Next thing we knew the box-headed being called Rubber O Cement was hunched over on the corner of the stage, almost entirely hidden behind an amp except for the large tin foil spikes protruding from its back and the orange toy phone receiver dangling ... chewing up large metal foreign objects, with occasional ear-piercing toy-laser squeals. ("Remember how I was saying it can't get any worse?" the Elvis said to his friends.)

Every now and then Rubber would tap its big rectangular foot, eliciting a guffaw from the audience, or would stop for a moment, greeted by pre-emptive (premature?) applause. Then the noise would return, this time in the form of some saxophone/jet engine crossbreed.

"Let's hear it for that everybody!," Oleg Bernov said as the critter did a little finger-in-the-electric-socket dance and stumbled off the stage.