I can't even begin to imagine having a big enough ego to star in a movie about myself where everybody that sees me damn near shits their pants in awe of how unbelievably cool I am on my motorbike.

Somehow the cinematography in the scene where the mom is setting the dinner table was actually pretty good?

In the background of the three geek guys' frat house bedroom, someone had cut out a pair of bare breasts from one poster, and placed them on the chest of a Michael Jackson poster, making this quite possibly one of the most disturbing movies I've ever seen.

Richard Gabai actually wasn't annoying in this.

I kept hoping that the secret ingredient in the pizza sauce would be the blood of men who had done them wrong, but no dice.

Imagine a world where every movie by Troma actually lived up to the promise of its title...

This movie isn't from that world, it's from this one.