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Have you ever walked
into a party and realized you were in the wrong place? You know, that
feeling that everyone knows each other. You know, you're the only
one that finds the 6'3" transvestite dressed as a mouse to be a little
disconcerting. And then the show starts and you're afraid to look
out from between your fingers. It's worse than anything that you could
possibly imagine, but everyone, including the bartender, is being
really nice, and you feel like they are trying to recruit you into
their "Tufted Tit Mouse" brigade. Is this how the Scientologists do
it? Rope unsuspecting couples into their layers by waving the $5 cover
(you must look like a nice, trusting couple) and then lock you in
while a bunch of bizarre freaks parade around on stage brainwashing
you into believing that the guy wearing the carrot on his nose is
in fact God. And then you stay for a second drink. Finally, intermission,
and you suck down the rest of your magic Cool-Aid and head for the
door. The bouncer in the flowered, polyester shirt wishes you a good
night as he opens the door and a trail of comets follows his unfurled
arm. You walk down the street shaking your head, unable to believe
what you just saw, and you turn around just in time to see the Slipper
Room fade into nothingness--leaving nothing but an empty East Village
street. At least that was our experience... [MF]
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