That's Kurt Russell's hair-choked navel peeping out as he lifts a cardboard dumbell. Swoon away, ladies! (Guys, too. Why should just the ladies get to be unconscious?)
In a script clearly written by Salvador Dali, we begin in the laboratory with beakers everywhere (science!) and some collegiate tomfoolery mixes up some stuff into some other stuff and it all gets into a box of Crumply Crunch.
"Pffft. Part of a complete breakfast my ass, Mom."
Eating Crumply Crunch predictably leads to gastric distress--which in turn makes Russell strong like a retard.
"Oh God oh God, sorry about doubting you Mom...!"
Not only does Crumply Crunch give Russell the essential vitamins and minerals he needs as a young homosexual, but he can now lift Jonah Hill with ease! Later, he rips off his dick while masturbating.
While waiting to have his penis reattached, Russell gives some Crumply Crunch intra-anally to Dean Higgins. The dean, wonderfully comfortable with his sexuality, puts on a mating dance for some old bird in a big hat. She responds by pretending to play the piano. This was the seventies after all, people.
It all leads grandly and surrealistically to a weight-lifting competition covered by every major network except Dumont, so that would leave two. People not only watched weight-lifting competitions back in the seventies (?!), but they cheered on the competitors with generic slogans bought at Generic Sign Mart. Bunuel is magnificent as the director of this scene.
"All my life I've dreamt of some college I've never heard of winning a competition I could care less about. And I made a sign!"
I'm still hoping they reboot this series with Ashton Kutcher and Harvey Fierstein. A weirdo can dream, can't he?
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