AUSTIN(LESS) POWERS: THE MOJO DROUGHT
Shag or be beiged, baby.

The year is 1968. Austin Powers has been on ice for exactly one year, and without him, mojo — the ancient force behind dancing, flirting, and the entire crushed-velvet industry — has gone catastrophically limp. In the drought zones, the go-go boots have stopped go-going. Somewhere in Surrey, a man is wearing cargo shorts. In public. On purpose.

Where mojo curdles, the drained rise as MOJO VAMPIRES — pale, immaculate, allergic to funk — and their bite doesn't take your blood, baby, it takes your rhythm. The bitten don't die. They go beige: beige of eye, beige of soul, beige of trouser crease. Their leader, COUNT RICHARD M. NIXON, requires only one final reservoir to complete his master plan and inaugurate a thousand-year lunchtime of beige- the kind of beige that would keep him in power forever- the last great shagadelic stockpile on Earth, currently on ice in a missing pod: Austin Powers himself.

You are the last mojo-positive agents in Her Majesty's Secret Service. The pod is gone. The gong is loaded. The '60s are dying, baby, and somebody has to save them — with style.

Yeah, baby, yeah — SAVE 1968, or spend forever in a cardigan.

This film is rated NC-17. Groovy audiences only.