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Scores is like a perverted nightmare made flesh... or silicone. Like the fem-bots in Austin Powers, the dancers at this infamous gangster and celebrity hotspot are all almost identical, save for hair color. The gaudy booths allow for some expensive semi-private teasing. But reach out and touch, and the only thing you'll have scored is a strong-armed shove out the door by the thuggish bouncers. It's not as sleazy as the jiggle joints of the pre-Giuliani era; what you gain in safety you lose in prurient pleasures. But hey, if you get off watching Howard Stern and his wack pack, professional athletes acting unprofessionally or Hollywood has-beens ('hey, isn't that Jean-Claude Van Damme') behaving badly, come on down! — Peter Landau