Let's not mince words. With greasy hair and a barracuda smile, "agent" Regan Senter and his bumbling sidekick, moss-backed Randy Detroit, are the nightmare depiction of the general public's conception of pornographers. Thing is, these guys are the real deal.

Senter isn't pretending as he interviews potential clients for his "worldwide" agency, cajoling them to reluctantly strip and indulge him in a doggie-style poke. Thirty seconds after wiggling his paunchy, fish-white belly, Senter's lame pop shot makes it patently obvious that he's in the biz solely to get his rocks off, not to arouse the audience.

Detroit, who's been shooting this static and unfocused mess, enters the fray only to prove he's just the second worst cameraman in the world. (When Senter takes over the shooting, mere incompetence does not begin to describe what this chimp is up to.)

Worst of all, they attempt to cover up their pitiful excuses for getting laid with smarmy, juvenile, "gag" captions. Newsflash: the joke is not only on them, it is them.