All language subtitles for Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens (Meyer, Russ 1979)_BDRip.1080p.x264.AAC_EN

Oh.

Oh, this is wunderbar.

Fraulein Roop, if you would be so kind?

Oh!

Beware, this record is
the property of Radio Rio Dio,

100,000 watts of faith-healing power,

and its unauthorized use

may be punished by fine
and incarceration. Amen.

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

♪ It's good enough for me ♪

♪ Makes me love everybody ♪

♪ It's good enough for me ♪

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

♪ It's good enough for me ♪

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

♪ It's good enough for me ♪

Small Town, USA.

Average people, ordinary people,

the folks next door.

Walk down any street, knock on any door,

and who will ya meet?

Your neighbors.

That's what it's all about,

friendly people getting
to know one another,

pulling together for the mutual good,

at work and at play,

giving new meanings to
the word "democracy."

People like Mr. Peterbuilt,

A man to the name born.

His obsession, garbage;

his profession, sanitary engineer;

his avocation, fucking.

Lola Langusta, practitioner
of the black sock.

Oh, yeah.

Fount of drug-induced fantasies.

Lola Langusta, hotter
than a Mexican's lunch.

Semper Fidelis, the door-to-door salesman,

out there on a shoe shine and a customer.

Bon vivant, raconteur,

connoisseur of baubles,
bangles, and beads.

Lingerie is his game,
plundering's his name;

a boudoir bandit,

Raiding the coffers of the absent husband

as he draws a veil of gossamer

Over the eyes of the bedazzled housewife.

Culture in Small Town

is represented by the
tempestuous Teuton,

Martin Bormann, equally
at home with the grand

and the grave.

Both grungy laborers,

Beau Badger on the left,
Tyrone on the thigh,

clambering over the Grand Tetons

and the Qattara Depression
that is Junk Yard Sal,

slaving and slathering
together for the common good,

their employer and liege,

an Amazon sucking dry the
marrow of the laboring class.

Lamar Shedd, true to his name,

hoisting high his petard,

always breaking rank to fight another day.

And people like Flovilla Thatch,

dental assistant,

Sexual surrogate,
double-gated paramedian;

- Mm-hmm.
- Indispensable

to the populace of Small Town.

The scat man, Zebulon;

affable, well-meaning, man's best friend,

seldom ever an Uncle Tom.

Lavonia, never a headache,

ever girding her loins for low body blows,

pubic-to-pubic,

wallowing in the empty
saddles of Small Town.

Both dentist and marriage counselor,

Dr. Asa Lavender, DDS,

Fighting tartar, soothing flaming roots,

cleaving together a house divided.

The callow youth, Rhett,

bumptious teenager,
potential decathlon champion,

qualifying in nine events
but lacking in one.

Small Town is like your town and my town,

where Main Street still works.

If you're still searching
for the American dream,

then search no longer.

It's right here in Small Town, USA.

Behind every door, a story;

Behind every story, a good woman.

Like the buxotic Eufaula Roop.

Yet that's another tale.

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

But not every story is so simple.

Yes, believe it or not,
even in Small Town, USA,

there are still people who
are unfulfilled and unrelieved

in the midst of plenty.

No, no, no, no!

- I know it'll hurt.
- Lavonia, Lavonia, I love you.

- No, I hate it.
- For God's sake,

there's something’s gone fucking
wrong with our love life.

Get your dick out of there,
you pre-vert!

Oh, Lamar Shedd!

Take this!

That's the last time
you'll screw me in the ass.

Lavonia.

Lavonia.

Lavonia? Lavonia? Lavonia!

Lavonia!

Shit.

And I was blind, too,
brothers and sisters,

but now I see, and you'll
see the light, too,

on Rio Dio Radio, 100,000 watts

of clear channel healing on
the Salvation of the Southwest.

Now, for all you listeners
who got your pencils ready

during that last inspiring
hymn, here's the address

for those blessed handkerchiefs
I was telling you about.

First, send a dollar,

only $1,

But no stamps or checks, please,

brothers and sisters, to
Hanky, Rio Dio, Texas,

care of your evangelist of the airwaves,

Sister Eufaula Roop,
bringing you salvation

and hope to all of you folks at home

and those listening over
the radios of their pickups,

four wheelers, hardtops,

and RVs.

But now it's time again

For our healing service.

You've heard of laying on of hands.

You've heard of laying on of feet.

Well, I've got a simply
wonderful piece of news

for all you wonderful people today,

Rio Dio Radio has entered

the born again electronic age of healing,

the laying on of radio.

Now, I know there are people out there

who aren't feeling just right tonight.

Maybe they can't quite put a finger on it,

but gosh, they know something's wrong.

Maybe a joint that's stiff and sore.

Maybe nothing worse than a bad head cold.

Or maybe you're among the
bedridden or the laid-up.

Well, you're just the folks

we're gonna heal tonight.

You know, they say
healing could take place

in mysterious ways,

For the ways of the universe are strange,

brothers and sisters.

So, we're gonna try something new tonight.

We're gonna heal over the radio.

That's right, brothers and sisters.

I want you to place your afflicted parts

right there on top of your radio.

That's it.

Just place the part that's
ailing on the radio.

And now, let's heal.

Whatever it is that hurts,
make it stop hurting.

What's stiff, make it limber.

What's shrunken, make it large.
And what's been violated,

make it whole again.

We rest our case on thee.

♪ Glory to... ♪

♪ Playing on the radio ♪

♪ Oh, come, ye brothers and sisters ♪

♪ You're the folks ♪

♪ We're going to heal today ♪

Now, wasn't that a lovely hymn,

and didn't they sing it just wonderfully?

Why, it's almost enough to
send shivers down your spine,

brothers and sisters,
hearing such lovely music.

And I also certainly hope you benefited

from tonight's marvelous healing service.

For no matter how much
punishment we may take, friends,

no matter how tortured, how assaulted,

how pummeled our very
innermost beings may become,

no matter how much we may despair

in the darkness of the lonely night,

there can come a healing hand
to take that which was tired

and give it new strength.

And gee, isn't that wonderful?

A marvelous feeling,

and the very best of all,

that which was dead,
bringing it new life!

There, Lamar, doesn't that
feel good, nice, and warm?

We conclude our broadcasting
day here at Rio Dio Radio

in Rio Dio, Texas.

This is your own sister, Eufaula Roop...

All you need is a little rest, Lamar.

Wishing you a good night's sleep

from the Salvation of the Southwest,

healing you on AM,

Healing you on FM.

Healing you from one end
of the dial to the other,

this is 100,000 watts
of down-home therapy,

saying so long 'til tomorrow.

The dawn's early light
comes to Small Town every day,

and with it, the events of the
night before are forgotten.

Private enterprise, the
cornerstone of Small Town:

Junk Yard Sal helps architect
the American dream,

The discards of progress,
scrap iron into plowshares,

plowshares into Minutemen.

Yesterday's Pontiac
becomes tomorrow's Polaris

as Small Town arms the
nation; industry on the march,

from steam engines to steam irons,

from bicycles to bulldozers,

and then onto the junk heap of history.

There are big jobs to
be done in Small Town,

and Small Town has the men to do them.

And there's no use lingering over bygones

when it's off to work we go.

Hey, Lamar, you forgot
your lunch bucket.

- Well, thank you.
- Oh.

Peanut butter again, I hope.

- Bye.
- So long.

Hey, Sal? Sal? Sorry I'm late.

I'll put in some overtime tonight

- to make up for it.
- Okay.

It takes all kinds to
work at Junkyard Sal's.

Like Zebulon, member of one
of the many minority groups

in Small Town's bubbling melting pot.

One day, his dream is to
own a junkyard of his own.

Then there's Beau Badger and
his faithful sidekick, Tyrone.

Beau's a redneck, lean and mean;

Tyrone's a racist, crude,
rude, and tattooed;

dropouts from the rat race of life,

human flotsam,

Useless roadblocks

In the avenue of progress,

bitterly envious of the lower classes,

rejected by the volunteer army.

Their choice in life is
a sad but simple one:

the drunk tank or the scrap heap.

But at Junk Yard Sal's,

They can find at last a useful purpose

because even they can be recycled

to be made useful again
in Sal's scheme of things.

No shit.

Junk Yard Sal's, a microcosm
of the industrial might

that provides Small Town

and the nation with
leisure time opportunities,

leisure time to pursue the dream

of every red-blooded girl in Small Town:

the assault and seduction
of an innocent young stud.

And who is our Lavonia
to ignore an old adage?

Let's see, something
about the devil finds work

for idle hands?

Or something like that.

Mine!

In the words of Lavonia,

"Give me the boy and I'll
give you back the man."

But even with such an
enthusiastic instructor,

a young man's first
lesson in human sexuality

are often a matter of sink or swim.

Should he be plunged at
once into the deepest waters

of carnal knowledge, or
encouraged to splash about

while building his courage
in the shallows of foreplay?

Lavonia has an unusual
approach, to say the least.

And so, in the murky waters of desire,

first the unrestrained assault,
then the subtle seduction.

It's good to be a fast learner,

but young men are too quick to learn.

But in Lavonia's judgment,
it is far more fruitful

to mother, to nurture a young lad

with encouragement on
the sandbar of dalliance

just before unleashing the wild ecstasies

of the final examination.

Folks in Small Town play hard,
and they work hard, too.

They like to be doing
something hard all the time.

Come on, let me give you a hand.

Never send a man to do a woman's job.

Now, stand back.

That's Junk Yard Sal's motto

and she's backed it up
with spectacular success

in the scrap iron industry.

Lamar, get your ass
away from that car door.

As a scrap iron
entrepreneur opening new doors

for women in all lines of work,

Sal is a sexual pioneer way
out there in the front lines

of women's liberation.

You really know how to handle this place.

You seem kind of peaked today, Lamar.

You get enough rest last night?

Had a great night's sleep.

Bet Lamar's horny young chick gets

- all the rest she needs.
- I bet so, too, Beau.

I'd sure like to give
her a sleepless night.

Yeah, a sleepless night.

What do you say, Lamar?

Why don't you step over to the office,

grab a little shuteye?

It's got a nice big bed.

No, honestly, Sal, I feel neat.

Scared of the boss?

No, it's just that I
got a lot on my mind,

what with my correspondence school course

- and everything.
- Correspondence school, shit.

You said it, Beau, shit.

Just trying to improve my lot in life,

make a little more money,
get an extra job at night.

Anytime you wanna put a
little overtime in, Lamar...

Yeah, sure, Sal, I'll know where to go.

Meanwhile, back on the Pecos,

in the School of Bucolic Dalliance,

young Rhett passes with
flying colors and a B+.

The satisfied and dedicated
instructress Lavonia has opened

up broad new vistas of athletic endeavor

for her gratified student.

What's your name?

My name's Rhett, ma'am.

Oh, what a nice name.

How old are you? Mm.

- I'm 14, ma'am.
- I never had

a 14-year-old joint... I mean, a
boy named Rhett before, yeah.

Rhett's got a lot of size for his size.

I'd like you to show...

Look at that kiss-ass Lamar.

Yeah, Beau, kiss-ass.

Now, you stop criticizing Lamar that way.

Man, why does he have to go talking

- shit like that?
- Shit like what?

Sticking up for Lamar

when you know he's just
the boss lady's new stud.

New stud, yeah.

I'm not gonna listen to
that kind of talk anymore.

And besides, I've got my job to do.

I don't see why Zebulon has
to stand up for that candy-ass

he calls a friend.

Yeah, Beau, candy-ass friend.

Now, I don't wanna hear you
talk about Lamar that way,

or any friend of mine.

Zebulon, you in such
bad need of a friend?

Oh, I'm not gonna talk
to you white trash anymore.

Fuck yourself.

Obscene rednecks.

Zebulon!

Okay, guys, knock it off
before somebody gets hurt.

See there, Tyrone?

I always told you Zebulon
had a lot of white blood in him.

Yeah, a lot of white blood.

The last stand of free enterprise:

Semper Fidelis, door-to-door salesman.

While others risk coronaries
behind their desks,

he takes to the open road.

Fidelis is the most successful
door-to-door salesman

in Small Town, USA.

Maybe that's because he doesn't sell

the same tired old items...
the greeting cards,

toiletries, and vacuum cleaner brushes...

But bizarre lingerie by
Frederico's of Wisconsin,

the famed establishment that
has inflamed the fantasies

of the middle class

For more than a generation.

And how convenient to make a
selection right in the privacy

of your own living room.

Oh, uh, good afternoon, ma'am.

I'd like to introduce myself to you.

I'm Semper Fidelis, and
I'm from Frederico's.

You know, the lingerie firm?

And we're introducing
our brand new spring line

to a selected group of
ladies like yourself.

And I'm sure I'll have something in here

that you'll find particularly interesting,

yes, particularly interesting for you.

Oh, oh.

Piece de resistance!

A satin dress?

Rhinestone. Purdy.

A beautiful wig.

Oh, a gold necklace.

A choker?

"Spanish Made Simple"?

I could do a little
moonlighting in this outfit.

Sure as my mama named me

Semper Fidelis, your own
husband wouldn't recognize you.

Oh, Lamar... Lamar, shit, oh!

Hey, amigo!

I'm interested to know what
you have in that other box.

Oh, I don't believe
madam would be interested

in that case over there.

- Oh, yes, I would.
- Well, the items in that case

are for our, uh, male customers.

You mean faggots wear this?

Ooh, I do have something
I'd like to show you.

- Like what?
- Bust development pump

by Frederico's of Wisconsin.

You just attach it to your kitchen faucet.

Uh, let me show you. May I?

A bust developer for me?

Sexist asshole.

- I meant no offense.
- Mr. Fidelis,

do you make them for men?

A bust developer for men?

Not for their bust,
dummy, to make them larger...

Much bigger!

Ooh, what an intriguing idea.

I'll have to take that up with
the home office in Racine.

The rye is fine, the
crotch less panties, divine.

I'm not wealthy or renowned,

but I get my share of pussy
in this here town.

Garter belts cute and rhymes with root.

And since I darned these fishnet hose,

I can see how your affection grows.

When it comes to bodies, you're a star.

Thank God I got another pair
of britches out in the car.

Minis hot, toes are hard.

Why don't you take a credit card?

When it comes to paying,
miss, I'm your man.

Let's work out an installment plan.

And you can take that to the bank.

Hey, Lamar, where you going?

Straight home, Zebulon.

Uh-huh, you ain't going nowhere.

Boss lady wants to see you.

I guess this means overtime.

Hardly the end of an
eventful day for Lamar.

But the busy worker is a happy worker,

and the happy worker has a busy boss,

and the busy worker makes a happy boss.

It's all well and good
for Lamar to fuck his way

through correspondence school,

as long as he doesn't forget
he's a rear window man.

Sometimes opportunity knocks but once,

something Junk Yard Sal
has made abundantly clear.

Lamar, honey, why don't
y'all come on inside,

take a load off your feet?

Uh,

uh, Sal, I gotta be gettin' on home.

I'll see you tomorrow, okay?

And consider that Lamar's future

hangs in the balance.

Fuck, Sal, I
only got one way to go.

One way at a time is enough for me.

Inside, Lamar, or you gonna find

your ass drawing unemployment checks.

Mm, motherfucker.

Rising from the
smoldering ashes of rebellion

♪ Ba, ba, boom, deez ♪

♪ Doo, doo, doo, doo, dee ♪

Spread with the speed of...

Come on, let's watch.

Yeah, Beau, let's watch.

Gathered power and force,

feeding on itself, a firestorm

of a new moral conception.

- Beau, I bet...
- Shhh.

The holocaust that had
developed this tiny island

burst forth in similar
conflagrations all over the globe.

Born of the same torment,
a document that altered

the fate of oppressed millions,

The Emancipation Proclamation
signaled the abolition

of slavery in the United
States of America.

What to do? I cooperate or lose my job.

Lamar has a simple choice:

either he comes across in the sack,

or it's goodbye correspondence school.

But when you're the boss
lady, who's going to argue?

Men and music go together.

Get to work, Lamar.

Rio Dio Radio, Salvation
of the Southwest,

100,000 watts healing with faith.

Your salvation, too, brothers and sisters,

if you love solace and succor.

That's right, friends, and
if you love one another.

Yes, this is Sister Eufaula Roop.

Easy, Sal, watch it, watch it.

Oh, hey.

- There we go.
- Dammit, watch it.

This is our afternoon healing session,

an afternoon of solace and succor.

But before we commence with it,

I'd like to ask you this
very personal question.

Have you received your Mount Rushmore

and Holy Land satin
occasional pillows yet?

Folks from all over our
38-state listening area

have been writing in with repeat,

yes, I said repeat orders
for these lovely pillows.

They just can't get enough of them.

If you haven't ordered yours,
listen to this description

and see if you can resist the opportunity

to own your own set of Mount Rushmore

and Holy Land satin occasional pillows,

Yes, George Washington, Abraham
Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt,

and Aaron Burr gaze out
at you in the privacy

of your own living room.

Dammit, girl, I told you

This just ain't the way I do it!

- This isn't...
- All right.

What I like to do.

...Dead Sea, Noah's Ark,
and the Wailing Wall,

bringing the good book to life right...

Dammit, Sal.

I just don't do it this way.

Now wait.

- Right on.
- No, wait, I tell you.

No, no, no.

Just send cash or a bonafide
U.S. postal money order

and your name and address,
but no stamps or personal checks...

To "Pillow," Rio Dio, Texas.

And now, friends, yes, it's time

for our afternoon healing session.

- Honey, what you doing?
- And as always,

Radio Rio Dio's electronic miracle,

the laying on of radio...

I warned you, Sal.

- I wanna get one more...
- Oh, no, you don't.

And then we pray

that what was split
asunder be made whole again,

that what was weak be made strong,

that what was short be made long,

and what was insatiable, satiated.

Okay, have it your way, Lamar.

My sisters and brothers,
if you have trouble...

Beau!

Tyrone!

I'm gonna whoop your ass!

Salvation of the Southwest.

Y'all come here!

Beau Badger, you've been asking for that,

you envious son of a bitch.

Now for you, Tyrone.

What's your hurry, Tyrone?

I'm not in a hurry.

It's just getting late
and I have to be going.

Don't fuck around with
me, I don't like it.

Go on, take that, Tyrone,
you yellow-bellied coward.

Push that time clock for the last time,

you peeping creeps.

If there's anything I can't
stand, it's goddamn pre-verts.

And that goes for you, too,
Lamar, until you see it my way.

I can't stand a man who won't
look a good fuck in the eye.

And so, dear friends,

if you've got your afflicted
part on the radio together

with your Holy Rushmore

Satin pillow, join me now in reprising

that wonderful favorite hymn of mine,

"Succor Me, Succor Me."

Asshole!

Lamar must keep asking
himself why he's burdened

with this cross to bear.

And days like today add insult to injury

to a man like Shedd, who
asks little more from life

than a correspondence school
diploma and connubial bliss

with the pneumatic Lavonia.

Small wonder then that
Lamar joins Small Town

and the nation in proclaiming,
“Thank God it's Friday.”

Show business: there's
no business like it,

not even in easygoing Small Town.

And the local superstar is Lola Langusta,

the hottest tamale
south of the Rio Grande,

her maddening body beating out a tattoo

on the libido of her sweaty audience.

Lola Langusta,

a gringo audience-pleaser;

numero uno, yes, sir.

Number one, as they say down Mexico way.

Well, Lamar is a few minutes late.

Instead of heading straight
home to the bosom of his family,

Small Town's all-American
working man can't resist

a refreshing pause and
a long, cool tall one.

But why this place of all
the watering holes in town?

Fate, or have the rigors
of the day turned Lamar

on to the intrigue that lurks within?

Oh.

I'd like some beer.

Mm.

That Lola Langusta looks like
one pretty familiar tamale.

As a matter of fact, she's a dead ringer

for Lavonia, Lamar's old lady.

- Well, let me see...
- That'll be two bucks.

Maybe the hair is a little different,

but you'll see that's Lavonia herself

under all that war paint.

If you'll just search
your memory a little,

maybe you'll remember that she ran

into a Frederico's of
Wisconsin lingerie drummer,

Semper Fidelis, who planted
a seed in Lavonia's mind,

an idea, a way to maybe get

around Lamar's bizarre sexual leanings

and set him back on the
straight and narrow again.

All it would take,
Lavonia figured, would be

a clever disguise and some
disarming Mexican lingo

sexy enough to turn Lamar around.

But even so, wouldn't you think

a guy would recognize his
own old lady, even in a wig?

I guess what you gotta
keep in mind here is

that we're dealing with a guy

who only has an IQ of about 37.

Well, that's one way of
getting someone's attention,

even a guy who's not exactly
playing with a full deck.

Looks like there's a
Michael Finn in the house.

That lozenge would stop Godzilla's clock.

Thank you, ma'am.

Nice.

Kieza, carry Lamar upstairs.

It's a good thing Lamar
didn't finish his beer.

And now, Lavonia... uh, I, I mean
Lola Langusta... will attempt

what is impossible for anyone except she

who is the hottest tamale
both sides of the Rio Grande,

yes, to inspire an
erection in a man drugged

into unconsciousness by ministering

and manipulating his dick
to every possible degree.

Her mission, to free Lamar
from beneath the valley

so that even he will be capable

of looking a good fuck
straight in the eye.

There are many ways of tackling a problem,

but a good therapist will
begin by dealing with basics.

Resolute, undaunted,
Lola must dip more deeply

into her reservoir of carnal magic.

In Lola's own words,
"the black sock never fails."

She begins by deftly threading

Lamar's limber burrito into it.

In no time at all, Lola
Langusta's efforts will pay off,

shifting gears to the
old broom handle fly.

Ah, the maximum result
is almost instantaneous.

All that remains is the ultimate test.

Lola celebrates the excellent results

of her administrations
using Lamar's inert body

beneath her as a living dildo.

Where am [?

What happened?

What?

One can readily see that
Lola's thing boils down

to good straight sex and no funny stuff.

A silent willing man is
a good willing member.

♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪

What happened?

Hey, uh, what's happening?

To dry out an alcoholic
requires more than conversation,

and to turn around Lamar's
rear-window tendencies,

Lola... or Lavonia, as you choose... knows

that the service she has rendered,

though spectacularly therapeutic,
hardly represents a cure.

One thing for sure, Lola's got to get rid

of Lamar pronto if the healing
therapy is to continue.

And the classic threat
of a returning husband,

certainly under the
circumstances, is a sure bet

to get the show on the road.

Even though Lola's lingo is still Latin,

she dishes up a pretty fair picture of her

freaked-out old man:
seven feet tall

and meaner than a junk yard dog

with a pig sticker twice the size

of the one she's wielding.

And to guild the lily, a stated backup

of six burly, bloodthirsty,
gringo-hating vaqueros...

Mexican cowboys to you.

Well, Lola, ah,

let's call her by her real name,

Lavonia's dynamic persuasion penetrates

Lamar's zonked gourd,
setting his ass in gear.

Oh, lest we forget and
ignore the quantum leap

that could make medical history,

Lamar did fuck straight,
even though unconscious

and protected by a long, black nylon sock.

But, and this is
important, he still has yet

to look a good fuck straight in the eye.

Whoo!

I'll be damned.

Ya'll come back!

You ever have one of those days

where nothing seemed to go right?

Well, let's see what Lola...
I mean, Lavonia... is up to.

Thank you.

Forgot your hat, ma'am.

Oh, thanks, thanks very much.

Confused? There's no need to be.

This is really a very simple story.

Breaker break, Wetness to Salad Bowl.

Come on over, Mr. Peterbuilt,
and I'll eat your lunch, 10-4.

More, more, yes, more.

More! I love it!

3:00, almost two
hours 'til quittin' time

in Small Town, USA, but some
folks are never ready to quit.

Gladly do they teach,
and gladly do they learn.

This morning, Lavonia held
summer school with young Rhett.

Now she's doing post-graduate work

with the industrious Mr. Peterbuilt.

Huh, why does she look
at the clock so intently?

Well, I expect it'll take
Lamar quite some time

to get those blown tires changed.

Uh-oh, sooner than I thought.

Well, this ought to be interesting.

- ♪ Ay, ay, ay, ay ♪
- Hey, Salad,

this here is Seagull.

Where the hell you at?

I got a week's load of
salad parked out back

drawing flies, 10-4.

I love it!

More, more.

Give it to me.
I want more!

Cock, cock, more cock.

Lavonia, say something in Mexican.

I said say something in Mexican.

Adios.

What about these things, this wig?

What about this dress and
these goddamn red shoes?

You know them samples I got, baby.

In a pig's ass!

Who the fuck is that?

Mr. Peterbuilt, picking on poor Lamar.

Get out, out, out.

Get out, out.

I said get out! Out and never come back.

Ugh.

And next time, wash these goddamn pants.

You may be the best lay
in Small Town, USA,

Mr. Peterbuilt, but no matter!

You'll hear from
my attorney in the morning!

It won't hold up in court.

Besides, Peterbuilt's all talk,

and Lavonia's got his number.

Could it be that there's
more here than meets the eye?

You only thought
I was doing something bad,

Lamar, that you saw me being unfaithful.

That settles it, Lavonia.

We've gotta have help,
professional help,

if we're going save this relationship.

Save their relationship?

Well, maybe a means to an end.

There's no question in my mind, Lavonia.

The only man who can solve my problem

is Dr. Asa Lavender.

For years, he's been Small Town's

friendly next-door dentist and
part-time marriage counselor.

Uh-oh, here they come.

Well, as I was saying, even
in peaceful Small Town,

there's not much Dr.
Lavender hasn't seen or done.

But this is a case for the record books:

a handsome young man
with a beautiful woman,

and he can only satisfy his needs by...

Well, you know Lamar's problem.

Lavonia's problem, if we
can call it a problem,

is far less complicated.

She suffers from enthusiasm.

Well, anyway, it's a case
for individual therapy

as we leave Lavonia and
Lamar to the tender mercies

of Dr. Lavender and Nurse Flovilla Thatch.

Well, and what is your problem today?

I can only get it off when I...

When I'm rimming Lavonia.

All the...

- Yeah, and it's a...
- ...toilet paper.

...real pain in the ass.

Yeah, yes, I understand.

- Oh, yes, of course.
- Well, the problem

is really Lamar, as I've only
come to have my teeth cleaned.

Teeth cleaned, yes.

Well, uh, I see, first things first.

Uh, you come with me, my dear,

while, uh, Nurse Thatch gives a, uh,

Nurse Thatch gives a,
uh, preliminary diagnosis

of the man.

What a gorgeous-looking couple!

Oh, ma'am, that could, that could lead

to a whole pack of trouble.

What you wanna go messing
with my problem for?

Don't you know what they say

about pouring more oil on the fire?

You've got it all wrong.

- Lavonia?
- Stop.

Lamar, this
is not what I wanted.

This ain't my idea

- of a good time.
- See, I fuck like a real man...

Shut up, bitch.

You just led me down
the prime-rose path...

Like everyone.

You bitch.

Oh, why can't,

Why can't a woman be more like a man?

Let's switch!

- Be more like a man...
- Yes?

Ugh.

Holy fag!

- Oh, shit.
- Cunt.

Passion, passion!

- My aching anus.
- Hey, what's happening?

It's nothing your old man can't handle.

Oh, that'd get old quick.

Mm-hmm.

Stay outta my closet, you bitch.

Oh.

Pussycat? Pussycat?

Meow.

We're gonna have a good time.

Let's see.

Pussy.

- Meow, meow.
- 17 inches divided by two is...

Pussycat, pussycat.

Pussy?

Cunt.

You hear me, Lamar Shedd?

I'm speaking to you, slut.

Jezebel. Paramour.

Lamar, this is your last chance.

Lamar, your queen is speaking to you.

Do you hear me?

Lamar?

You bitch.

Lamar, don't you play games with me!

You vacate my closet immediately!

Do you hear me, you cunt?

Get out right now or
I'll knock down the door.

No, really, fuck you,
bitch, you closet queen!

All right, you bitch, you just wait!

Lamar Shedd, your
obstinacy is forcing me

to measures most extreme.

Come out, come out, or I'll huff

and I'll puff and I'll
blow the door down!

Lamar, stand aside.

Lamar?

Lamar, are you all right, pussycat?

Lamar, Daddy didn't hurt you, did he?

- Pussy?
- Fuck you, faggot.

Well, that's all I mean to you?

Fuck you, whore.

You dirty bitch!

You dirty slut!

You forced me to extreme measures!

I will not be denied.

My needs will be fulfilled.

And I pray, bitch, that you should drink

the black sperm of my vengeance.

You dirty slut!

You dirty bitch!

You bitch!

I'm gonna get you, dead or alive.

You bitch!

Oh, God!

But you're stubborn.
Your bitch is coming in!

You think you can play with me?

You can't!

I'm going to just saw away on my door.

I'm going to kick and marry you.

Lover been bad.

Kiss me, I'm coming.

A toupee?

Even your hair's phony.

Lavonia! Lavonia.

We gotta get the fuck
outta this madhouse!

More! More!

- More cock!
- Lavonia.

- I'm wet!
- We gotta get

the hell outta here.

Goddamn, let's get outta here.

Oh, Lamar.

More big cock.

Yeah, okay,
I'm, I'm ready, I'm ready.

Lamar...

You're a discredit to the
marriage counseling profession.

Fuck you, pussycat!

Humbug!

If that was any example

of Dr. Lavender's professional standards,

his shingle should be hanging
by a mighty thin thread.

He'd even give malpractice
a clean bill of health.

And as for Lamar,

I'd say he's just about
at the end of his rope.

He's exhausted his options
by barking up the wrong tree.

Either he gets his own ass in gear

or it's goodbye, Lavonia, and
all that fun and loving. Pity.

You and your goddamn bright ideas.

If Lamar is ever gonna find deliverance,

he'll have to shoot the rapids
in someone else's canoe.

You're tuned to Rio Dio Radio,

Heaven's top 40,
where for one week only,

we're offering our genuine
plastic illuminated waterfall

for only $9.98.

That's right, $9.98, postage
and handling included.

Gosh, neighbors, you'll
want to appreciate this work

of art in your own parlor.

It looks like a real waterfall.

Reminds me of my
wonderful trip to Tijuana...

Uh, I mean Niagara.

And yet unlike a real waterfall,

it will never disappoint
you by running dry.

It's made of durable,
industrial-strength plastic designed

to keep running day in and day out,

month after month, year after
year, batteries not included.

Just send $9.98, but no
stamps or checks, please,

brothers and sisters, to
"Waterfall," Rio Dio, Texas,

care of Sister Eufaula Roop,

the Top-40 faith healer and
salvator of the Southwest,

saying think about this question:

have you considered
trading in self-abuse

for self-realization?

Yes, self-realization
through the liquid of life

which gave birth to us
all, to the little birdies

and the little fishies,
the little doggies,

the little Kewpies, and the little babies.

And isn't that wonderful?

Water cleansing the body,
the soul, the extremities.

Immersion is the only answer.

Water to nurture, to succor,
to inundate, to cleanse...

Golly, it's a beautiful notion.

And by gosh, brothers and sisters,

the very thought just makes pins

and needles race up and down my spine.

And now let me ask you something, friends.

How many times have you found yourself

- in the doghouse?
- Lavonia, if this don't work,

then I'll never bother you again.

Maybe what you need is
our new twelve cells...

That's right, twelve cells
for extra power.

You never know when an
emergency will come up,

and two cells just won't do.

Two cells is fine for the little jobs.

But for the big jobs,

you need a big, handsome flashlight!

A, a 12-cell flashlight,

longer lasting.

It won't go off.

I mean, it won't go out
when you need it most.

And now, today's laying on
of radio healing service

will come in an hour.

Uh, but first, um,

this interview.

Uh, yes, dear friends,
and you are dear to me,

each and every single one of you.

I can't tell you how much.

And, and now, uh, today's
laying on of radio,

uh, yes, radio healing service
will be delayed for an hour

because of technical
difficulties beyond our desires,

uh, I mean beyond our control, that is.

But I promise you,
dear, dear, dear friends,

that just as soon as I can,

um, as soon as I can
straight out my technical,

uh, uh, uh,

My problems, my sexual, uh, my,

uh, my technical
difficulties, we'll be back.

Because each and every
one's dear to me, that is,

so join with us now

in this interlude of uplifting hymns.

What can I do for you, brother?

I wanna be saved.

I wanna be solaced and succored.

Hmm.

Let me slip into something more devout.

Breaker, break,
Wetness to Salad Bowl,

my lube job's overdue.

Please, oh, more cock.

Oh, more cock.

Brothers and sisters,
we now interrupt this program.

Radio Rio Dio in Rio Dio, Texas,

100,000 watts of
faith-healing power, brings you

for the first time live from our studio

an on-the-spot-coverage

Of an actual solace and succor service

by your own Sister Eufaula
Roop, who will heal a young man

whose name is being withheld

pending notification of next of kin.

Now we take you live to
Studio A, Sister Roop,

Sinner X, and the Double Joy.

Are you ready to begin
the service? Are we?

Is it time to heal?

Is it? Are you ready to give yourself

over to the experience, are you?

Come with me in the time of life.

Come to the cleansing
water, oh, yes, the water.

Yes, oh, yes, the water
will wash us clean, oh, yes.

The water will clean us,

- yes, oh, yes.
- I can't...

The water will wash us clean, yes.

The water will wash us clean again

in our bodies and our souls, yes!

Our souls and our spirits, yes!

- Our spirits and our feet, yes!
- I can't breathe.

Oh, yes, the water will
wash us clean, oh, yes.

Are you washed?

Are you washed?

Are you washed?

- Are you washed?
- Yes, I'm washed.

Are you?

Will we find deliverance? Will we?

Will we find the harmony, eternity?

Will we?

- Will we find humbling?
- I can't breathe.

- Will we?
- I can't breathe.

Then stay there. Will we?

Will we find salvation? Will we?

Will we find deliverance?

Will we? Will we find
the aura of eternity?

Will we? Will we reach karma?

- Please...
- Will we?

And savior, will we? We must.

- No.
- We must be saved.

- We must...
- Stop it.

We must be saved. We must.

- Please.
- We must, we must,

- we must.
- Stop.

Come, come with me now.

- No.
- Come.

- Stop being a bitch.
- Come with me now, come.

And beside me now, come, come.

It's time to come.

- You're it.
- We must be delivered.

We must, we must be saved.

Wash me, wash me.

Through reincarnation.

Heal my radio. Heal me.

In this life really or in the next.

Solace me, solace me.

Succor me!

Succor! Succor me!

Will we... will we find sal... sal...

sal... salvation?

Realization! Realization!

Help.

Will we find self... self...

self-realization?

Succor, succor me.

Yes, brother, yes, we will.

- Oh, okay.
- Yeah.

- I'm taking cover.
- Yes, brother.

Yes, we will.

Yes, self-realization!

This is your announcer again.

You have just shared,
yes, a live broadcast

of an actual on-the-spot
solace and succor service

By the Salvator of the Southwest.

Now, Sister Eufaula
Roop's closing thoughts.

Brothers and sisters,

If you're not saved, do what I did,

save yourself.

And now, brothers and sisters,

while Sister Roop realigns her
spheres of spiritual thrust,

a selection of stirring
hymns and martial airs

prepared and gifted to us
by our sister station,

Radio Joplin.

Breaker, break,
Seagull to Salad Bowl,

we still got a shit pot
full a-leaving, boy.

If you don't haul it
off, the possums will.

Get your ass in gear, 10-4.

Perhaps a sociologist could
explain why Lavonia risks

her ideal relationship,

Her prospects for a rosy future,

all for an adulterous liaison

with Small Town's garbage czar.

You're tough.

One more time,
Peterbuilt, one more time.

Oh, no, I gotta split.

Besides, your old man'll
be due home any time,

and I don't want any more of that shit.

There's still another
hour before supper.

We got lots of time.

Ah, shit, no.

Oh.

Get your ass outta my face.

I don't eat pussy. It's un-American.

Easy, Lavonia, easy.

The damn thing's as sore as a boil.

Oh, six times in two hours.

Concentrate, Mr. Peterbuilt.

All ya have to do is concentrate.

But why in the world has
Lavonia once again taken

Mr. Peterbuilt to bed?

Curious.

Oh, flip me over now.

- Now! Flip me!
- I'm whooped, Lavonia.

I'm as weak as a mewly cat.

Come on, Mr. Peterbuilt.

Climb the mountain one more time.

It'll be the best.

- Oh.
- Oh, fuck.

Maybe we've been too hard on Lavonia.

Surely, it isn't carnal
desire that drives her on.

Even Mr. Peterbuilt's home breaker
isn't worth a broken home.

Mrs. Peterbuilt here.

You're two hours late for my oil change.

If you're not home in 15 minutes,

I'll see you in court, bimbo.

Oh, Lamar, I thought you'd never come.

Me neither.

Hop on.

Oh, Lamar, you're all straightened out.

Yep.

It didn't do no good.

Faith healer, my ass.

♪ Old time religion, gimme
that old time religion ♪

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

♪ It's good enough for me ♪

Excuse me, Lavonia.

Oh, Lamar, I feel like a virgin again.

Oh, Lamar.

More cock! Oh, I want it.

- Give me more cock.
- Here.

Wrap your legs tight, tight around me.

Oh, you're great, better
than Mr. Peterbuilt.

I love it.

Oh, that was a good 'un.

Peterbuilt's a bad guy, Lavonia.

Yeah, Lamar, real bad.

Please, oh, more cock.

Now you put that back in
your pants, Mr. Fidelis.

Ooh, I tell you, friends, that
song brings me real solace.

I can't say what a comfort it is,

especially in these...

Especially in these...

What, ooh, to expect next?

A song like that can transport
you to honest-to-goodness,

oh, oh, rapture.

Oh, that's just...

I feel...

Oh, and I just wish I could stay here

at the microphone forever,

But, uh, there's always
someone to be saved...

Oh! Someone who needs
solace even more than I do.

But... but... oh!

So let's all enjoy...

Enjoy this lovely musical interlude

from Rio Dio Radio, ooh,

healing you on AM, healing you on FM.

Brothers and, ooh, sisters,
that's what we need,

self-realization and the, oh!

I'm getting very good vibrations from you.

More cock!

Getting very good vibrations

from, you all today.

I can just, whoo, tell how much.

Lay it on the radio and...

Come on, Rhett.

Rhett, my gosh, you touched my soul.

Teenagers need solace and
succor just like anybody else.

This is your announcer again.

We have an unprecedented
epoch in the annals

of radio broadcasting.

Yes, for the second time today,

Sister Eufaula Roop will
bestow an abundance of solace

and succor upon a young sinner.

Hallelujah, brothers
and sisters, hallelujah.

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

♪ Gimme that old time religion ♪

♪ It's good enough for me ♪

♪ Makes me love everybody
Makes me love everybody ♪

♪ Makes me love everybody ♪

♪ It's good enough for me ♪

Sure, folks play around
a little in Small Town,

but that's just to keep things

from getting too darn peaceful.

And if they don't get what they
want the first time around,

well, there's always tomorrow.

In addition to the championship,

there's always more than one bowl game

at the end of the season.

Are you kidding? No, no.

I always wanted to own
my own junkyard.

More cock! Cock!

Give me more cock!

Oh, I didn't know you
were still around, RM.

There's something for
everyone here in Small Town.

That's why it's such
a swell place to live.

Well, look at Lamar.

Now that he and Lavonia have
gotten their act together,

I bet he'll buckle down

and maybe even take
some postgraduate work.

Then again, maybe he'll never
get back to hitting the books.

What you gonna
get me for my birthday?

You're getting it right now.

Seems like old times.

But only on your birthday.

Anyway, if you should ever find yourself

down in this neck of the woods again,

you'll be sure to pay us
a visit to Small Town,

cradle to the nation.

...But no stamps or
checks, friends, to "Pillow,"

Rio Dio, Texas.

And now, friends, yes...

You know my 14-year-old son, Rhett,

but I don't believe you've met
my Austrian wife, SuperSoul.

Say hello, family, to the
folks out there in movie land.

Hi.

Now, son, if you plan to be

around to see your 15th birthday,

you better pull out that
thing you call a dick

and let your father show ya how it's done.

...Made long, and what
was insatiable, satiated!

Like the old man said,
walk down any street,

knock on any door, and who will you meet?

Average people,

Ordinary people,

Down-home people, yeah,

like the folks next door.

Take Rhett, for example, the
young punk with a big future,

but frankly, he doesn't give a damn.

Or the Dame Lola Langusta,
Mexico's own Susan B. Anthony.

Too bad those tits
haven't been commemorated

on a two-peso note of her own.

And that palooka Peterbuilt,
86'd with his own club.

Flovilla Thatch, yeah, she
knew all the answers.

Now she's a very practical nurse.

And Zebulon proved the
American way is the only way.

Now it's nothing less
than Hollywood for him.

Or the Austrian wife, SuperSoul,
milking young elks at will.

Eufaula Roop, solace and
succor for the masses,

her coffers bulging and
tax exempt, of course.

Asa Lavender, he's blown his cover,

but he'll turn up, like maybe a doctor,

lawyer, or an Indian chief,

even a school teacher.

Lavonia, what can I say?

A pulverizing crucible of fulfillment;

if her brand of adultery could be bottled

and pushed by the kernel,
she'd own the town.

Then there's Lamar.

He found that something as
precious as love brings with it

a demand for an occasional change of pace.

Kitten Natividad, a Latin Brunhilda,

all the laurel eyes rolled
into one, but take it from me,

that's another tale.

Paris creations direct from Paraguay.

- Attach it, uh...
- Semper Fidelis,

his pneumatic crotch
shoring up the beaver dams

of Small Town.

Junk Yard Sal, a full day's
pay for an honest day's work

and never a charge for overtime.

Oh, I, uh, I forgot Bormann.
How thoughtless of me.

Marty, he's finally found
peace in his beloved desert.

Oh, fuck me, fuck me, oh.

Fuck me! More cock!

- Oh, more cock!
- Hey, Kitten, let's go!

Where in the hell's the crew?

Well, no matter.

Let me check out on a historical note,

a matter of military records.

Bormann's teeth and gums
were found some years

after World War II, but
they never found him.

There he is, alive and well, sweetheart.

Living proof that gentle
will all your steps be

as you venture beneath the
Valley of the Ultra-Vixens.

Marty, oh, it's so much better

without your teeth.

Be sure to watch
for the further adventures

of the bountiful Lavonia

challenging a whole new
batch of bosom buddies

for horizontal honors in Russ Meyer's

"The Jaws of Vixen."

She'll never let go.