, "May I sit on your face," Rex tries to woo the cave-residing cutie using more traditional means. He might have succeeded had it not been for Dar (Darren Young), the nosy leader of this small band of cave people.

A love story for the ages, Cavegirl managed to reaffirm my belief in the healing power of love. Call me mentally unwell, but the moments when Rex and Eba are apart were some of the most agonizing scenes to watch. This, I think, is a testament to not only Daniel Roebuck and Cynthia Thompson, who give career defining performances, but to visionary writer-director David Oliver who allows their relationship to build slowly over the time. And because he used this patient approach, the scene where Rex eventually has to decide which century he wants to spend the rest of life in is so gut-wrenching. As "Anonymous" by SSQ plays over the end credits, I think most people in the audience will agree that Rex made the right decision. And the same can be said for my decision to watch this underrated exploration into the jagged nooks and crannies of the human heart.

Evil Toons (Fred Olen Ray, 1992)

A normal person, someone who doesn't live their life a quarter mile at a time, will look at the lack of animated monsters in Evil Toons (a.k.a. Qui a peur du diable?) and declare it to be a dismal failure. Others, however, those who approach obstacles with a decidedly different brand of gusto, will see the film's animation deficiency as a blessing in disguise. Whoa, wait a minute. What kind of freak would view this mess as a blessing, disguised or otherwise? I mean, the film has the word "toons" in its title. In other words, where are the fucking toons? First off, this film, written and directed by Fred Olen Ray (Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers) and photographed by the late great Gary Carver (Private Teacher), was made, judging by the quality of the special effects and the skimpiness of the sets, for practically no money. Using more otherworldly words, what did you expect, Cool World? (If you're not familiar with that particular film, think: Who Framed Roger Rabbit or Space Jam.) Secondly, why would anyone bother to insert cartoon characters into a live action movie, a process that's probably expensive and quite time consuming, when you have the luminous Madison (Party Doll A Go-Go!) at your disposal? Who the fuck is Madison, you ask? Well, if you must know, she the fuck is only one of the finest actresses ever to grace the silver screen. And if that wasn't enough, she also happens to possess the temperament of a living, breathing cartoon character. In fact, you could, if you were so inclined, rename the film Evil Madison, or Evil Roxanne (the name of the character she plays), and it wouldn't lose a single ounce of its tawdry appeal.

 
Four young-ish women: Jan (Barbara Dare credited as Stacey Nix), black bicycle shorts/micromanaged big hair; Terry (Suzanne Ager), cut-off jean shorts/micromanaged big hair; Megan (Monique Gabrielle), glasses/braided ponytail; and Roxanne (Madison), neon green tank top/black hair affixed with a neon green scrunchie, are dropped off in a white van in front of a large house by a guy in a pink work shirt named Burt (Dick Miller). Told that they need to...I'm sorry to interrupt you, but did you just say that Burt was being played by the ubiquitous Dick Miller? Yeah. I thought you did. Anyway, instructed to clean the spacious residence as some sort of punishment, the ladies have to stay in the house for the entire weekend.    

 
Starting off in the basement, two of the gals come across a mysterious trunk containing an old shawl and a weird-looking dagger.

 
It's was a minor shame that Roxanne had to relinquish her neon green tank top during an impromptu striptease performed for the benefit of her three friends, because the sight of her constantly adjusting her brightly-coloured garment's wayward arm straps (they kept falling off her lusty shoulders) was my favourite aspect of the movie up until this point. Even though the purpose of her fireside burlesque show was primarily titillation-based, the reason she starts to undress seductively to rock music was to accelerate the loosing up process within a certain member of their shapely party. You see, Megan, the girl in the glasses, she's a tad on the reserved side, and all Roxanne wanted to accomplish by shaking her thong-affixed undercarriage was to show her that the female body is something to be revered, not feared. 

 
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. Why, it's David Carradine, and judging by the perturbed expression on his face, he's here to collect his paycheck. Unfortunately, there is no paycheck to be collected. Apparently, his character, Gideon Fisk, a mysterious man who hung himself in the seventeenth century against the wishes of a talking book, has to lurk ominously in the shadows a little while longer before he can get paid.
 

 
At any rate, back to the knock at the door, delivering a book to the ladies, yeah, that's right, the very book Gideon was holding when he committed suicide three hundred or so years ago, three of the girls reluctantly decided to open it. Puzzled by the language used in the book and horrified by the pornographic illustrations, the ladies call on Megan (who is currently ruminating over the largeness of her nipples in the mirror) to help translate the strange text; after all, she wears glasses, and, as most people know, shy girls with large breasts, who, of course, wear glasses, are experts when it comes to deciphering obscure languages.

 
After reading the aloud the section that clearly states that this section should not be read aloud, Megan and the others grow bored of the sinister-looking book and agree that it's time to go to sleep.

 
Good riddance, I say, as we're treated to the stellar facial work of Madison. Stellar facial work?!? Oh, haven't you heard? Her face is alive. I know, we all have faces that are technically "alive." But Madison's face is different. She uses it to convey a wide range of emotions by squinting, smirking, rolling her eyes, and, of course, by scrunching her nose. While most actors stare blanking into space, reciting lines of dialogue when it's there turn to speak, Madison is always expressing herself.

 
Now, you might be surprised to learn that film's most entertaining scene has nothing to do with evil toons or naked breasts. Hold on there, buddy. What could possibly be more entertaining than those things? Have you ever watched Madison try to open a difficult to open bottle of wine? 'Nuff said.

 
As she's waiting for her boyfriend Biff to arrive in man's shirt (don't worry, she has frilly purple lingerie on underneath it) with a freshly opened bottle of wine, Madison flips her hair, rolls her eyes, and scrunches the fuck out of her face. Instead of Biff, however, Madison is confronted by a cartoon; in fact, you could say it's an evil toon. Even though she screams for help (the cartoon beast is straddling her on the floor), her friends upstairs think it's just her having rough sex with Biff on the sofa.

 
While Madison is coming to grips with her new personality (less flippant hair flipping, more sinister glaring), we're treated to a long (and I mean, long) clip from Bucket of Blood and cameo by Michelle Bauer (Café Flesh) and a Seattle Seahawks trashcan. (You know a movie is floundering when I take the time to point out a trashcan.)

 
Comfortable in the knowledge that I have, up until now, done an okay job extolling the virtues of Madison Stone in Evil Toons, I still feel as if her many virtues could be extolled in further. Unfortunately, no-one else in the film's cast or crew comes close to the level of awesomeness Madison repeatedly puts out there in this cinematic atrocity. Actually, composer Chuck Cirino (Chopping Mall and Weird TV) does an excellent job with the music, as his synths at the top of their game, so it's not completely one-sided. But for all intents and purposes, Evil Toons is the Madison show. There's a reason writer-director Fred Olen Ray chose her to be the one who gets possessed by an evil toon. And, no, not just because she was the only one willing to get her top licked off by an animated demon hound. It was because she was the only one with anything close to resembling a functioning personality.
 

 
The first time I became aware of Madison wasn't in Party Doll A Go-Go! or its sequel Party Doll A Go-Go! Part 2, but in The Last Resort, a XXX feature from 1990. While the exact details of the plot escape me at the moment, I do recall a scene where she talks incessantly throughout a kitchen set sex scene with Joey Silvera (who is wearing a chef's hat). And, at the time, I remember thinking, damn, this is chick is funny.

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Dr. Alien (David DeCoteau, 1989)

Clumps of coagulated dandruff conspiring underneath the fingernails of possible existence, Dr. Alien (a.k.a. I Was a Teenage Sex Maniac and I Was a Teenage Sex Mutant) gently protrudes from the top of your head like a worm in search of substandard car insurance. A film like no other, yet strangely like other films in every way imaginable, this David DeCoteau (Creepozoids and Nightmare Sisters) directed piece of excitable sushi has one goal, and one goal only: to begin and to end. And speaking as a person who loves the living otherworldliness out of things that eventually cease to be (especially sporting events and award shows), I appreciated what this out of this world undertaking was attempting to pull off by ending so promptly. In the meantime, the fact that a wholly entertaining film was somehow squeezed between the start and the finish is a testament to the dedication of all those involved in the making of this profoundly touching and socially relevant enterprise. A stark examination of what it must be like to be the owner of an infrequently desired teenage cock, the realistic film follows a buttoned-down stick plunged into an expanse of mud named Wesley Littlejohn (Billy Jayne) as he tries to navigate the intricate nooks and crannies of collegiate life. Like most cautious individuals, his best friend, Marvin (Stuart Franklin), is the complete opposite when it comes to style and overall temperament. Together, they make for a mildly interesting movie pairing. The act of putting them in college as supposed to high school was also interesting; in that, it seemed to free up the filmmakers, giving them carte blanche be more aggressive in regard to implementing their more perverted flights of fancy.

Having just botched an attempt to talk to Leeanne (Olivia Barash), the girl of his dreams, Wesley finds himself all alone in biology class with the newly hired Ms. Xenobia (Judy Landers)–their regular teacher was put out of commission by a large spherical light–and her assistant Drax (Raymond O'Connor). He thinks he's their for an extra credit assignment, but the lab-coated twosome have some different in store for the awkward young man in the bland sweater.

Clandestinely injecting him in the buttocks with a syringe full iridescent green goo, Wesley feels a little woozy and then drifts off on top of a dissecting table. Waking up in a blurred haze, all he remembers is the dainty outline of Ms. Xenobia's complicated lingerie.

Now, I may not have noticed it instantaneously (my brain is not good sometimes), but it was right then and there that Dr. Alien attained its status as a masterwork of imperishable greatness. You see, by fusing the medical properties of lingerie with the eye-catching resplendence of bright liquid in a syringe, the film immediately established itself as a work of art that was worthy of my increasingly fickle gaze.

And you know no-one ever says: Old school garter belts and vividly coloured narcotics are the cornerstone of first-rate cinema.

The mysterious fluid coursing through his veins seems to have improved Wesley's life in every conceivable manner. He's more confident, his attire becomes more casual (no more ties and sweaters), and he's able to talk to Leeanne without tripping over his words. Only problem is that every female on campus wants his penis to be thrust inside their vaginas for a reasonably excessive amount of time whenever that worm-like antennae is sticking out from the base of his skull.

Of course, his friend Marvin doesn't see this as a problem (the prospect of having women crawling all over him is very appealing to him). But if Wesley wants to make any progress with Leeanne, he's gonna have to find away to control his male rivals girlfriend (Julie Gray) and countless horny coeds (the endearing Michelle Bauer from Café Flesh being one of them) who want to decimate his genitalia.

Narrated by Billy Jayne (Just One of the Guys) like it were a Достое́вский novel, Dr. Alien glides smoothly toward its life affirming message (you don't need green goo to be cool), thanks to skillful direction and humourous performances. Snicker obnoxiously if you must, but the combination of fundamental camera angles and comical acting should not be underestimated. Hellish landscapes, even Jim Hackett and Arlene Golonka were able to garner stilted laughter as Wesley's uptight parents.

Exuding a Stephen Sayadian brand of elan, the dream sequence involving Wesley being seduced in a lightless, smoke-filled netherworld was epic in terms of off-kilter brilliance. Standing before the disoriented youngster, undulating in an erotic state of deceleration, were Laura Albert (Dr. Caligari), Ginger Lynn Allen (New Wave Hookers), and Linnea Quigley (Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers). In charge of arousing his woolgathering subconscious, this legendary trio humped the murky air with a cock-teasing grace, as Judy Landers looks on in a pair of purple new wave shades.

Saddled with the role of the innocent wallflower who doesn't quite understand what the troubled protagonist is going through, Olivia Barash is cute when she has to be (her introduction was downright adorable) and feisty when things got hairy (I loved the part where she wields a chainsaw).

I couldn't help but be reminded of Repo Man during the scene where Wesley offers Olivia's Leeanne a ride as she walks down the street, as Otto does the exact same thing in the Alex Cox directed classic. The only difference being Otto is asking her after becoming a square (he used to be a rebellious punk), while Wesley is asking her after transforming into a character that is beaming with confidence.

Call me a misguided miscreant, but there has to be connection these two scenes. I mean, what are the odds of Olivia Barash being offered car rides from young go-getters while walking down the street in two movies?

Anyway, I think I've said enough to adequately advance Dr Alien's profile. Oh, did I mention that Laura Albert, Ginger Lynn Allen and Linnea Quigley also appear as a rock group called The Tangpoons? Yeah, it's entirely true. Sure, they probably don't any of their own singing, but you got to admit, the mental image of those three actresses doing anything together, let alone cavorting on stage in the gaudiest clothes the 1980s have to offer, is pretty fucking awesome.

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