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Night On Crack Whore Mountain... the straight-to-video pitch.
Bitches in wigs and caked on make-up, showin’ a lot of rib, take jive talkin’ robots to the cleaners. Bitches buy a mountain of rock; party down. The “We Are Bad Bitches” bosses, Rob Lowe and Brigitte Nilson, show up and slap the bitches around for spending the bosses’ cut on crack... again. Fur flies–mostly wigs and extensions. Bitches, being on crack, win tits down. Rob Lowe’s forced to wear Frederick’s while tied up in a chair... gets him all x-cited. Bitches ignore the has-been-washed-up-poseur in favor of Nilson... rating much higher.
Happy girl/girl orgy ensues as the sun is rising. Nilson’s resplendent in Nazi regalia ala llsa: She Wolf Of the S.S. Faux licking turns to low talk of castrating whimpering, x-cited Rob for kicks... He’s saved by Dominoes delivery guy, Emilio Estevez–arriving five hours late–who turns out to be an undercover vice cop partnering with Lou ”The Diamond!” Phillips. Emilio forgets to signal partner, Lou, out in the van, because he’s on his knees slobbering over Nilson’s riding boots. She is super bitch–towering at 6’6”, smoking a cigar and stroking a used, 12 inch strap-on. Rob Lowe escapes to Hollywood Squares.
Lou bursts into this debauchery on a hunch to stand and deliver a cheese and pepperoni... holding his 9mm under the x-large box. Lou hisses then misses Nilson, kills his partner who is deep throating the dildo. Blood gurgles out of Emilio's mouth onto the flesh colored, polyurethane, Made in Hong Kong penis. Pizza grease, shock and shame conspire to cause Lou to lose his gun. Armageddon-like fight follows between Nilson and Diamond.
Crack whores munch pizza, sip 32 oz. Cokes and peel off pepperoni to throw at Lou. Fortunately, Lou remembered to wear his anti-crack whore Kevlar cup. He suffers and endures 13 full-on Nilson kicks to his groin. Nilson absorbs countless blows to her stomach and face; after all, she was married to NFL defensive end and originator of the “sack dance” Mark Gastineau. Lou slips on some pepperoni giving Nilson the advantage to pounce and put Lou in a scissors hold. Her football field length legs are squeezing Lou’s face purple when... O.J Simpson, who knows what to do when those coke head/meth rat/crack whore bitches get outa line, bounds into the scene armed with a flotilla of lawyers. Johnny Cochran, et. al., threaten crack whores with litigation from here to Fantasy Island.
“You’ll be suckin’ dick for attorney fees on your bloody knees till your teeth fall out!” Johnny bellows.
Crack whores tune in Jerry Springer and pretend like nothing ever happened. Nilson relaxes her thighs’ strangle hold around Lou’s neck. Lou croaks to Nilson, “Do you think I could get your number?” Poor little Lou hasn’t had a date since The First Power.
“Sure, Tonto,” Nilson quips and flips Lou her card.
Lou thanks Nilson, then turns to O.J. in that troubled, deep and “Diamond!” way, “What were you doin’ out here anyway?”
“Me and Johnny are still looking for Nicole’s killers, ya know,” O.J. replies with a smile and a wink.
“Oh yeah,” Lou twinkles-in-his eye back to O.J.
O.J. tries to get stale with Nilson: she makes pulp out of O.J. saying, “Nicole was one of my best and closest friends, back when I was bringing out the real sissy in Mark, and she told me what a pathetic excuse for a lover or a man you really are!”
O.J. involuntarily clenches his jaw and fists; he’s baited and in love...visions of wife beating dancing in his murky brain. Johnny Cochran instructs the crack whores–all over him like a cheap suit–on the finer points of misleading a jury into thinking evidence has been compromised. Eager crack whores stroke his bulging ego while Johnny pontificates, “It’s important to establish that the police have a personal vendetta against you and your kind...”
Cut to Rob Lowe, squared underneath Whoopie Goldberg so he’s rarely called on, trying to explain what he’s been doing all these years: “Well, I just finished up a brilliant straight-to-video shot in seven days called Night On Crack BLEEP! Mountain.”
Fade out. Music up: ”We Are Family,” by Sister Sledge. Credits roll at 85 minutes.