Helga's Chickens take the flooraround eight thirty every night.Could anybody ask for more? Perhaps some spotty troglodytewould rather hide away and writecomputer code, but that's a bore and hardly likely to delightHelga's Chickens. Take the floorfor instance - even if it wore a carpet of a lurid whiteour eyes would still be on the dooraround eight thirty. Every night the Paranormal's heaving. Quitea crowd prepares for what's in storeand brightens as they dim the light. Could anybody ask for morethan Helga and her brood? Beforeyou rush to call her 'parasite' or breathe the appellation 'whore',perhaps some spotty troglodytewill rush to her defence and cite an evening back in '94when he succumbed, gave up the fightand sang - O come let us adoreHelga's Chickens!