Directed by Michael Rider
Starring Ginger Lynn and the guy who wrote The Howling. Unrated USA
“I have training for this journey all of my life.”
Satan's Storybook was directed by the mysterious Michael Rider, who never made another film. And I'm being generous by saying that he “made a film” here. Because this is not actually a movie. Unless camcorder-shot footage of non-actors in halloween masks spouting gibberish is a movie, in which case, I am now finished with movies. It's pure 80's fast-buck bargain video garbage that fails on every artistic level, but retains a modicum of grubby charm thanks to the inclusion of former (and, eventually, returning) porn queen Ginger Lynn and a few examples of classic VHS-era fashions and artifacts.
Storybook is a horror anthology, and like all multi-story spookers, it's got a wraparound segment. Satan – AKA a jazz hands-y dude in a goat mask – is waiting for his minions to fetch his queen. She's been absconded by Christeeth (Ginger Lynn), who wants revenge against the devil for killing her sister. Something like that. Mostly it's Ginger and the other chick tromping around in the woods yelling at each other.
Anyway, while Satan waits patiently for queeny to come back, he gets his jester to tell him stories to pass the time. In the first, a hesher dirtbag serial killer (he's wearing an Exodus t-shirt!) breaks into a sleepy suburban home, slashing up mom and dad and coming very close to splattering the brains of Aqua-netted daughter Jezebell (Leesa Roland) before the cops show up and cart him off.
He gets sentenced to death, but Jez wants to pull the plug on him herself, so six years later, on the eve of his execution, she calls on her dead witchy grandma to give her magical powers. Moments before the guard turns up the juice on the electric chair, he is whisked over to Jez's place, still strapped into the chair, to face a sentence even more gruesome than one he already faced.
And then Ginger Lynn has a sword fight with a goblin.
And also what looks like a guy in a Scooby Doo mask with a machete. She is nearly defeated, but blows some magical dust in the air (something tells me 'magical dust' was 98% of the budget for this) and vanishes.
Time for story number two. Charlie (Howling author Gary Brandner!) is a drunken clown with a giant afro who gets fired from the “Clown House” for hitting the sauce, and promptly hangs himself.
Weird thing is, though, he wakes up some time later, assuming the whole ugly mess was just a booze-soaked nightmare. But then a squeaky-voiced reaper clown shows up to drag him to hell. But first he makes Charlie watch himself getting cut down from the noose. Panicked, Charlie tries to bail, but reaper-clown lays a whole religious trip on him, and that's pretty much that. Or is it? Can a drunk clown cheat the devil?
No. No, he cannot.
And that not-so neatly brings us back to the beginning. The Queen of Hell (Leslie Deutsch – she was on Fantasy Island once!) returns to her hubby the devil. And they lived happily ever after.
No they don't. She tells him she's leaving him. And then she does. He rips off his cape in anguish.
And then Ginger Lynn shows up for a Jesus-y coda. The end.
In the mid-late 80's Lynn, hoping to make the leap into mainstream movies ala Traci Lords, started showing up in random weird shit like this. Her name guaranteed that at least a few fools would buy it. I am one of those fools. I do not regret it, although I will tell you this: Satan's Storybook is dull, threadbare, devoid of nudity and gore, way too preachy (and possibly even Christian propaganda), annoying, lame, and fucking stupid. Of course, maybe that's what you're looking for. I don't know what you're into.
PSLeesa Roland, please get in touch. I get the feeling you have many hair-raising tales to tell.
Directed by Reginald Harkema
Starring Kristen Hager, Gregory Smith Rated R Canada
"I don't care what Jesus wants."
Charles Manson was a charismatic Schizophrenic folk singer who took advantage of the freewheeling 60's peacefreak movement, forming a loosely-knit harem of pie-eyed hippy chicks and preaching to them about a screwball endtimes scenario that involved Beatles tunes and machine guns bolted on dune buggies. Manson's loony dream ended in the senseless murders of seven innocent people, including actress Sharon Tate. The gruesome crimes shocked the world, and Manson became an iconic boogieman, the man who killed the 60's and ushered in the sick, sick 1970's. Naturally, given the bizarre and sensational crimes of the Manson family, there have been many cinematic interpretations over the years, from the infamous '76 TV movie Helter Skelter to Jim Van Bebber's gory, cruel, decade-in-the-making Manson Family (2003). Leslie, My Name is Evil (misleadingly re-titled Manson, My Name is Evil for the DVD release), mines similar territory, but from an entirely different angle: it's a fictional take on the Manson court case that focuses on one of Manson's female followers, Leslie Van Houten, and an idealistic young juror who develops a crush on her.
Van Houten (above, middle) was involved in the murders of Leno and Rosemary LaBianca on August 10th, 1969. Along with her accomplices, she was sentenced to death for the crimes in 1971. The sentences were later commuted to life in prison. She's still serving time. A former high school cheerleader, the photogenic and fashionable Van Houten was only 19 at the time of the Manson murders. Between her good looks and demented courtroom antics - she frequently lapsed into giggle-fits when the prosecutor described her crimes - she makes for a perfect cinematic subject, an acid-gobbling death-angel in denim that neatly encapsulates everything that went wrong in the late 1960's.
Directed by Canadian indie-film workhorse Reginald Harkema (Monkey Warfare), Leslie is a deep-black comedy that revels in the psychedelic excess of the Manson era, mixing Giallo-esque period-piece production design with vintage news footage, wrapping it in iconic imagery and a doomy acid-rock soundtrack as it cleverly merges the nightmare world of Manson with the equally sadistic pro-war, pro-Jesus culture of American suburbia.
Straitlaced chemistry student Perry (Gregory Smith, Hobo with a Shotgun) meets Dorothy (Kristin Adams) for the first time at the library. She’s a cute but clearly insane Jesus freak. She shows him an awesome (but phony) Jack Chick tract about a hippy girl who takes acid and fucks the devil. Foreshadowing! He’s into science, but you know, you do what you have to get laid in this world.
Meanwhile, Leslie (Kristen Hager,Being Human) is at the women’s clinic, getting an abortion. So things aren’t going so well for her. At this point, Perry and Dorothy are an item. They even go to church together. That’s where Perry’s uptight dad (Peter Keleghan) meets Dorothy for the first time. He smokes (in church), and laughs about “gooks” with his son’s new right-wing, evangelical girlfriend. All systems are go for another blandly patriotic nuclear family. Except....well, Perry's not entirely sure this is what he wants out of life. Things aren’t getting better for our girl Leslie, either. Now dad’s moved out, and mom’s no fun to talk to at all. Her nuclear family has thoroughly detonated.
Then there’s a pretty sweet montage to move the story along. Over a loner-folk jam, real video images of ‘Nam and college protests are mixed with scenes of Perry and Dorothy doing squaresville stuff while Leslie grows her hair long and makes out with a hippie folksinger on the beach. Said folksinger turns out to be future Manson cohort/patsy Bobby (Travis Milne). One night on the beach, while getting stoned and listening to Bobby jam, Leslie meets two of Charlie's girls, Sadie (Angelica Scannura) and Katie (Kaniehtiio Horn).
Leslie’s a little put-off by the fact that Bobby wants to go for a tumble with Laura (Sarah Gadon), another one of Charlie’s girls, but then Bobby calls her a square, and that changes everything. Who the fuck are you calling square, man? So she splits to visit this Charlie character.
Meanwhile, Perry’s not getting too far with Dorothy. There’s a scene where they make out in his convertible in front of a green screen sunset, but when he tries to go a little further, she shuts him down. “I love you, Perry,” she explains, “But I love Jesus more.”
Leslie goes to meet Charlie down the ranch. She’s a bit overwhelmed at first. Probably because he’s hanging from a cross at the time. He lays his rap on her, they make sweet Satanic acid-hippy love together, and she joins the family. Seems pretty gross - there's a lot of dirty feet and sleeping on the floor and whatnot - but she's into it.
Perry gets a deferment from a chemical company he’s going to work for once he graduates school, so he won’t have to go to Vietnam. This excites Dorothy so much she lets him get to second base while making out outside of school while, just a few feet away, cops bash in protestor’s heads.
Back at the ranch, Bobby shows up to jam with Charlie. First though, he takes some time out to make sweet murder-cult love with Leslie, who is now referring to herself as Lulu. During their post-coital cuddle, he finds out just how deep she’s gotten into all this Charlie jive when she starts ranting about how far-out he is. Bobby, clearly jealous, tells Leslie he’s thinking of starting his own killer-hippy commune, but c’mon, we know that’s never gonna happen, Bobby.
That night, around the campfire, they all drop LSD and have a Satanic jamboree! Even the seven-year old kid gets a dose. That seems irresponsible to me, but what the hell. Charlie does his acid-is-groovy-kill-the-pigs speech, and he and Bobby belt out their smash hit “Will You Follow Me to Hell?”. It’s a pretty sweet jam, I’ll give them that much.
Things start going bad for Leslie soon after. Bobby, on a dare from Charlie, kills a cop, and ends up in prison. In protest, Charlie orchestrates a murder spree. California trembles in fear of the hippy killers. The fear even spreads to the suburbs.
Leslie goes along for the second round of ritual murders, but doesn’t really get stab-happy until the victim is already dead. At least that’s how it looks. Hard to say, since the whole scene looks like a Dandy Warhols video. Check with your local weirdo true-crime enthusiast for more information. Anyway, long story short, Charlie and the girls end up on trial for murder. And then Perry ends up on the jury. Of course, this fucks up Dorothy’s grand plans, but what can you do?
The trial begins. Most of the testimony is about all the “balling” going on at the ranch. In fact, even the jurors, relaxing after a day of court, can’t stop yapping about Charlie’s sexy death squad. I mean, this is all next-level stuff, as far as crimes-of-the-century go.
Also, back at jail, Leslie reveals that she has a crush on Perry. Seems like the looming death sentence would be a bigger concern, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
He kinda digs her too, though. So it’s cool. The problem is, this trial is making him seriously hot and bothered, and Dorothy is still giving him this not-until-we’re-married routine.
One night, after a particularly antics-filled trial day (Leslie lunges at a testifying Laura, and everybody ends up flashing their yellow panties), Perry goes back to the hotel and has a psychedelic dream about stabbing Dorothy to death for Charlie and then getting to bang Leslie for his efforts. There’s some giant bloody boobs in the dream. FYI. That’s probably why Perry woke up sticky.
So finally, Leslie testifies. It doesn’t go well. Note to anybody on trial for murder: don’t mention how fun it was.
The jury goes into deliberations. Everybody wants to put the whole bunch of ‘em to death, including Leslie. Everybody except, naturally, for Perry. He won’t budge on the Leslie thing. And then…the ground rumbles. Earthquake! And during his most terrifying moment, Perry makes his decision.
It bears repeating that the actual title of this film is Leslie, My Name is Evil. The thoughtless, cash-grabbing name change for the DVD release is deceitful for two very important reasons. First of all, no one in the film has any last names, so if anything, they should have retitled it ‘Charlie, My Name is Evil’. Secondly, it’s not about Charlie, it’s about Leslie. “Leslie, My Name is Evil” is an amazing title. I’d buy the poster and the t-shirt. “Manson, My Name is Evil” sounds like something on the bottom rack of the video store. Aside from that dumb decision, Leslie is a frequently brilliant film that combines the overwrought true-crime docudrama with inky black comedy and a John Waters-esque sense of the absurd. Driving his influence/inspiration home, Harkema even cast a John Waters lookalike as one of the jurors. The film looks amazing, with all the throbbing colors and iconic fashion statements of the era fully represented. Every scene is stuffed with classic images, many of them perfectly staged reproductions of actual photos or footage.
Essentially, the whole movie looks like a really bitchin' MC5 gig poster from 1968. The soundtrack - which is fairly screaming for it's own release - is haunting and moody, with tracks from vintage 60's psyche-rockers like 13th Floor Elevators and West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band mixing seamlessly with contemporary drug-droners like Pink Mountaintops and Black Angels. Harkema's political point - were napalm attacks really any different than Helter Skelter coming down fast? - is pretty heavy-handed, and it's difficult to get away from the fact that we're reveling in a fantasy world that is based on real-life tragedy, but otherwise, Leslie, My Name is Evil is a cult classic in the making, a weird and wonderful film that takes one of America's ugliest moments and turns it into a druggy, brooding, frequently beautiful performance piece.
Directed by Terry West Starring Misty Mundae, Darian Caine, Barbara Joyce Unrated USA
Originally titled Satan's School for Sluts, which makes a hell (ahem) of a lot more sense, this quick and dirty softcore lesbo sex-romp wraps a wafer thin plot about demonic schoolgirls around all the nipple tweaking and implied muff diving, but mainly serves as an excuse to show off the doeful stare and perky tits of lowball scream queen Misty Mundae.
Unceremoniously dumped by her jet setting dad, Mundae finds herself the weary new recruit at the Diablo School for Girls, where the headmistress (Barbara Joyce) nearly socks her right in the mouth for bringing a bible with her, and where she is forced to share a bed with her goth-freak roommate (Ruby LaRocca), who forces her to strip, and then stares at her while she tries to nap. Cue the sacreligious, eroti-violent nightmare sequence.
There's a sub-plot about a local reporter trying to uncover the mysteries behind Diablo, but even that is just grist for the lezzie lust mill. There is, in fact, a big bad secret to be discovered, but the title of the movie gives it away. At any rate, the girls are all suitably sexy, even if their acting skills slither right off the screen, and the climax- and I do mean climax, baby- hits all the right evil-hipster-dirty-girl fantasy spots. Plus, the amazing poster is worth whatever price they're charging.
Also included on this DVD is one of West's earlier efforts, a black and white splatternoir feature, Blood for the Muse. Based on the comic book of the same name, it's a tightly scripted slow boiler about a whore killing video store clerk who's allegiance to some great pain goddess is put to the test when he accidentally falls in love with the wig-wearing, but still fetching, b-star Tina Krause. It's actually twice the film "Satan's..." is, and definitely deserves a look, as it's bloody, compelling, and well acted.
But then again, it doesn't have any Satanic lesbian scenes. Guess you're better off with both.
Not long after this one, Misty Mundae ran off to Hollywood and reinvented herself as a more refined, less tits-out actress, even reverting back to her birth name, Erin Brown. That was the plan, anyway. As of this writing, her latest gig is on the Skinemax softcore late-night series Lingerie. That seems like a lateral move to me. Director Terry West remains active both behind the camera (Flesh for the Beast, Satans's Schoolgirls), and in front of it (Spiderbabe, the upcoming Don't Look in the Basement remake). Darian Caine was recently in The Insatiable Iron Babe and is also a Webcam Girl. I don't know exactly what that means, but my guess is, boners are involved.
Directed by Greydon Clark Starring Hillary Horan, Kerry Sherman, John Ireland, Yvonne DeCarlo Rated R USA
"Kill...kill...mutilate!"
Greydon Clark had already given the world the masterful blaxploitation classic Black Shampoo (1975) and the somewhat less-masterful but still sorta-awesome blax/'Namsploitation knuckle-dragger The Bad Bunch (1976) when he concocted this delirious slice of drive-in madness. Talk about being on a roll. Satan's Cheerleaders was destined for infamy on it's name alone - there's already been a couple bands and an actual cheer squad (sorta) that's appropriated the moniker, and let's face it, it's just fun to say - but beyond it obvious shlock appeal, this is actually a tremendously fun film.
Satan's Cheerleaders is actually two movies for the price of one. It's like a vinyl LP: there's the cheerleader side, and the Satan side. Up first, the breezy teen sex comedy. We open with a frolic on the beach. We meet our four heroines: Patti, the vacuous blonde (Kerry Sherman), Debbie (Alisa Powell), the slutty one, Sharon (Sherry Marks) , the half-intelligent one, and Chris (adorable, pint-sized Hillary Horan), the feisty one.
They're practicing their cheers under the watchful eye of their coach, wide-eyed innocent Ms. Johnson (Jaqueline Cole), when the football team shows up to goose the girls and cause all manner of teenage hijinks. Then the coach (Joseph Carlo), an antiquated 50's throwback with Brylcreem in his hair, shows up to grouse and grimace. And then the rival football team (and their cheerleaders) show up to kick sand around. Ms. Johnson proposes a 'chicken fight', and our girls decisively win. But does the rivalry end there? Oh, no.
The next day the girls are goofing around on the field with star quarterback Stevie (Lane Caudell). He starts to take off his pants, and I'm pretty sure they're planning a gang-bang, but then the rival team shows up again to pelt the girls with water balloons. So far, none of this appears to be at all scripted. It's just a bunch of girls wailing on each other. Pretty awesome. The movie could've just continued on like this, and it would have been a winner. But then Billy the Janitor shows up, and things really get nuts.
Billy (Jack Kruschen) is a strutting, barrel-chested 60 year old with an extravagant mustache and a workshirt bedazzled with rhinestones. He looks like a cross between a gay Santa Claus and legendary ladies-man and cult movie director Ted V Mikels. Billy is the classic creepy, put-upon janitor who stutters and mutters under his breath about who he's gonna "Show these r-r-r-rotten kids someday." Oh, and will he ever.
But first, since we are still balls-deep in the teen sex comedy portion of this evening's entertainment, there's the obligatory locker room/shower scene. Seems there's a big game across town tonight, and no place to change there, so the girls'll have to do it now. A likely story, but who cares? The cheerleaders lather up and dance around suggestively in the shower for a good five minutes. Unfortunately, we must detract a couple points because Horan, who clearly has the best rack of the quartet, is the only one who doesn't get naked. That smarted a little. Oh, and Billy has a secret hole in the shower wall where he can peep on the girls. Good one, Bill.
A bunch of mindless stuff happens, but the important bit is when Billy snoops around in the girls locker room after they leave, grabbing dirty towels and chanting incantations while fingering a primitive pentagram necklace. Could Billy be...a Satanist? Yep.
The girls head out for the big game and barely get out of the school's parking lot before they're run off the road. They're completely stumped as to what to do next. Sharon stares at the hood of the car and says "There has to be a motor under here!" Indeed.
Luckily, Billy shows up in his pick-up truck and offers them a ride. The girls are naturally uneasy about it, but with limited options (not really, but whatever), they decide to take him up on it. As Patti climbs into the back of the truck, Billy violently grabs her ass and pushes her in. You can practically hear Kerry Sherman screaming "What the fuck?" at Kruschen after they got the take. Ms Johnson rides up front, and Billy gets grabby with her, too. Something is very rotten in Denmark. Ms Johnson demands he let them out of the truck, but he refuses, driving them to a remote bit of woods where they stumble on a hilariously cheesy sacrificial altar. Basically, it's a stone and a stick and a dimestore monster mask. Still, it holds some strange powers over them.
Everyone falls into a trance, and Patti strips naked. She climbs onto the altar and lies down. There's a psychedelic light show and some jarring monster sounds. And then Billy drops dead.
The girls snap out of it and take off. The run into John Carradine, who was already taking any job that came his way at this point. He's the local psychotic bum who tries to warn them off. They do not listen, and eventually run into Sheriff Bub(legendary character actor John Ireland). Sheriff Beezle Bub. Beezle-Bub, who owns two Doberman pinchers, named Lucifer and Diablo. And yet, no warning bells go off for our heroines. What are you gonna do? They're cheerleaders, man.
Bub has a weird wife named Emmy (Lily Munster herself, Yvonne DeCarlo), who assures the girls that all will soon be well and gives them some tea. Satanic tea! This distracts the girls enough for Bub to go out, revive Billy, kick his ass and kill him again, rape Ms. Johnson (!), and then gather all the local loonies to prepare for a black mass of some stripe.
The girls finally get it and bail, splitting up in different directions, all in the hopes of finding a phone, or at least some non devil-worshipping local to help them out. Patti stays back to stare down Emmy. Chris gets to a phone booth, but there's a long-haired cowboy in there. After banging on the door, he finally lets her in, but then snips the telephone cord. Only then does she notice that he's wearing the devil-necklace. Debbie finds a weird-mustachioed stuttering farmer digging a ditch, and when she asks him for help, he flashes his Satanic jewelry, as well. Sharon runs into a chicken-feeding monk and immediately falls to her knees, clutching his robe and begging for help. When he rebuffs her, she looks up to see his necklace. "Jesus," she says. "Not quite," he laughs.
The girls are rounded up by the half-assed demonic cabal and marched to the barn. They're left there with Lucifer and Diablo standing guard outside. By the way, I cannot express to you how awesome the camera angles are in this film. Cinematographer Dean Cundey has a jaw-dropping resume - he's shot everything from Black Shampoo to Jurassic Park, with scads of cult classics like Rollerboogie and The Thing in-between - but, quite arguably, this is his masterpiece. Every single chance he has in this film to shoot a cheerleader's panty-clad ass or bouncing boobs, he takes it. Dean Cundey, we salute you.
Where was I? Oh, the girls escape when Patti hypnotizes the dogs, and they take off in the woods. They skulk around in the dark for awhile, until they hear a noise in the distance. "I hope it's only like, two guys," feisty Chris says, "So we can overpower them." Unfortunately, it's the whole backwoods Satanic army. They corral the girls once more and march 'em to the sacrificial altar.
Meanwhile, back at the Beezle Bub ranch, High Priestess Emmy has had about enough of these fuckin' cheerleaders as she's going to take. Her gobbledy-gook chanting ("Aba Tura Satana!") suddenly becomes far more pointed.
"Answer my prayers, Satan," She yelps. "Kill...mutilate!" As she says this, the room glows red and dishes start to rattle. The whole room starts shaking, in the most low-budget, cost-effective, shoddy-Wednesday-night-TV-movie way possible, i.e. some dude shakes a houseplant, his arm just out of the camera's range, and the curtains, via transparent string, start to twist themselves up in a most (non) alarming way. Emmy's incantations reach their crescendo as her two bloodthirsty dogs burst through the windows (this is repeated half a dozen times in quick succession; it is, after all, a money shot) and advance on her. So that's pretty much the end of Emmy.
Back at the sacrificin' stump, the sheriff and his motley crew of mustache farmers and cretins are ready to get the evening's entertainment rolling. One by one, he tosses the girls on the slab, asking the big Satan head which one the virgin is. The cheerleaders find this highly amusing. "Is she the maiden, o master?" asks Bub, shoving Chris towards the rock. "I'm no maiden, man," Chris laughs. I've been a cheerleader for three years!"
Well, big shocker: none of the girls are virgins. Also, Patti's pissed. "You toad, you worm, you crawling miserable man!" She snarls at Bub, explaining that there really was a virgin in their midst - 26 year old Ms. Johnson - but since he went and raped her in the woods, well, the whole virgin sacrifice scheme is well-fucked. Bub, at this point, is quite confused. "Look," he says, pulling a tape recorder out of thin air, "This is where the sound was coming from!" (There was a lot of demonic wooshing going on). "It's just a trick!" I'm sure I missed something, but I don't really get why he was conning the entire town into a bogus Satanic cult. Unless, of course, it was all a ruse to fuck cheerleaders. That, I would totally understand. Anyway, unfortunately for Bub and his buffoons, Patti really is channeling the powers of darkness. And they are all about to feel her wrath.
Quite clearly a genre classic, Satan's Cheerleaders makes a lot out of very little. The budget could not have amounted to more than pocket change, the nudity is minimal, and the special effects are non-existent, and yet it scratches every sleaze-beast itch: boners are popped, and ribs are tickled. Look past the cheap thrills and you'll start to notice the cracks in the veneer, but even then, the wildly uneven dialogue, the wonky editing and the hilariously threadbare production design only enhance the experience. It's junk, for sure, but it's such glorious, eager-to-please junk that you cannot help to fall under it's idiotic spell.
Clark showed no signs of slowing down after this one hit the drive-ins and grindhouses, and he continued spitting out low-budget mayhem like Joysticks (1983) and Lambada, the Forbidden Dance (1990), for the next 20 years. Billy the janitor went on to play a judge in half a zillion sitcoms. Sorta surprisingly, none of the cheerleaders went on to the cult-actress careers you'd imagine Satan's Cheerleaders would provide. Sherman landed a role on a soap opera for a good portion of the 80's, Powell appeared in the infamous Toolbox Murders (1978) and a Gilligan's Island TV movie, but quit acting in 1978. Sherry Marks appeared in only one other film, Hometown USA (1979), and our girl Horan did bit roles on various sitcoms (Joanie Loves Chachi, Mork and Mindy, Facts of Life), but hasn't acted since 1982. We still feel sorta cheated about that shower scene, Hillary, and quietly await your comeback. Please make it full-frontal, if possible.
Mandatory viewing, quite obviously. And if you can hunt down any LPs from Sonoma, who provided the bitchin' disco tunes on the soundtrack, all the better. Satan AND cheerleaders...you really can't miss with this one.
Availability: Satan's Cheerleaders is available on DVD.
PS: If anyone has a copy of The Facts of Life, Season one (1980) episode 13, titled "Dope", starring Hillary Horan as "Tumpy" (!) could you send it to me?
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