Cannibal Women in The Avocado Jungle of Death

Reviewed By: Giggles

Cannibal Women in The Avocado Jungle of Death stars a fully clothed Shannon Tweed and an unbearably slapsticky Bill Maher. I must have been the only kid in the Eighties who didn't see this movie on USA "Up All Night." But after watching it, in relative adulthood, I can say that not only was I not missing anything, but my life had been better for it.

The movie starts with titties right-quick. So far, so great.

Two on-lookers spot the Amazon women taking their constitutional. I don't know why George Harrison stooped to this level, but you can see it in his eyes, can't you? Watching those illustrous peach balls applaud and bounce in the cold water, the windows to Harrison's soul present us only one message: I got my mind set on you! Seeeeeet on you!

And it's gonna take women! A whole Avocado Jungle of women! It's gonna take plenty of women. To do it right!

You see here. I like this. The filmmakers have acknowledged that silicon does not exist in the Jungle of Death.

To do it. To do it. To do it. To do it. To do it, riiiight!

(That doesn't even look like the English Language. Maybe George Harrison was a witch and we're the deceived ones.)

Shannon Tweed: the best B actress ever. What's all that patterned cotton crap covering her body?

I live in Southern California and this is news to me. Evidentally there's an uncharted Avocado Death Jungle that stretches from Bakersfield to the Mexican border. What's more, avocados seem to be pertinent for our nation's security because communists are planning to take them away from us. Well I'll be.

The miltary hires Shannon Tweed, an ethnofeminst, to infilitrate the jungle and communicate with the Amazon women. When asked why armed forces could not stymie the Amazons' onslaught, the General says, "They used knives and spears. Our men are not trained for that kind of thing!" So knives and spears are confusing to state of the art warriors. That's handy to know.

Bunny, a student of Tweed's, elects to go on the trip with her. Her character is so irritating and pointless, you almost forget she's even there by the end of the film.

Cruising through the cumbersome jungles of So-Cal. I hope they don't run over any wild cheetahs or giraffes.

They stop at a tavern, a detour reminiscent to the Starwars Mos Eisley cantina, to seek out a hired hand that will go deeper into the jungle's perilous depths. San Bernardino really is a wretched hive of scum and villiany. They should be cautious.

Bunny and the Ethnofeminist are about as convincing as a couple of sea-monkeys out of water, but regardless of this, there is one, the grand master and king of the dumbass, who makes all their efforts of retardiculation look easy. But before we get to him, let's see the runners up:

Jerry-Kurl Rambo the Fifth.

Gay Ryu Hayabusa.

And Stone Cold Gimp.

Every one of these sorry sacks turns down the bimbos offer when they hear that they'll have to be going into the Jungle of Death (funny, they live right by it), but there is one who is up for the challenge. Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, I give you, Mr.Politically Incorrect.

Make no thing about it. I love Bill Maher. I went to see him live at the Improv in fact. But in this movie, I hate him. Even when he's trying to be a chauvanist I hate him. One thing is certain however, Bill must have learned something from this movie. He must have learned that he would never be a slapstick comedian.

But this movie has no clue of his future. This movie wants you to buy it, and goddamnit, I won't.

Oh, the expanse that is the Avocado Jungle of Death. Look at those palm trees in the far back. They're just screaming: "DESERT! You're in the desert! Hey dickchin! Look! Not a lot of water, no jungle... desert!"

So, the clueless party meets up with a bunch of submissive wussies that claim to be a tribe of women-fearing, flinstone clothes-wearing, knucklebrains. Bill decides to teach them to be men. Under normal circumstances, this would be cool, but since Bill's character should be no judge of testosterone-loading, we roll our eyes and look at our watch (and some of us check the nasty tanline under our watch).

Take it. Beer. Take it. Beer. Take it. Beer.

Sorry for my poor animation.
The guy in the leopard chef's hat looks like he's gangsta-rappin'.

We finally reach the lair of the Amazons, who are led by Adrienne Barbeau. I think Tasslehoff Burfoot's gonna be real pissed when he finds out where his hoopak staff ended up.

A conversation, which borders somewhere between ludicruous and suicide-inducing, sets the pace for the rest of the movie. Andrienne, as Dr.Kurtz, is ultimately playing the Brando role in Apocalypse Now, which was in-turn playing off of Conrad's novel, "Heart of Darkness." So that makes up for everything. I change my mind. It's a Five cheese rating now.

"Hmmmmm, ah-uh, I don't think so."

This is next to the closest scene of Tweed nudity you will get in this movie. I think, for a micromoment in her career, she wanted to go legit.

And this is the best scene of the film.

This shit reminds me of DeathStalker or Goldenhair. One of those really bad movies that this poop-sandwich of a movie could only dream to be.

Imagine Mortal Kombat techno bumping right here. Yeah, I know, it still doesn't do anything for me either.

In the end, Tweed has to convince the Avocado board of something. I can't remember because I don't want to. All in all, I'd say that the watching the first fifteen minutes of this movie is amusing and the rest is balls-to-the-wall boring. Insufferably boring, and, adding to that, it's also disappointing. The title "Cannibal Women in The Avocado Jungle of Death" had my expectations aroused to an exploding-boner level. However, despite how crude that last description was, I cannot say enough how numb and emptied I felt when this film met with its end-credits.

But...

I got my mind set on you! I got my mind seeeeeeeeeeeeeet on you! Seeeeeeeeeeeeet on you. Seeeeeeeeeeeeet on you.