They’re standing behind a railing in what appears to be some kind of warehouse. Eight or nine of them, a study in tattoos, stubble, and leather, leering, grunting, making hideous, contorted faces, seemingly in some kind of drugged or alcoholic stupor. On the other side of the railing, a huge, fat man—the guy must weigh four hundred pounds—is groveling on the floor with a half-naked wench. Music pounds in the background. The fat guy is screaming—little pig eyes shut tight, veins near-bursting in his forehead—“wild thing! you make my heart sing! you make everything groovy! wild thiiinnnnng!!”
The woman, clad in a filmy negligee that reveals, well, too much, leans forward, mincing and pouting at the camera and—wait a minute! Is that . . .? Yeah, it is—it’s Jessica Hahn! You remember—the one who was all over the news after her tryst with now-defrocked evangelist Jim Bakker. My, my. What wonders time doth perform. Two years after flaunting her “victim” status to every media outlet within earshot, the scantily dressed Miss Hahn is planting a big, wet smooch directly on the mouth of her buddy, comedian Sam Kinison, as the blitzed-out bunch of onlookers howls its approval.
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