Tour
A brief textual tour of the club...
Through the line of people awaiting entrance and past the velvet ropes, you decent a short flight of stairs and pass through two wide, thick metal doors into the security check. Blocked by another door and a bouncer, you are subject to a metal detector and a frisking. Your bags are passed through an airport-style x-ray scan. Your weapons are placed in a metal tray and slid back to the nice security people working behind the bulletproof glass of their booth. You are given a ticket for having your weapons returned to you once you leave. Once inside, you see that tables occupy most of the space, except for a dancefloor that spans from the middle of the building to the stage, completely empty except for the Toreador table. You walk through two transparent, lit columns of water through which dozens of piranha swim. The bar to your right has a wide assortment of bottles lined up at the base of a massive aquarium. Behind the bar in the entrance to a kitchen. Along all of the walls are the curtained booths, described above, and tables are scattered everywhere. Looking around, you also notice security cameras. Walking up to one, you would notice not only a microphone, but three lenses, side by side. Staring into the camera for another moment, you notice a lens upon up. It abruptly showers you with confetti and you take the hint to go stare at something else.
You walk past the firepole, carefully watching out for drunken ravers, and proceed up the stairs. You walk along the large piranha tube that serves as a railing on this level and notice that it is lit from within the floor below you, as well as how warm the water is. The stage is visible from everywhere on this floor, as well as a large circular platform, suspended from the third floor. It is empty except for a single midget, sporting a cheerleader's outfit and badly grown facial hair. He winks at you seductively as he energetically dances for the nickels that customers are throwing at him. There is a very large table on the far end of the floor with a dozen men in business suits, all Italian, all smoking cigars, and all discussing the most effective means of removing a horse's head from its body.
Proceeding up another flight of stairs, you arrive on the third floor. You admire a gallery of paintings and photographs along the walls, but are suddenly assaulted by an angry man with a meat cleaver. You turn around and see that something terrible has happened. The Swedish have captured the third floor. Though you cannot see their enraged eyes beneath their comically oversized chef's hats, you know that their furious gibberish is their way of saying that you've been taken prisoner and that their plans are to conquer the rest of the nightclub. When you begin to struggle, they immediately come to an agreement that you must be butchered into tiny little bits and put into a soup. All hope seems to be lost when, from out of nowhere... the dancing cheerleader midget Potence-jumps from the platform and lands in the middle of the Swedes! With a well-placed elbow, a roundhouse, and a haymaker to a chubby, Swedish jaw, the cocky little imp incapacitates every member of the invading horde ninja-style. But just then, Mr. T in a koala suit decends from the ceiling by a black rope with a completely naked and shaved Danny DeVito on his back. Before you have a chance to ask Mr. DeVito why he has "Miss Chucklefuck Daisy, '76" tattooed on his lower back, Zombie Ghandi blasts a hole in the roof with his laser eyes---

Tour scheduled to be completed soon