Dr. Yanovsky works in a VD clinic in New York City and he sees all sorts. . . . A little blond ""fresh and juicy as an apricot,"" aging Lotharios, Oriental butterflies, junkies with atrophied veins, beautiful ""adolescent Pushkins,"" ""no-speak-English"" matrons, heteros, homos and transvestites. Between vaginal smears and syphilis sores he hears a lot of claptrap about who gave what to whom and he's not in the least shy about giving these wrong-living people a piece of his snappish, moralistic mind. To a young girl: ""Why do you do it?"" Do what?"" ""Throw yourself away."" To a young man: ""What are you, a dog? Can't you at least discriminate?"" All this makes for some piquant exchanges on subjects far removed from social hygiene and penicillin -- though you may wonder whether that much candor is professionally appropriate. Some of his patients he clearly considers filthy, amoral SOBs; and we suspect he doesn't endorse the current poster campaign with its ""Even nice people get VD"" slogan. The good doctor's dedication to a grubby, thankless job is not in question; only his ex cathedra flourishes.