Wells, all I can say is, Hallelujah! and Praise the Lord! My long-lost Bertha-Jean finally done come home to me, and she's a sight fer sore eyes. Why, she's purtier than a prize pig gussied-up for the 4-H stock show!

As y'all may recollect, early last year, my portly hunny made a beeline for the door one night to get the Dominos Triple-Stuffed Supersize Pepperoni Pizza that I'd ordered—nearly tramplin' Grammy Myrtle to death in the process—and she never returned. Thanks to reports from readers as far away as Sulphur Bluff, who tracked her through the swath of terror she created munchin' through the better part of the state's supply of Golden Corrals, we was finally able to locate her. Early attempts to trap her in a gunny sack was sadly unsuccessful, tho', as she managed to chaw her way through and escape.

Seems that when she'd opened the door that fateful night, the delivery boy was none other than Petey-Joe Abney—one of them young fellers all the girls go fer. Just havin' turned 16, Petey-Joe had decided it was time for him to settle down with a little missus. That not bein' available, he picked a plus-size mature gal—that gal bein' my very own beloved Bertha-Jean! Accordin' to police reports, Petey-Joe told her he was gonna be a VIP soon, what with his new job as Assistant Night Manager of the just-opened Dairy Queen down at Hinkles Ferry, and wooed her with promises of Peanut Buster Parfaits with unlimited toppins.

When he sweetened the pot by tellin' her that they could shack up at the local Travelodge (which offers free ice and HBO on weekends), it was somethin' she couldn't rightly say no to. I guess all was fine 'til the Parfait machine went on the fritz—leakin' a mixture of sludgy milk by-product and machine oil onto the imitation southwestern tile floor. That was the beginnin' of the end for their love. (By the way, Petey-Joe, my cousin Buford is gettin' out of the state pen this weekend, and I've asked him to drop by and pay you a visit. And I still say Buford didn't kill all them people—if you can't find the bodies, then it ain't a crime.)

Speakin' of things that make ya wanna hurl, we got us a real winner tonight to review—a gem from Italy called Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror. Now, I don't care what bad thangs y'all have to say about Italy—alls I know is that any country that gave us Chef Boyardee can't be all bad.

The flick starts out with this Professor guy who figgers out somethin' about The Dead and goes into this crypt thingy in his backyard and starts hammerin' away with a pick. Now, havin' had no end of noise from my own neighbors next door in Stall 24C, I can rightly say that this kinda thang can royally tick ya off. So, these dead folks get all woked up and come out and start munchin' on his ear and gobblin' on his innerds. The Professor tries to tell 'em: "I am your friend," but that don't seem to do a heck of a lot of good. (A Helpful Tip for y'all out there: A crypt in the backyard can raise the value of your home!)

The Rotary Club welcomes its newest member to town

Wellsir, next we see this whole bunch of people show up at the Professor's house—seems that he'd invited 'em there to tell 'em about his Dead Folks research—somethin' about "the magic of the ancient Etruscans," whatever that is. They can't find him, so they do what comes natural when you're invited to someone's house for scientific research findings—they pair up and go make nookie. What wimmin-folk can resist a line like, "You're gonna get a raise from me, all right, but it has nothing to do with money!" Why, Bertha-Jean was already havin' the vapors, and we was just a few minutes into the flick!

But, all good thangs must come to an end, as this blonde bimbo named Janet finds when she gets her tongue out of the guy's tonsils and starts noticin' that there's two dead folks eyein' 'em for dinner. Then, she steps on a steel-jawed trap that snaps shut faster than Bertha-Jean reachin' for a bucket of chicken from KFC. Her boyfriend Mark, who looks like he needs to get on over to the Hair Club for Men, helps her out by openin' the trap three times, losin' his grip, and snappin' it shut on her ankle. It was at this point that Bertha-Jean tried to scream, but accidently sucked down one of them Hostess Hoho's into her windpipe, and I had to give her the Heimlich maneuver before rushin' back to the VCR.

Michael Jackson shows off his latest plastic surgery

Meanwhile, we got this coot named George who's hangin' out with Sophia Loren-look-alike Evelyn and her kid (who looks like an elf with a really bad toupee). The zombies come a-callin', so George tries to shoot 'em a few times. That don't seem to work too well, since pea soup starts gurglin' out of 'em. Before you can say, "If the glove don't fit, you must acquit," the zombies start munchin' on George—pullin' out his innerds, chompin' on 'em, and generally makin' a big mess. Next thing ya know, Mom (ever the sharp cookie!) tosses paint on the zombies, lights a match, and makes Zombie Flambe. Go, Mom!

Freaky Elf-Boy gives his "Come Hither" look

Back at the trap, Janet's finally freed when James and Leslie show up and they bust a few zombie skulls. It's at this point that Janet has an intelligent idea: "We need to get to the car!" Everyone then runs to the car and drives away. The End. Oh wait—I guess they completely ignore her and run inside the house instead! So now, we got them trapped inside, and the zombies outside (who want to get inside), and there ain't no place to run. In case you don't figger they got a case of the Stupids, Mark suggests, "Let them come in—maybe it's something they want in the house, not us." Apparently, that plan is tabled. (Which is durned good, if you ask me!)

Catholic monks take the Lord's Supper a little too far

Next thing ya know, the zombies have nailed the housekeeper's hand to the wall and cut off her head with a scythe. (The blood spurts out in a super close-up that goes on and on, so ya really know you're gettin' your money's worth outta this film.) Bob Vila would be durned proud of these zombies, who seem to know their way 'round household tools. Another gal gets her head cut open on a broken window, turns zombie, then kills Freaky Elf-Boy and starts gnawing on his dismembered arm. This film has somethin' for everyone! Mom gets p.o.'ed at zombie gal and bashes the lady's brains out on the ceramic tub. (I think she's got issues.)

Freaky Elf-Boy gets a little too friendly with Mom

This review's kinda gettin' on the long side, so let's bring this puppy home. We got 20 zombies. We got 10 dead bodies. Three breasts. Hand nailed to the wall. Gut-eating. Neck-chewing. Heads roll. Arms roll. Arm-gnawing. Head through a window. Intestine munching. Zombie Professor. Boob chewing. Head cut off with power saw. Boyfriend gnaws Mom's face. Death by bathtub. Killer monk attack. Pea soup spurting. Totally Twisted Video Review award nominations for Peter Bark, as Freaky Elf-Boy, for pawing his mother's boob and then saying, "I loved your breasts so much, Mama," and for Simone Mattioli, as James, for the line: "You look just like a little whore, but I like that look on you."

Git on home, now—I gotta slop the pigs.

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