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I've been looking on some information regarding the legality of having a guillotine (or realistic but non-functional facsimile) in a public space. I've not found anything conclusive so I figured I'd see if any of you spags have any idea if bringing one out in public is against any law or not.

Why am I asking this? Reasons...

Have you not heard of that madman who lit a spliff in the bright morning hours, ran to the local dive, and howled incessantly: "I seek Punk! I seek Punk!" -- As many of those who believed they were Punk were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. What's with the leather jacket? asked one. Liberty spikes are for posers... said another. Why is he yelling? What's he so mad about? Just chill, bro. You're not being very socio-politically conscious -- Thus they looked down their noses.

The madman elbowed his way into their midst and eyed their many unconventional piercings. "Where the fuck is Punk?" he shouted; "I'll tell you. We've killed it -- you and I. All of us are it's consumers. But how did it happen? How could we drink up all the PBR and 'Gansette? Who gave us the bar napkins to wipe away the city streets and piss-filled alleyways? What were we doing when we unchained the wallet from the belt loop? Where the fuck are we going now? Towards full-on radio-friendliness? Are we not catering continually to the advertisers and promoters? No longer pitting in circles? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any hardcore or crust? Are we not straying towards shitty "folk-punk, as if though it doesn't lead towards an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty venues? Has it not become safer? Is not homogeneity continually closing in on us? Do we not need to start drinking in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the hipsters who are burying Punk? Do we smell nothing as yet of the subterranean decomposition? Punk, too, decomposes. Punk is dead. Punk remains dead. And we have killed it.

"How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was earthliest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What musical festivals of atonement, what sacred drinking games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become punks simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whoever is born after us -- because of this deed he will belong to a more sheltered musical history than all history hitherto."

Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners; and they, too, were silent and stared at him in judgment and disgust. At last he threw his joint on the floor, and with his boot, he ground it into the clean tile floor and it went out. "I have come too late," he said then; "my time is passed. This tremendous event has happened long ago but it has not yet reached the ears of youth. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than most distant stars -- and yet they have done it themselves.

It has been related further that on the same day the madman forced his way into several venues and there struck up his requiem aeternam veritatem. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: "What after all are these bars now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of Punk?"