In the post-apocalyptic 1990's, the only clothing available to the last remnants of mankind forced to wander the futuristic but ironically pastoral wastelands of Dinosaur Hell will be pleather armor from the Halloween Superstore, unflattering loincloths, Tuscan Raideresque burlap, or headbands from Headbands 'R' Us. It'll be just awful, and aside from the desperate fashion choices of the hard-scrabble survivors of some unconvincing worldwide disaster; life in futuristic Dinosaur Hell will consist of 20 boring minutes of dialogue-free "action" where stop-motion dinosaurs and hand-puppet worms do stuff and everyone in the movie chases after the sole woman cast-member who falls down a lot, and we hope for someone to say something to break up the monotony. Then someone does and we wish we could go back to those bucolic days of the movie when no one said anything, but we can't. We can only move forward and hope that one day we can forget that someone said, "And one day she woke up a woman." for no apparent reason, that there was a fingerprint or something smudging the camera lens, that someone was startled by a Bic lighter, and that someone was perplexed by Foster Grant sunglasses. We can only move forward and hope for better days. I watched A Nymphoid Barbarian In Dinosaur Hell on Youtube, and I wish I hadn't, but it's too late now. I'll try to not to let it happen again, but I can't guarantee that because there's that old adage that goes, "Those who forget the past are condemned to something something.". Here's a trailer:
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