It may not be as priceless as Eegah!, but The Choppers is another unintentionally hilarious Arch Hall Jr. vehicle worthy of your time and derision.

The whiny Hall stars as “Cruiser,” a teenage punk with sculpted hair and a chassis fetish. He heads a JD gang known as “The Choppers,” whose other members are Torch, Snooper and Flip; all of them talk such thick lingo they should be carrying green cards. When they’re not hanging out at the Chick-A-Dilly, they’re hunched in a poultry truck, waiting for someone to run out of gas along a short stretch of highway, and then move in to strip — or “chop,” as the kids say — the car clean as the driver leaves to fetch fuel. (Apparently, this is an everyday occurrence.)

The Choppers then sell the parts to a fat salvage-yard owner named Moose, whose assistant is a senile fool named Cowboy, who often shoots toward the camera with his finger. If you hadn’t noticed by now, this is the kind of movie where no characters have real names.

The cops are on their trail, however, so for the big stakeout, they invite a local radio reporter to cover it as a live broadcast! It leads to a chase, a game of chicken and ultimately a junkyard shootout that looks choreographed by 8-year-olds.

If you think this story doesn’t allow time for Hall to bust out one of his ridiculous, self-penned songs on the guitar, you’re wrong! Just before the big climax, lil’ Arch takes some time out to sing “Monkey in My Hatband,” the first five lines of which go, “Come, baby / Come on, baby / Come on, baby / Come on, baby / Come on, baby.”

Yep, he wrote that all by his lonesome! —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

If you see only one David Heavener film in your life … well, it’s clearly one too many. Heavener’s one of those guys who does practically everything in his low-budget action movies; in addition to starring and producing, he provides the witless writing, the lifeless direction and the atrocious music. (It’s a wonder he wasn’t credited with doing his own mullet-sculpting.) Despite all his involvement to the contrary, he can’t be an action hero, because he looks like the guy who last serviced my car.

In Twisted Justice, he plays Tucker, a quirky, renegade Los Angeles cop in the year 2020. How quirky and renegade, you ask? How’s sleeping in the bathtub in dirty longjohns with his jelly-donut-eating hamster for you? Tucker’s on the trail of a serial killer who murders hot, rich women connected to a chemical company.

Or, as his boss (Erik Estrada, TV’s CHiPs) puts it, “We’ve got a turbo-charged fruit loop here.” Congress has outlawed guns, however, so the cops have to make do with stun darts. Good thing our boy Tucker — who drives a beat-up car with the license plate “TUCK U” — still carries his illegal weapon, with bullets hidden inside a donut kept in a box next to his toilet.

Estrada is just one part of an all-star washed-up supporting cast that includes Jim Brown, Karen Black, James Van Patten, Shannon Tweed and a “special appearance by Gerald Milton.” (Wait, who? The executive producer.) It’s with Tweed that Heavener proves his true ineptness as a filmmaker: Who in the fuck casts Tweed and doesn’t write himself a five-minute sex scene with her? Heavener, that’s who. In fact, he doesn’t even have her take off her clothes. That’s just Twisted, dude. Now will you please rotate my tires while you’re at it?

Fun fact: This was the last movie I watched before nervously hopping on a plane for the first time after 9/11, mere weeks. If it had turned out to be the last movie of my life, I would’ve been pissed. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.