Chopping Through Tavistock’s House of Horrors

I wake up on a cold steel table with a colorless, artificial fluorescent light numbing my face. Despite my aching head and limp body, I can see pink-haired Dr. Paula sharpening a large machete in the distance. I try to pull my arms up, but I’m strapped down. I look toward the viewing gallery, which is packed with drag queens and wig-clad doctors who loo…