Back in 1968, the best way that low-budget filmmakers could figure out to depict an acid trip was to just have naked girls run around while weird music plays and a guy in a devil costume waves a pitchfork. Enter The Acid Eaters, the way out thing for the in-crowd. Everybody’s into LSD, this film argues. Our gang of far-out freaks here toil away at square jobs all week, but THE MOMENT that the Friday whistle blows, they jump onto their motorcycles and head for the hills to have sex, murder people and trip more than a silent movie comedian. Among the group is the semi-legendary Pat Barrington, who tries her best to shake her giant 1960s-era breast implants, but those two pieces of Tupperware refuse to move for anything (I give her points for trying). This is a terrible movie, but it’s got charm and charm counts for a lot. What makes it so likable is the infectious sense that these people are having fun being dirty on film. Nothing here is shocking anymore, so the enthusiasm is all that remains. And it’s there, in every stupid joke and in every bikini top taken off and discarded into that meaningless void off screen.