What's the difference between the latest Sorority Strip-Off and volumes from previous years? Well, to paraphrase that fount of philosophy Fog Horn Leghorn, "I keep my feathers numbered for just such emergencies." In other words, this release just may as well be last year's entry because nothing has changed.

Imagine, if you will, being stuck in a mosh pit of deranged frat boys … as the odor of stale beer, Marlboros and bong hits saturate your pores. You can't move. All you can do is crane your neck to look upstage as a never-ending procession of equally zonked frat girls stumble around stripping and spreading various food toppings on their tits. (Behind them is a large bank of TV monitors, which don't really play much other than logos for the show.)

As this hops-fueled parade of poontang keeps barreling on with relentless predictability, it only serves to reinforce the point that ya hadda be there. Christ, our necks are aching just thinking about it.