Like the proverbial highway accident, a high-concept gangbang beckons, waves, seduces and indiscriminately flags down passing motorists for a pruient peek at the pile-up. Common sense informs you about stopping to gawk; nonetheless…

Judging by the encyclopediae of press which performer Jasmin St. Claire and John T. Bone, the Don King of cluster fucks, received during WBGB II¸the world is either full of passing motorists, or those itching to get a learner's permit.

You know the story backwards and forwards about this event. St. Claire, a former investment banker/broker/whatever attempts to break Annabel Chong's "world gangbang record" of 251 men. While St. Claire succeeds by a numerical tally of 49, it's more accurate to say she gets fucked 300 times (including a few shots in the ass) rather than obtains 300 individual phone numbers; sloppy thirds and fourths being the rule rather than the exception.

And talk about your diverse area codes. The Brad Pitt lookalike contest, this ain't. Resultantly, St. Claire puts in a hrad day at the office judging by her worn physical composure at journey's end. Lensed against a Pago-Pago tropical setting, St. Claire swimmingly captures the mood of the islands, often times reacting, indirectly, like the guest sacrifice in Joe Versus The Volcano.

Spread-eagled on an "altar," Jasmine takes 'em on five-at-a-time, many of her grim inseminators approaching the task as though the rites of gangbang manhood entail either a bridge toll or removal of the testicles. Even host Ron Jeremy, who tries to mix it up like ESPN's Chris Berman, doesn't always register on the laugh-meter with the Devil's Island glee club, while co-anchor Tyffany Million simply rolls her eyes and leads cheers like a telethon hostess.

The law of averages being what they are, four hours worth of intense camerawork manages to detail an extraordinary essay about the human zoo. Among the participants there's a masked executioner, leather hood and all; another who's dressed like a dropout from a Swiss yodeling school; and a blond Aryan who got the FrankenBobbitt penis-injection. From the looks of things, if truth-in-advertising be told, don't get a penis injection.

On the play-by-play side, explaining the finite math of ganbangology, there's Bone, looking like a physics professor as he assumes the demeanor of a world-weary academic.

So, if one gets the impression that the sex in this event approaches the erotic level of a Masonic initiation, bing, you've just won yourself a mason jar. On the other hand, as the adult industry's version of the two-headed calf, you definitely owe yourself a peek inside the tent. There's no other show on earth like this.