I AM VIRGIN: I am virgin, hear me snore!

I AM VIRGIN: UNRATED DIRECTOR'S CUT
Starring Adam Davis, Melinda Ausserer, Ron Jeremy
Directed by Sean Skelding
IMD/Cheezy Flicks
Review by Louis Fowler

I can totally identify with the protagonist of I AM VIRGIN: I'm not worried about finding food or shelter if a pandemic kills off most of humanity; I'm worried about finding recreational intercourse. Straight up, I'm not even gonna BS you people. It'll be easy enough to find food and shelter, but what about feminine fallout companionship? Will I ever again get some of that strange that I bitterly remember as I roam the wastelands? And if I do, will it be of the whore-rifically mutated variety? Or will I have to resort to found blow-up dolls of Alexis Amore with real hair--that's fallen out due to the grotesque radiation levels, natch—just to even have the slightest of non-nuclear related dingle-tingles again?

It makes me cry at night just thinking about it.

But, sadly, and as much as I'd like to, I just can't identify with the filmmakers behind I AM VIRGIN, because, instead of running with the brilliant idea of looking for love in all the bombed places—something that could have been a most hilarious ribald teen-sex apocalypti-comedy—they eschew all cleverness in favor of sub-par Seduction Cinema-esque simulated dry-humping from skanky tatted-up slatterns who have probably been rejected from Suicide Girls numerous times, and you know how them nasty chicks ain't picky.

Young Robby has been taught by his parents that sex will kill you. No matter what. While they were alive, this was just fine—it was easy to deal with being a nerdy virgin when you had a support system. But, when a plague turns the remaining survivors into insatiable silicone-based sex-vampires, it becomes harder and harder, ahem, to keep his burgeouning boner buried deep in his dungarees. Every building he breaks into, there are at least three-to-five post-consumer recycled alterna-lesbians scissoring emotionlessly, hands practically outstretched for that $50 paycheck. Every grocery store he shops at, muscular dudes who resemble the greasy sax-player from THE LOST BOYS feign heterosexuality and grind themselves deep into these feminine personifications of daddy issues. Does Robby give into his mortal lust and become a member of the undead just to make his own member finally get head?

I fast-forwarded through each of the brutally de-rotic sex scenes, making the total real running time of I AM VIRGIN around, oh, thirty minutes. And the whole thing is 90 minutes. It's so depressing. Why would the filmmakers waste all this time, money and energy to make a below-average, above-the-waist soft-core waste of time? Hasn't the internet put a stake through the heart of these cock-teasing no-penetration straight-to-DVD flicks yet? And, even worse, why didn't they just actually try to make a real movie? Did they just have the idea, but nowhere near enough talent to actually do anything with it? Did they leave the only copy of the screenplay on top of their car and a heavy wind came along, blowing white sheets of paper everywhere and they were only able to recover around ten or twelve pages? I wish we were given some sort of justification!

Oops, I almost forgot: my sans dong doppelganger, Ron Jeremy, makes a very funny cameo, resulting in around eleven inches of laughs. And that's really ten more than I AM VIRGIN deserved.