9 Dead Gay Guys Page #3

-Thank you, your majesty

-a wad of cash

Oh, thank you Goldilocks.

It's what you might call

Her majesty's discreet service.

Well...

Do you think that whoever murdered the queen

took Golders Green's money?

That is a possibility.

After all, the queen used to find

a different lover every Friday night.

Friday nights,

when Golders Green was off to synagogue,

the queen would make a similar pilgrimage

to his own Mecca.

Keep the bed warm, your majesty.

Goldilocks is off to synagogue.

The queen may not have been jewish,

but he did, nonetheless,

have a religious bent of his own.

Indeed, he was positively zealous

in his picking up of new converts

to his own faith.

My!

You're a big boy!

So, whoever the queen picked up

on that fateful Friday night,

must have murdered him and stolen the money.

The murderer took the money?

Yeah, that's right. Yes, very good.

Sherlock Holmes, you are clever.

But enough of all these terrible depressing

stories of murder

and mayhem, and horror.

That's not why we're here.

We're here to have a nice time together, aren't we?

Rough night last night?

Yeah, you could call it that.

What happened there?

What happened where?

There!

Ah, Jeff.

Jeff died, appropriately enough,

like his wife before him,

a decade ago,

on the marital bed.

In the end, Jeff, also like his poor wife before him,

had literally shagged himself to death.

Jeff had shagged himself into...

You took him up the bum, Kenny?

Why, haven't you?

For frig's sake, Kenny,

I've never taken a guy up the bum before.

You haven't?

No.

I don't do penetration.

Sure, I'm not even gay.

You aren't?

No!

Kenny, are you gay?

No, I'm not gay, Byron.

It's the same as having sex with a women,

except it's a man.

Anyway, it's work.

Legitimate, lucrative work.

You said so yourself.

What, Kenny?

You shagged the guy to death!

I don't think

you quite grab the severity of the situation here!

The poor bugger's dead!

And it's still not yet giro week!

I mean, where are we gonna go for money now?

Kenny knew I was right.

I mean, did we really want to be just another two

homeless, impoverished paddies

sleeping on the streets of London?

Did we, frig!

No, we'd much rather sleep on

Golders Green's bed.

Golders Green's bed?

Everyone knows there's money hidden

inside Golders Green's bed.

Kenny, that's just a myth.

A rumor.

Everyone knows there's no bread in the bed.

No, not now there isn't.

What?

Well the murderer has stolen it all,

hasn't he?

What murderer?

The queen's murderer.

Find the queen's murderer

And you'll find Golders Green's money.

And just how do you propose

that we find this murderer, Kenny?

I mean, we know nothing at all about him.

Yes we do.

He has a 3-inch willy.

Byron, where are you going?

Margaret's.

Margaret's?

Who the frig is Margaret's?

I thought we were gonna look for a gay guy

with a 3-inch willy.

We are.

It's the second pub closest to the flat.

It's got a back room.

A back room?

Byron, I'm not going near any back room, all right?

Look, Kenny.

We're looking for a guy

with a 3-inch willy, right?

Yeah.

Well, if you can imagine, it can be rather difficult

to find a willy that tiny even in the best of times.

But if, if

such a wee willy actually does exist

then it's only in the back room

that we're probably going to find it.

Do you understand me?

It seems perfectly logical to me.

And anyway it's where Donkey Dick Dark hangs out.

Donkey Dick Dark?

Who the frig is Donkey Dick Dark?

In a world where all that counts

is the size of your willy,

Donkey Dick Dark rules supreme.

He was a willy expert.

If there was a 3-inch willy out there

then Donkey Dick Dark would have heard about it.

In other words, we had to find a big dick

to find a small dick, to find the queen's murderer

to find the money hidden in Golders Green's bed.

It was quite complicated.

In other, other words, we had to find

Donkey Dick Dark!

That sounds like bollocks to me.

The queen would never have taken anything that small.

No?

No.

The queen liked her d*cks big.

The girl had class.

That girl had taste.

I mean, why do you think they called her

the seven eleven?

Seven eleven?

What the frig's a seven eleven?

That's a seven. And that's an eleven.

Anything in between was big enough

and classy enough, for her royal highness.

Anything bigger

passes Golders Green's really hard

Red Bull Test.

Golders Green's really hard

Red Bull Test?

What the frig is Golders Green's

really hard Red Bull Test?

Golders Green's really hard Red Bull Test

was the one singular reason Golders Green,

on that rarest of occasions,

could be seen outside of Golders Green.

Are you man enough to pass the really hard

Red Bull Test?

Two cans of Red Bull.

Really long, really strong, really hard.

Now that mah-f***er is what's commonly known

as Golders Green's really hard

Red Bull Test.

Flip me, Kenny.

That is really hard!

Sure, that ain't possible.

If so, please contact

Golders Green! Golders Green!

Two cans of Red Bull long?

But surely no one could be that big!

Surely no one could ever be that lucky!

Rick

Two cans of Red Bull, please.

True to its name,

Golders Green's really hard Red Bull Test

was, indeed, really hard.

But it wasn't, however, impossible.

I mean, why else do you think the queen

and Golders Green got together in the first place?

Hi.

They call me the queen.

You can call me your majesty.

Come in, come in

quickly, before somebody sees you.

I have to be a bit discreet,

I'm an orthodox jew.

If the queen was, as you say,

murdered for the bread, in the bed

that you're not looking

for no 3-inch dick.

No, take it from me.

You don't wanna be doing none of that

small dick sh*t.

You wanna be looking for the ... Iron Lady.

Oh, no

Not the Iron Lady!

I think so, boys.

You know what they say:

'Where's there's money...

There's the Iron Lady'.

I don't want to f*** with the Iron Lady!

Who the frig is the Iron Lady?

The Iron Lady was Margaret.

And Margaret was the manageress...

The size of both Kenny and myself put together,

she was of an ample weight.

All of which she tended to push around.

That's disgusting!

Absolutely disgusting!

I'm not having any

disgusting heterosexual behavior in my pub.

Out! Out!

Go on, stay out!

Looking at a woman this fat and scary, I could...

Who let them perverts in here!

... begin to understand

why it is that guys choose to shag guys.

And that, is the Iron Lady.

That woman, as you might say,

is 'your man.'

You think she's the murderer?

But surely she wouldn't have a penis,

I mean, not even a tiny one, not like 3 inches.

Would she?

No

She wouldn't have a penis, no.

But the three west African brothers,

now they, no doubt, would be packing their d*cks.

The Iron Lady had it all sorted.

Not only was she taking money through

the front of the bar,

but she was also taking money off the punters

through the back

in exchange for other 'under the counter' services.

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