Bruce Seven is taking all the fun out of reviewing. Give him a little praise (actually, heaps of gushing reverence by all counts, including my own) for what essentially amounts to a glorified home video and the man becomes bullet-proof   Seemingly impervious to criticism, Seven keeps plugging (sorry) away, strip mining that anal cave of gold right down to the last miserly vein.

Hot as it is, Butt Slammers (the series) continues to repeat on itself like a bowl of chili laying on a peptic ulcer. I say this not with malice, but with the heart of a true Seven afi­cionado, who longs to see the master aspire and excel at something even better -- perhaps real movies, or sim­ply some other form of perverse expression that is neither so claustrophobic: nor as predictable. Like riding a roller coaster, the first time is a blast of pure adrenaline. A few more rides and you begin to anticipate the turns. On the sixth run you know the track so well that you could eat hot soup without spilling a drop

Again, the oil 'n rubber gloves trick and that damned electric butt plug whoosit with the evil looking wires and transformer keep on popping up regularly, like shooting gallery ducks. The Valley tract house with the low stucco ceilings and the mini-dungeon are becoming so famil­iar that one could find Brute's bathroom and take a leak in total darkness without having ever been near the place before.  The truth is, Bruce has trolled out this dog-and-pony show so long that it should be put to sleep — but gently. (Of course this opinion is terribly difficult to justify since the series sells better than machetes at a Rwandan garage sale.)

No stopping the Butt Slammers freight Train now -- either you ride or walk. Distributors, retailers and fans alike will most assuredly ride all the way to the bank, though the latter group may be headed to the sperm bank for a hefty deposit.

Two relatively new gals, blonde Evon and raven haired Sydney Dance (whose physical and verbal attributes remind one of Madison) also pull off a rumor coup in the opener. Evon rubs up against a bedpost as if it were a rolling pin and she were the dough, working herself into a frenzy that can only be satisfied as far as Sydney's probing fingers are legally allowed to wander as certified by the Board of Health. For my money Kaitlyn Ashley steals the show, one-upping reigning anal queens Debi Diamond and Tammi Ann by submitting to a buzzing clit stimulator and volting vibrator the way Lon Chaney Jr. craved electricity for lunch in The Indestructible Man.

Regardless of how repetitious the videos are as a whole, no one's going to feel cheated for a single minute as Kaitlyn Ashley, Evon, Krysti Lynn and Rebecca Wild provide-enough strip tease to permanently petrify even the softest of balsa woods. Plenty of spanking, deep girly mouth kissing and even Rebecca Wild's tits being bound by rubber hands ought to spell "must have" for most viewers.