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Robert Englund, still on his downward spiral into Z-movie obscurity, hams for his life as the owner of a slimy subterranean strip club populated entirely by half a dozen boozy, grizzled extras. When the expected top-secret government virus is accidentally leaked into the club, the feral pole-dancers (including a painfully gaunt Jenna Jameson) die and are quickly reborn as green, rotting super-strippers. For whatever mad reason – this isn’t a film unduly troubled by logic – their non-breathing status and habit of eating people makes them more popular than ever with the scumbag patrons. Jay Lee’s wannabe cult flick will draw cackles from forgiving fans of cheap’n’cheesy sexploitation. But the only real horror stems from the alt-world idea of George W Bush serving a fourth term…
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