We are all just trying to dance on the golden ball, no matter how and where it rolls, says the Swiss businessman Weill, an import/export specialist, philosophically to his partner Blaschky at the Café Imperial in Vienna. Meanwhile, the washed-up poet Josef Maria Wassertheurer fantasizes about his next masterpiece at the Brunnenmarkt, and in distant St. Petersburg, a mysterious Mr. Tschernomyrdin awaits the crucial phone call. The criminal network of globalists stretches from Zurich and Paris to Bucharest and Moscow, reaching the idyllic Salzkammergut. With a light touch, Rosei has created a satyr play that distorts reality to such clarity, so malicious that it becomes laughable.