Several months later, it became a reality.

We were slated to do a show at the Press Club on 21st & P. The Press Club was a dive bar trying to improve itself. It had started to book local bands on the weekends and by charging no cover was able to get people inside. Even though the place was very small, Falconi decided to play there, mainly because we were tired of playing the other few clubs in town.

Anyways, we decided to do the show in drag. Dutch looked great in his pink Little Bo Peep outfit, your humble webspinner wore a tight black sequined dress which showed off his lovely legs, all the other guys looked great as well, with wigs and make-up and accessories. Maybe not as good as Priscilla Queen of the Desert, but close, you know?

So we're doing the show, bustin out the tunes like normal, until about halfway in the set, when Dutch is looking over his band and sees up in the top row that Bill "Spider" Smith is not wearing a dress. He's in a suit and tie! "Whatthefuck!" Dutch says to Bill, "Bill, why aren't you in a dress like the other boys? What's goin' on here?" he demands.

"Fuck you, Dutch! I'm not wearing a dress for you, you big pansy!" Bill yells back at Dutch.

"What, are you too good to wear a dress like the rest of us, Bill?"

"You're a big fag, Dutch!"

"Boys, I think we need to teach Bill a little lesson..."

At that cue, Jim Pantages and I grab Bill from behind and throw a sheet over his head.

We kept his hands behind his back and dragged him to the front of the stage, where Shade Vegas and crew have brought up an eight foot tall guillotine. It's big and black, with a stainless steel blade. Bill's struggling and shouting from under the sheet, "Let me go, fuckers!"

"Bill, I think it's time we made you one of us!" Dutch speaks into the mic.

The guillotine is moved center stage, and we manuever Bill directly behind it. Instead of putting his head in it, though, we drop his pants.

"Hey, what are you doing, you fags!" Bill cries.

Jim and I have him before the guillotine, and Jim pulls this huge dick out from Bill's boxers and lays it on the chopping block. The blade is raised and Dutch holds the cord. Bill's struggling and yelling, "Hey, what's going on?"
I'm yelling out things like "Whack it off, Dutchie!", "Cut it!"
[Editors note: It was a giant kielbasa and not an actual dick.]

And Dutch releases the blade!

It comes down quick and hard and cuts Bill's dick off unmercifully. Blood sprays over the audience. He's yelling his head off too, jerking and writhing in pain. He gets away from us and falls on the stage, sheet still over his head, pants down, with his severed dick still bleeding. [It was a squeeze tube with BBQ sauce in it.]

The audience at this point is in shock. Really! We expected an uproar but instead there is an almost scary silence. They really can't believe what they just saw. Several people actually leave! It was too much for them, we hear later.

Bill is taken offstage. He later returns to play his trumpet, but now he is in a dress, like the rest of us.

Every show Falconi plays from then on has lines out the door. We started breaking attendance records at all the clubs around town.