The Senate restaurant's former manager had better stay away from Capitol Hill after this anthology of senatorial peccadillos. Following his 1975 retirement, Louis Hurst suffered a nervous breakdown, so the name-naming may be cathartic (""I have never blown the whistle until this book""); for us, it's amusing and discouraging, and hardly boring despite repetition and no literary merit. First, we meet drinkers like Herman Talmadge, unable to find his own office; Warren Magnuson breakfasting on scotch and seltzer; others, like Dirksen and Ford, ""often in their cups."" Hurst also confides that ""Capitol Hill is riddled with homosexuality and. kinky sex""--reporting LBJ's ""interest in black girls and white and his closeness with young men""; Javits' and Humphrey's ties to special girlfriends (HH also played the field); Muskie's penchant for plying young women with drinks, steaks, ""and dessert"" in his Capitol ""hideaway"" (which every Senator gets after one term); Rockefeller's involvement with someone from his Vice-Presidential staff (ostensibly, he told his wife that he could ""only feel intense sexual excitement with a young woman of prime child-bearing age""). Thrown in too are the names of good and bad tippers, some recipes (Elizabeth Taylor Warner Roast Chicken), and a strange story of a conversation overheard during JFK's term about ""disposing"" of someone because of Cuban problems. Miss Rona, eat your heart out!