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You are not likely to find an all-black audience in lily white Bland Diego. The closest we get is Horton Plaza, a downtown mall known for playing, what's the p. c. buzzword...oh, yes "urban action" films.

In the fourteen years that I've been living in San Diego, I have never witnessed a more unruly assemblage than the one in attendance at Mission Valley for the advance screening of Zombie Strippers. This time it wasn’t texters or those checking for texts that drove me up a wall: there was so much audience participation going on, no one had time to consult their phones.

There was an African-American cement mixer seated next to me who didn't shut her yap during the entire movie, and I am not exaggerating. Even worse, I had to dab dog shit under my nostrils to help camouflage the stench of her perfume. MWOW!!! It smelled like tear gas mixed with Charlie.

When she returned from the concession stand, she held in her arms the entire right side of the menu board. The sounds she made while vacuuming up the delicacies would be impossible to describe in print.

Normally I take notes at screenings, but the movie was so inept (and my neighbor doing her best to make stereotypes come true) that I instead spent my time jotting down the precious pearls that between bites poured from her liver lips: "Ooo, wee them's some mutherfuckin’ ugly teeth." "Don't go in there!" (To quote Jimmy Cagney in Man of a Thousand Faces, "THEY CAN'T HEAR YOU!") "He be dead next." "You is stupid!" "She all bit up." And, in a touching display of racial harmony, she referred to the Mexican janitor as a "dumb beaner." But her most scintillating insight came the first time we see Jenna Jameson disrobe: "They's can't be real." Neither is you, honey.

That raises another question: when, for the price of a DVD rental, audiences can watch Ms. Jameson receive double-penetration in the privacy of their own homes, why drop $10 to see her ‘act’ in an R rated film?

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