This barely watchable film was a bit of an ordeal to sit through. None of the segments are good, but at least the first one was mildly amusing, and the middle one was somewhat imaginative. The final one was just plain brutal, and after sitting through two weak comedic shorts, the third one was truly painful to watch. Even by the low standards of a National Lampoon movie, this one seemed especially boring and joyless.

National Lampoon was once a funny magazine. Whether you liked the stoner hippie days of the late sixties or the smug and sassy coke-head days of the seventies (when the comedy was fortified with plenty of naked babes) depends very much on your date of birth, but everyone agrees that by the early eighties, middle age had killed off whichever remaining sparks of anarchic humour that the drugs hadn't, and offerings like this film and the increasingly terrible spin-off records shot further holes in the hull. Outside of a nicely illustrated title sequence, there's absolutely nothing to recommend this singularly depressing stinkbug. If you make it through the baffling opening segment, 'Growing Myself', hoping things will get better, tough luck - they don't. Whoever thought the idea of a woman being brutally raped with a stick of butter was comedy gold deserved to have his head handed back to him on a platter of dog mess. If there's ever a global shortage of guitar picks, the negatives of this rambling, incoherent ragbag of crummy ideas and dire performances may well serve some purpose.

Nothing about this movie is funny and it makes no sense. The only reason to watch this is to see the girl from the Tonight Show get topless.