Part 1

Meanwhile, the compere is trying to tell the audience it's a good thing they've already eaten, but the author is slipping in and out of literary consciousness. He is distracted by meaningless words from 60's girl group songs like shoop shoop be doop and rama langa ding dong and yeah yeah yeah. He pulls himself to his senses to describe the setting. The Mouth is a dinner and cabaret club where admission is free of charge, but as the sign in the empty box office window informs you, it must be undertaken at the individual's own risk. The weekly show plays host to an exquisite array of performing creatures and sad clowns gathered from the worst alleyways of the world. A dense electricity permeates the smoky air, it nestles with the dust upon the worn velvet drapery and shakes the dim chandeliers causing frantic snow storms of reflected light on the dark walls and arched ceiling. Food has been served and cheap alcohol consumed. The show is about to begin. The compere, a man with a permanently twisted lip stick smile, tells the audience it's a good thing they've already eaten and pre-empted by a drum roll he announces the first act of the evening. Stepping to the side with his arm out stretched he welcomes into the spot light centre stage an incredible female with gargantuan hair framing a heavily decorated face. Her legs must be 12 storeys high. The audience applauds. As the music starts up this spectacular colossus moves slowly into a succession of seductive poses while her gleaming leotard throws light in great coloured discs out over the audience. She touches her hip, she touches her knee, she touches her shoulder, she touches her face. The Mouth is popular with undercover homosexuals, but those present inadvertently make themselves known when they all without exception, let out a low simultaneous sigh of irrepressible grief in response to the glamourous masquerade. These days homosexuals think they like beards and muscles and smelling like men, but expose them to an oversized sequin and you have a pit of entranced cobras shimmying with innate primal recognition. The girl in the leotard knows their secret and turns it to her theatrical advantage by transforming from a girl into a boy with cock and balls right there on stage. One by one with the sound of a stomach's contents splattering against tiles, homosexual heads explode around the room. A small group of out of work artists are set to work clearing up the mess, wiping down the amused audience and removing small parts of bloody skull and grey matter from plates and drinks. Invariably a male heterosexual will attempt to distract from the show by making an exhibition of daring to eat homosexual brain. Such consumption always results in an unsightly swelling of the neck and chronic paralysis of the genitals. It is the out of work artist's job to transport this deformed show-off to the incinerator in the basement. Here he will be put to use warming the showers in the dressing rooms. On stage the boy in the leotard who is a girl again is watching, she flashes her eyes as her nostrils fill up with the phantom smell of shampoo. Attention is hers and so on with the show! [music] A new batch of homosexuals are entering the room to take the places of the headless. These guys are regulars and know not to arrive before the show has started. Every Thursday night is the same, some wide eyed undercover queens from out of town turn up for the show having heard it's the place to be and under instruction from the club's management Lola picks them off with her gender mutation magic. Fortunately this is a trick she can perform only once an evening, so when the undercover queens lose their heads, the regulars get to step in knowing they can keep their's. Lola is still performing her lip synch when Jurg and Stanley enter stepping over bodies. Their eyes shift around the room surveying the crowd, Jurg experiences a serene sense of normality, he thinks, "What a day"

Ak