Why Photographs Lie By Being Too Accurate.

In 1983 I enjoyed a three month residence in a room at the opulent Saveloy Hotel in Gandek, Hungary, drafting and re-drafting short scripts for a Hungarian cable station. Obviously this was no soap, but a series of skits expanding upon a concept born of an absinthe-funded investigation into the Eastern-European fetish-club scene where I learnt about, amongst other choice 'sports', the act of 'munting'. A faceful of atrophied corpse is the gold trophy in this three player-game. One of the three is a VERY passive participant, at least until their putrefied guts get exploded over an active competitors face, at which point, the active participant ejaculates at the sheer roominess of a hollowed ribcage, rather akin to the delight of a child as he scrapes the fetid jaundiced flesh out of a pumpkin to reveal an echoey hollow which may accommodate his face, except in this case, the genial Halloween mask is an exploded stinking abdomen, partially decomposed and freshly exhumed, grinning with arterial spaghetti and drizzled half-organs. The most accomplished players boast of having licked high-protein eggs and other parasitic ephemera from the lumbar vertebra - at the rear of the corpse. Fun for a rainy day; players must be able to leapfrog. Welcome to the Necrolympics, kids. Bring a shovel and a strong stomach - yours'll be the only one that is. Have I digressed?