Prologue

"They're back," said Etuate the bouncer.

"Oh fuck!" said Jim. "Not on a Friday night! We'll loose hundreds!"

He went to the window of his office. There on the sidewalk in front of his club were eight young women, armed with clipboards and digital cameras,

Jim cursed himself once again for having done that interview for the college paper the month before. There were at least a dozen strip clubs downtown, but that interview had been all the invitation the Campus Feminists needed to target Wiggle Room for destruction. For the fifth time this month, the outraged coeds were taking pictures and license plate numbers from his customers. Some of them braved the shouts of scorn and threats of tattling, but most just drove the three blocks to Vixens.

It wasn't fair! He treated his girls well! They made money and so did he and the customers enjoyed themselves. It was a win-win situation until these little bitches decided to make his business their club project. Now tips were down and some of his most popular girls had been stolen away by other clubs.

"Should I call the cops again Jim?" the big Tongan asked.

"What's the use?" Jim asked. "The cops are on their side! They say as long as they aren't actually in our parking lot or have an assembly larger than 10, they're with in their rights. I guess business owners got no rights."

"What about those one guys I told you about?" Etuate suggested.

"I don't know," said Jim. "The whole thing sounds a little hard to believe."

Jim pulled the business card Etuate had given him.

BimboTech, Incorporated A Woman's Place is On Her Knees Darren Helman—Groups Specialist

"I guess it's worth a shot," he said "If something doesn't change, we'll be out of business in a month."