“So you’re saying if she loved me, she’d take it in the ass?”

So ponders Kurt Lockwood, who’s tricked out in a Union soldier’s cap and a Buffalo Bill fringe jacket over a bare chest and looks, for all the world, like the Gayest Gun in the West. But Kurt’s dilemma – does girlfriend Tiffany Holiday’s reluctance to give up her dirt track to him indicate a lack of true affection on her part – isn’t the only problem plaguing the cast of Fuckeroos. The real issue is the disappearance of Scott Nails, who was last seen riding a bucking bronco in driving rain (or something like that), and has yet to return to his sweetheart, the helium-voiced (and lunged) Cherokee. In reality, Nails is safe and sound and tucked deep into the limey twat of Michelle B, whom he puts through a rigorous pussy-to-mouth workout before frosting her saline-soaked front end; but Cherokee, ever the worrywart, gets Tommy Gunn to round up a posse and head out after Scott. Tommy, who apparently has nothing better to do all day than play solitaire, manfully shoulders Cherokee’s request, but not before sealing the deal by drilling her dinner roll-ass and spackling her Native American Princess Doll face with his own special brand. Lovely. Kurt shows up to hit the trail, but then Tyla Wynn, with her honeyed words and Cindy Brady lisp, set the seed of doubt about Tiffany’s affections in his mind. Kurt has no choice but to deposit a little seed of his own in Tyla’s kisser, but not before opening up a can of whap-a-dang on her ass and sqwack. If every Yankee soldier had Kurt’s advanced ADD and relentless pussy hunger, we might all be sipping mint juleps and paying for rentals of Fuckeroos with five-spots with Jefferson Davis on the face.

Meanwhile, Kinzie Kenner is serving up a frosty mug of root beer to lonesome Slavic cowboy Sasha. Seems our Kremlin cowpuncher is down in the mouth over something – Tyla doesn’t love him or he can’t get quality borscht in his neck of the woods, or something. It’s not important, really, but what is important is Kinzie’s willingness to suck away Sascha’s Soviet blues before letting him drill her shapely seat and then dump a mouthful of Cossack man chowder on her jailbait face. By this time, everyone’s pretty much forgotten about Scott Nails (and really, they should have – he’s a grown man), so it’s back to Kurt, who’s still unsure about Tiffany’s true feelings, despite the fact that he’s up to his third knuckle in her snatch. Tiffany, being the giving soul that she truly is, decides to show him just how deep her love goes by letting him fuck her ass, shove his own bunghole in her mouth for a good spitshine, and then devour a steamy creampie fresh from her own oven. Aww. You might wanna save this one for Valentine’s Day.

So, yeah – this is as much of a Western as the time you and your cousin and your neighbor Louie tied a bathroom rug to your dog and rode him around in the backyard, but honestly, who fucking cares? What, did you put this in hoping for some scenic vistas and a stampede? Come on. You DO get two certifiably snackalicious sexbombs in Kinzie and Cherokee (I could watch her scratch her ass for an entire day), two blousy fuckdolls in heat with bottomless orifices in Michelle B and Tyla, and one cutesy-poo teen queen with a nasty streak as wide as a Florida interstate in Miss Tiffany. Music is good, too, by the Beaterz, who lay on the Morricone pasta twang but thick. Dudes in cowboy hats, hot chicks who like to fuck, and rock and roll – that’s what makes this country great. Extras include a long behind-the-scenes featurette which includes interviews with the lead actresses.