Porn Retailers #1 and #2 stage direct themselves into a truck, while the Porny Pedros to their Senor Wenceses are strapped down below a mesh covering in the back. Inside the truck, Porn Retailer #1 rides shotgun and flips through a copy of The Best of Club because the one good thing about working at that place is that the employee discounts are amazing even though there are absolutely no returns on anything EVER. He shares one of the photos with his friend, who becomes so distracted he looks away from the road and barely misses a passing skateboarder who is the biggest fake-out death so far. But really, what one might call a cheap jolt in the action befitting the first six near-deaths in a shoddy latter-day Wes Craven movie is really just a reminder that, even in simulated plastic she-male coitus, we are in death. As the old saying goes.
The plot hates God, and also it thickens. The short stop of the truck helps shake free the mesh hold over the pornloons, which begin floating upward. Just at this moment, we cut to a shot of the bumper of a Ford Taurus station wagon, on which is proudly posted a bumper sticker reading "I brake for the rapture!" in the usual place you'd expect to see the "My child is an honor student at Unnecessarily- Braggy-Soccer-Mom Junior High School" on your average Ford Taurus station wagon. But now, "I brake for the rapture!" I love the exclamation point. It has a subversively brash "Leave off the last 'S' for Savior" panache to it that I really respect. Inside the car is a middle-aged woman with glasses so large she could see the end of The DaVinci Code coming from the second chapter (but really, who couldn't?) so she could get started on her complaint letter to the Christian Science Monitor earlier than everyone in her prayer circle. She is listening to a Christian radio station on which a man and a woman discuss how "wifely desires are meant by God to be satisfied by their husbands." She utters a perfunctory "praise the Lord," and I agree silently that I too would start to listen to this station if His good grace were spending His time telling me how to get laid. The Taurus navigates through a parking lot and comes to a stop when its driver sees a stream of porny naked balloons rising up from behind a nearby building. She mistakes them for angels, bedecked in flowing white robes, ascending up to heaven. And she seems to develop a knee-jerk desire to join them, as she rushes out of her car and runs into the street yelling permutations of "Oh, my Lord!" She raises her arms up to heaven and her torso out to passing traffic, and a bone-crunching sound effect later we meet the ex-disciple that is Dorothy Sheedy, who loved church picnics and hated David and Keith, without ever having met them, from 1954-2003.