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Hotsy Totsy Club

Recently, a most precious piece of East Bay real estate has been occupied by a foreign power. Its agents have been seen throwing back martinis at $2.50 a glass, noxifying the traditional gin-soaked musk with some Armani pheromone, and gibbering among themselves, oblivious to the silent indignation of the indigenous peoples. That's right: yuppies have discovered the Hotsy Totsy Club. Sometimes it seems as if you can't treat yourself to a night of nursing a beer and a bump on a barstool without a cadre of swells spilling your drink as they glide by. What the hell are they doing here? If they have to go slumming, can't they get arrested at a rally instead or something? All those who think the Hotsy Totsy is adorably blue-collar but who aren't themselves: please, please, please stick to Jupiter.

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