Odds are, the amateurish, plotless sex comedy known as C.B. Hustlers likely was dated the very day it was released. The title refers to a “rolling cathouse” of a pimp and his three shapely truck-stop whores, ready to service weary rig drivers at the drop of $25.
Using the CB handle “Hotbox” — presumably, “Moist Vagina” was taken — they communicate and negotiate over the airwaves to elude the Boss Hogg-ian police until a newspaperman (he’s the one with the card reading “PRESS” in the brim of his hat if you get confused) starts getting suspicious over all the talk he hears about “tunnel action,” “laying track” and “juicy watermelons.”
There’s not a laugh to be had in this mix of Hal Needham and Hee Haw, but its 85 minutes breeze by like those damned 18-wheelers on the freeway. A couple of reels were even out of order on the print I saw, but I didn’t mind at all, especially when I saw that Uschi Digard’s big sex scene was filmed from the perspective of the lucky guy beneath her.
Like this review, the movie — directed by Drive-In Massacre‘s Stu Segall — just sort of decides to end. —Rod Lott