If I had my own private shrine honoring the all-time greatest producers of dirt-cheap, hilariously awful films, it would feature life-sized statues of two men: Conrad Brooks and Mark Pirro. Pirro is a new discovery for me, although he seems to be something of a legend among bad movie lovers and aspiring low-budget filmmakers.

With no Hollywood contacts and almost no money, Pirro has made a career out of doing what he loves. Even a film like this one, Curse of the Queerwolf, can turn a nice profit since it was produced with a budget of only $10,000. I can't wait to get my hands on the other films in the Pirromount Pictures discography, especially Nudist Colony of the Dead, Deathrow Gameshow, Polish Vampire in Burbank (Pirro's first claim to underground fame), and, of course, The God Complex. Anybody who actually casts Conrad Brooks (still my pick for the best of the world's worst filmmakers) in his films is more than OK in my book.

Reviewing this film is going to be a challenge, as some of the terms in the film are likely to draw censor-happy eyes. But here goes. Larry Smallbut (Michael Palazzolo) is your typical American male. He cares about his live-in girlfriend, but that doesn't stop him from "working late" each night -- and by "working late," I of course mean hitting the bars and strip joints with his best bud Richard Cheese (Kent Butler) and picking up loose women for meaningless sex. Then comes a night when fate rises up to bite him in the rear end -- actually, it's his date Paula (Cynthia Brownell) that bites him in the rear end -- just before Larry discovers that she has parts that no woman has any business having underneath her nether garments. But it gets worse. Just as he starts freaking out about this most sickening of discoveries, a torch-bearing quartet of weirdoes arrive on the scene to tell him that Paula is something much more disturbing than a transvestite -- she, er he, is a Dickanthrope or, if you will, a Queerwolf. Since these men in black are following the monster in order to kill it, Larry keeps the whole bite business to himself. Even when a gypsy woman identifies him as a Queerwolf by the pansy-gram on his palm and he begins having disturbing nightmares involving hillbillies, he refuses to believe any of it. Until, that is, he changes during the night of the next full moon and wakes up the next morning in a sauna full of naked men smiling at him.

Finally convinced of his fate, Larry has few options. He doesn't want to die, especially since the only way to kill a Queerwolf is to drive a silver sex toy up his wazoo, but he certainly doesn't want to live with this curse, either -- especially since there seems to be a full moon every single night in his world. Can the power of John Wayne save him? Or is Larry doomed to walk the moonlit nights in women's clothes and to spend his days walking funny until he's put out of his misery by the Queerwolf hunters?

Needless to say, Curse of the Queerwolf is as hilarious as it is politically incorrect. Some feel that every viewer will feel insulted at some point, but I disagree, mainly because the film doesn't pretend to be anything more than what it is: an extremely low-budget, utterly inane horror comedy. The plot itself is funny enough, but the real comedy lies in the details of the dialogue and characters. For instance, two of the Queerwolf hunters carry their lit torches at all times, no matter what they are doing, and Larry's friend Richard proves to be even funnier than he is annoying. Even the bad movie cliches somehow work every time.

This is everything a low-budget, cheesy bad horror comedy should be -- and so much more. My fellow bad movie lovers, take my advice and don't pass up a chance to see this hilarious film for yourselves.