Mother of Our Cunt-ry Tyler Horne's George Washington gives Martha (the classically luscious Annette Haven) directions for a little roll-in-the-hay by the cherry tree, mimicking Richard Nixon. Welcome to bizarre revisionist history deliveries at their finest.

George is incongruously reading Time magazine, with, of course, George Washington on the cover -- the real George Washington, not Tyler Horne. Martha gets down to sucking the cock of the father of our cunt-ry, bonnet still intact.

Man, did Annette Haven have fabulous natural breasts in '76 (yes, that date she shares with the historical Martha; it was a bicentennial production). The soundtrack is light-heartedly classical in style, tempo shifting to allegro as George fucks Martha till he shoots seed on her luscious tummy. Outdoors, sweet, redolent of first-run hippie naturalism. Ya get a bit more pubic hair with hippie naturalism, but one doesn't quibble with Annette Haven sweetly, lightly fucking for our edification. Then the camera pans to the Washington Time magazine cover again. Droll. Makes you proud to be an American.

The geezer Ebenezer connects the scenes, says "That George was a helluva guy" and continues our tour. Next up, Paul Revere, and our guide stares up at his statue, bemoaning "200 years of pigeon shit on it."

Revere has a rendezvous in the woods with his squeeze, who promptly lifts her skirt and sits on his face. Hairy muff meets revolutionary tongue.

Then they're back at the cabin, by the comforting hearthfire, and damned if Revere isn't tonguing again. When he yelled "The British are coming!" did he mean their swooning wives?

Again, charming natural breasts; damned if I know who the now cock-sucking lovely is, nor the stud playin' Paul Revere. Soon he cums in her mouth, then fucks her some more, cumming again on her belly, all hippie-natural again, by the fireplace.

Then our wise-ass 1976 geezer guide (he claims to have been around at the signing of the
Declaration of Independence) saltily introduces crazy Ben Franklin, gleefully running about with a skeleton key on a kite in an attempt to attract lightning.

Ol' Ben couldn't be wearing a more ludicrous rubber skullcap wig. And apparently he invented the vibrator. Playing with his bonnie babe, he comments on her beaver, sayin' he thinks they'll make that the symbol of Oregon some day.

Some more tongue on hairy pussy. More delightfully lovely natural breasts. Somebody remind me why fake boobs exist again. By these easy-going standards, the current trends seem like playing absurd fluid-sac roulette with one's physical attractiveness. Actually, the best way to do silicon or saline bags stuffed in one's chest for sex appeal is to always be a potentially dangerous cyborg sex slave cartoon. I would consider today's more clean-shaven pussy standard an evolution, though. But I digress.

Yes, ol' Ben Franklin got all his inventive ideas for the good of America 'cause a charming
proto-hippie lass wearing a bonnet sucked his founding rod till he creamed in her fresh young
strawberry mouth on sunny rapturous afternoons in the meadow.

John Smith (the legendary John Holmes) "He liked his women like his coffee -- hot and black" the old geezer guide tells us, by way of setting up black Desiree West to play red Pocahontas.

In the spirit of liberty, great liberties are taken with the facts, and lickety-split, Pocahontas
is black street jive-talkin', negotiating for sex fees, a wacky inversion, as if it were
Pocahontas playin' Desiree West playin' a broader version of herself, instead of the other way
around. These two enacted my favorite sex scene in this goofy hippie-flavored pseudo-historical romp.

Big John goes down on Desiree/Pocahontas, whose sleekly voluptuous body also appears to be blessed with natural breasts. She bears a slight resemblance to one my favorite porn stars, from the '90s, the exotic French black Tabitha Cash. Soon she's sucking on Big John's legendary meat pole, all 12 3/4" or 14", whatever the fuck it was. I suspect the former, initially advertised as the latter. No matter -- plenty goddamn big cock. He takes his jive-talkin' black Indian doggy-style and cums on her ass. One thing about those founding fathers: they came pretty fast.

Ha ha -- Ebenezer the geezer sets up the next scene with "Let me show you how the Minutemen got their name" -- well now, aren't we on the same wavelength.

One of the Minutemen had an incongruous chronometer, by which a meeting time is set with two girls. The two girls get it on in advance, and by the time the three guys arrive, it's three guys on the one girl, culminating with generous cream gushes on her pretty face. The soundtrack all along has been shifting from lightly classical feel to folk balladic, and in this scene it's downright Hee-Haw hoedown-ish.

One tends to think of the '70s as somewhat sordid times for the porn world, what with the cliche of despondent suicides, such as Shauna Grant, and such. But this flick seems more a paean to light-hearted innocence, natural childlike sex, and crustily funny set-ups from an ancient guide. It almost seems more like an indie sex comedy, where they just happen to be basically explicit.

The return of George and Martha has the latter knitting a flag, thinking she's Betsy Ross, with George making comments about her psychiatrist.

Soon George is licking her pussy, with her ass up in the air, and then starts pumping her with his massive wood, and again we hear the whimsical allegro tempo urging him on. Too soon he's cumming again, but his lengthy spurts up her back are impressive.

Ebenezer K. Bartholomew (played by Ebenezer K. Bartholomew), in every one of his connecting scenes, is pretty damn funny, sounding at times like Jonathan Winters, as he describes various outlandish tete-a-tetes in the cemetery, pointing out his ex-wives, his refrain being "Degenerate bastard" for just about every recollection, male or female.

Then the producers roll out some grand message scroll thanking the founding fathers for our
freedom to make pornography, in so many words.

Our pseudo-historical romp closes with the geezer muttering "Yep, that's the way it was, before it all turned to shit."

Almost as if both eras, 1776 and 1976, were proclaiming the end of innocence.

Degenerate bastards.

Interested in seeing this movie?