Original subtitles

Ladies and gentlemen.

The year I went down to London to actively seek work was a significant

year for me.

Dossing about on the dole in itself is hardly new to me exactly, but dosing

about on the dole down in London?

Now that was a significant change.

You see, I'm a lazy bastard at the best of times.

But if a dosser like me could find gainful employment in the big smoke...

Then so could anyone.

Or at least that's what I told my best mate Kenny, from Ireland.

Which might explain why you see him here.

My best mate Kenny, over from Ireland.

Unannounced and unexpectedly visiting, this lazy bastard.

How it has to be said, well, it goes without saying.

That lady bastards me.

Kenny, what the frig are you doing here?

What the frig are you doing here, more like it?

You look like shite.

I feel like shite.

Rough night last night, was it?

Aye. Guess you caught that.

What happened there?

What happened where?

There.

Black death last night.

Black death last night.

What?

Calling thick, did you?

Huh? You know, work, your job, recruitment manager, in the city, 18K.

You don't have one, do you?

Now, I could have lied and said yes.

And granted, my mate Kenny, he does look stupid, but let's be honest here.

Look at the state of my... my such, I had to say. Flip me, Byron. Look at you.

You're a friggin' mess.

You're back in the booth again.

Stop it, Kenny.

You're giving me sore heads.

That's not me.

What's that night?

What are you down here for anyway?

I'm down here because you told me the streets of London are paved with gold.

Like shite?

Exactly like shite.

I think I need a drink.

I think it's me that needs a drink.

Look, Byron.

It's my last fiver.

My one and only.

You don't know any good pub by any chance, do you? Aye. I knew a good pub,

all right.

My best mate, Kenny.

Only a wee part of him had fallen for my story about the city job.

Too good at this place?

The larger percentage.

The overruling majority of him had always suspected that it was a total

load of shite.

Where?

Well, still, all the same.

I don't think he could have quite expected this. You know what I mean?

This is a freaking gay pub.

Aye, I know.

If you know, then what the hell are we doing here?

Kenny, a pub's a pub that drinks a drink, and I need a freaking drink.

Now, where's your fiver?

Here.

Well, where's your money?

Now, Kenny, there's detox week and then there's gyro week.

There's a detox week.

You happy? I'll be happy just as long as no one talks to us, I'll be happy, all

right?

High-fiving.

The Queen's dead.

The Queen dead? No.

Yes, died last night.

Poor bitch.

Now that, presumably, was the first gay guy, to my knowledge, that Kenny's ever

met in his entire life.

At least, it's the first gay guy he's ever met through me.

And I'll have to be honest with you.

It was far from being the last.

You all right, Kelly?

Just so long as you don't kiss any more gay guys in the cheek, I'll be all

right.

Byron. Hi, Jeff.

How are you?

Take a seat and meet with me, can I? I just came over from Ireland. Oh, from

Ireland.

How sweet.

Unfortunately, you Irish boys tend to get corrupted when you come to London,

so my advice to you would be to go straight back.

Unlike you, I am addicted to this god-awful city, unfortunately.

Yes, I'm much too old to be a practising poof, but I enjoy it rather too much to

give it up.

Oh, Byron.

Have you heard?

Her Majesty, Her Royal Highness, the Queen, is dead.

I did, actually.

When did that happen?

Last night.

Now, as much as a party would welcome the abolition of the royal family, the

dead Queen in question was unfortunately not the ruler of England, but was, in

fact, yet another male homosexual.

Or in other words, the Queen was a dead gay guy.

Dead gay guy number one, you might say.

as he was to be the first of nine, but the only one to be... Electrocuted.

Electrocuted? Yes.

With a cattle prod.

With a cattle prod? Yes, a cattle prod.

I mean, that's a class five offensive weapon.

Anyway, she's dead.

Regrettably, the redeemed will be dead.

Death is a strange thing, really. There's something about death that makes

one feel so very much alive.

You know, there's a cruel irony, yes, there is, a cruel irony in knowing that

while some poor bastard is decomposing six feet under, we're still here to live

and love and shop and suck.

Now, tell me, Byron, I may be mistaken, but isn't this your detox week?

Oh, maybe it's your, uh... Let me see, let me see. Yes, it's your gyro week.

No, no, no. It's not Jarrowick, Jeff.

Oh, really? So what kind of a week is it?

It's Jeff Wick. Oh, that's right.

It is.

Thank

you,

Byron.

Thank you very much. No problem.

Very good this time.

Cheers, Jeff.

There was Jarrow Week and there was Detox Week.

Detox was short for detoxification.

Or in other words, finances were low.

Too low to drink the Black Death, which is a bad thing.

But then I met Jeff.

And Detox Week became Jeff Week, which is a good thing.

This was Jeff Week.

Or in other other words, any week that I drank death, I would drink the Black

Death. Or not.

as it happened.

It was past eleven.

Hi.

Bottle of Black Death, please.

No, mate.

Ah, come on, give us a break.

It's gone eleven.

But it's just gone one minute past, though.

Look, my lad ain't laying it on the line for you.

But it's not just for me, though, is it?

It's for him as well.

Yeah, come on, mate.

He's my long-lost brother, right? You see, we'd better drink to celebrate,

okay? I ain't serving you or your H-Block long-lost brother here. And I'll

have a cunt uncompassionately this side of 11 o'clock. Do you get me?

Hi.

Bottle of black death, please.

It's a capital fraud.

It's a class five offensive weapon.

Baron, you're a fucking asshole, you know that.

It's a mouth nerve.

Just get it, right? Try coming in before 11 sometimes.

It's a lot easier that way.

Where'd you get this thing anyway?

I found it.

What do you mean you found it?

I mean I found it.

Last night.

A lot of things happened last night, didn't they?

What? Look, don't want me, all right? What exactly happened last night? That's

what. Nothing happened last night.

I was in the back room, that's all.

The back room?

What the frig is the back room?

The back room, otherwise known as the dark room, otherwise known as the

playroom, was that renamed.

It was in the back, it was dark as shite, and it was full of boys playing

with each other's toys.

Not that I would ever call it that, no.

Giving a guy a blowjob for money was what I called legitimate lucrative work.

Giving a guy a blowjob while stealing his money was what I called illegitimate

lucrative work.

This was the illegitimate variety.

Only the guy didn't have any money.

This cattle prod killed the Queen.

What?

The guy who stole this frigging cattle prod from electrocuted the Queen to

death. You think so?

You know he did.

You mean to tell me you gave a murderer a blowjob? It was detox week, Kenny.

He was a murderer, Byron. I frigging didn't know he was a murderer at the

time, Kenny.

Most cases you stick your hand down a guy's pocket, you expect to pull out a

wallet, not a frigging cattle prod.

You know, you're going to have to go to the police.

You're going to have to hand it in. It's a piece of evidence.

And what would you like me to tell them?

Could I have a description of the murderer, please?

Oh,

he had a three and a half inch willy, sir.

He did three and a half inch willy?

Aye.

You ever been in a dark room, Kenny?

It's dark as shite, can't see, fuck all.

This murderer.

I know he had a three and a half inch woolly and that's about all I know about

him. Well, it was that dark, Byron.

How did you even know that?

Wasn't even as long as my fist.

Finding your best mate's broke and backing the booze is probably bad enough

already.

But finding out that he's been blowing queers to subsidise his booze was

presumably worse.

However, finding out that the Queen's been electrocuted by a gay guy with a

cattle prod and a three and a half inch woolly was really queer news indeed.

I guess I thought Kenny could be forgiven for thinking that things could

hardly get any worse.

I was to prove him wrong, of course.

What the frig? What's the matter now?

You tried to kiss me.

No.

You did so.

You tried to make a pass at me.

Byron, are you gay?

No. Then what are you trying to kiss me for?

I thought we were mates, Kenny?

We are mates.

But that doesn't mean you can kiss me. I mean, mates don't go around kissing each

other whenever they feel like it.

Kiss a blowjob.

Kenny, this is a class-fied offensive weapon. Kiss a blowjob or else.

Byron, there's no way I'm going to give you a blowjob. Do you understand?

Go on, Kenny.

It's not as if it's real gay sex.

It's not as if it's anal, arsehole, sphincter, shitter, bum-banded, butt

-fucker, penetrative type sex?

Are you for real?

Are you?

I'm only messing, Kelly.

I'm messing with you.

Vern, you've changed.

You've really changed, you know that?

I guess Kenny had a point.

I guess I had changed.

London must have changed me. I mean, I've never asked him for a blowjob

before. That much is true.

But then again, he was one to talk.

I mean, it wasn't long before he was to become a practising poof either.

Sure enough, what London had done to me, London would now do to Kenny.

I need a pee.

I need a drink.

I need a pee so I can have a drink.

After my pee.

So I don't need a drink.

Byron. What?

You got any of that money left on you?

Here's my last fiver. The one and only.

I think we should spend it now on breakfast, beverages and liquid lunch.

I agree totally.

Now, Kenny, bearing in mind your present physical condition, which at best

can only be described as fragile, which pub do you feel like you're capable of

walking to?

To Guinness' place.

Here, can I?

What?

This here's a fucking gay pub.

You're not funny, Byron.

It appears to me that this here drinking establishment has an unusually high

proportion of punters of a homosexual nature.

Byron, you're not friggin' funny, are you?

You see, the difference between me and you is...

You look around this pub, and all you see is a lot of gay guys and homosexuals

and queers and buttfuckers and faggots and poofs, right?

Whereas me, whenever I look around this pub, I see a way of subsidising my gyro.

Big time.

Aaron, I'm not giving anyone a blowjob.

Kenny, don't look at it as a blowjob.

See it as work.

Legitimate, lucrative work.

I'm not giving anyone a blowjob, all right? That's it, Kenny. Would I ask you

to give anyone a blowjob? I wouldn't do that.

Anyone I wouldn't.

Just Jeff.

Jeff? Aye, Jeff.

Are

you

for real, are you?

What?

Kenny!

Barnes, it's just no friggin' way, all right?

Look, do you want to ever be gainfully employed or what?

Barnes, I'd rather be another teddy paddy sleeping on the streets of London,

starving and freezing to death, than gainfully employed in that sort of work,

all right? That sort of work it is now? Yeah.

Welcome to my country cottage.

It's a little cramped, but I'm sure it will do.

Breakfast is ready.

Slow,

slow, slow down.

No, no, too slow. Split the difference, split the difference.

I know what you're thinking.

You're probably thinking, how could he? But take it from me, and I should know,

it was an easy choice to make. I mean, did Kenny really want to be just another

homeless impoverished paddy sleeping on the streets of London? Did he, Frigg?

Thank you.

You did very well.

You're a beginner.

Excellent.

And anyway, it's only a blowjob. I mean, it's not like it was real gay sex or

anything. It's not like it was anal, arsehole, sphincter, shitter, bomb

banded, penetrative type sex. No.

All that Kenny was to do later.

So, Kenny, who are you sleeping with at the moment?

I'm staying at Byron's.

What? A big boy like you, crammed into that tight, rancid little hole?

Well, you know, you can always stay with me.

I've got plenty of room.

Out lives a wife by at least a decade.

Room!

Jeff, the horny bugger, had literally shagged his wife into an early grave.

She died right there on the marble bed.

That was at least a decade ago. And yet, true to her memory, Jeff hadn't slept

with another woman since.

Entree, Kenny, dear.

Oh, Jeff.

That's a big bed you have there.

Oh, Kenny, darling.

You are showing your age. I've seen much bigger.

But then again, I'm...

Ventra is older than you are.

Oh, I've been a terrible slut.

I have, yes.

You know, I've had and been had, sit down, on beds much bigger than this one.

But never, never in my whole life have I ever been had on a bed as big as

Golders Green's bed.

Who the frig is Golders Green? He's the Queen's lover.

Golders Green.

No one knew his real name. In fact, no one knew anything at all about him,

other than the fact he lived somewhere in Golders Green.

Jesus Christ.

He was very discreet, you see.

He was an orthodox Jew.

So, was there your, um, boyfriend then, sir?

No, he was not my boyfriend.

I'm an orthodox Jew, please.

He was my friend, just my friend. I see.

Your friend.

Well, would you happen to know if he had any other friends, sir?

No. No friends.

What about enemies, then? I mean, was there anyone else?

No, there was nobody else. We never went out. We stayed in.

We stayed in bed all day and every day. Just me and my... my friend.

Blimey. That is a big bed for us.

So his bed was bigger than yours?

Well, it had to be.

You see, they say that's where he kept all his money.

Why would he hide his money in his bed? Well, it makes more sense than what it

sounds. You see, they practically lived in the bed.

I mean, they did everything in the bed. They ate in the bed. They shagged in the

bed. They even slept in the bed.

And they also say... that every time the Queen let Gigi have him, he

would reach in the mattress and pull out. Thank you, Your Majesty.

A wad of cash.

It's what you might call a majestous discreet. Thank you, Goldilocks. A

service.

Well, you'd think whoever murdered the Queen took the gold of the Queen's

money. That is a possibility. After all, the Queen used to find a different lover

every... Friday night.

Friday night, when Golders Green was off to synagogue, the Queen would make a

similar pilgrimage to his own Mecca. Keep the bed warm, Your Majesty.

Goldie Locks is off to synagogue.

The Queen might 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.

Why?

You're a big boy.

Oh,

whoever the Queen picked up on that fateful Friday night must have murdered

him and stolen the money.

Murder took the money.

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. I caught that.

What happened there?

What happened where?

There?

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 dead gay guy number two.

Haven't you?

I'd love to see a Kenny.

I've never taken a guy off 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 woman.

Except it's a man.

Anyway, it's work. Legitimate lucrative work. You said so yourself.

Work, Kenny?

You shagged the guy to death.

I don't think you quite grasped the severity of the situation here. The poor

bugger's dead.

And I still mugged you a jar a week.

I mean, where are we going to 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, Frigg?

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 rumour.

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's a three and a half inch willy.

Barn, where are you going?

Margaret. Margaret, who the frig is Margaret?

I thought we looked for a gay guy with a three and a half inch willy. We are.

It's the second closest pub 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 three and a half inch woolly,

right? Yeah. Well, as you can imagine, it can be rather difficult to find a

woolly that tiny, even at the best of times. But if, if such a wee woolly

actually does exist, 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's art hangs out.

Donkey Dick Dark? Who the freak is Donkey Dick Dark?

In a world where all that counts is the size of your willy, Donkey Dick Dark

ruled supreme.

He was the willy expert.

If there was a three and a half 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 words, we had to find... Donkey Dick Dark.

Three and a half inches.

That guy's got a bollock to me.

The Queen would never have taken anything like that.

No?

No.

The Queen likes her dicks big.

The girl had class.

That girl had taste.

I mean, why do you think they called her the 7-Eleven?

7-Eleven?

What's the difference in 7-Eleven?

That's a 7, and that's an 11.

Anything in between was big enough and classy enough for her royal highness.

Anything bigger parted 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's head?

Golders Green's really hard red bull's head was the one singular reason why

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 motherfucker is what's commonly known as the Golders Green. Really hard.

Red Bull test.

Flip me, Kenny.

That is really hard.

Surely that ain't possible.

If so, please contact Golders Green.

Two cans of Red Bull long.

But surely no one can be that big.

Surely no one can 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, how else do you think the Queen and Golders Green got it 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,

then my informed guess is you're not looking for an old three-and-a-half-inch

dick. No.

Take it from me.

You don't want to be doing none of that.

Some old dead shit.

You want to be looking for the Iron Lady?

No, no.

Not the Iron Lady. I'm afraid so, boys.

You know how they think.

Where there's money, there's the Iron Lady. I don't want to fuck with Iron

Lady. Who the frig is the Iron Lady?

The Iron Lady was Margaret, and Margaret was a managerette.

Besides what 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 behaviour in my pub!

Help!

Looking at a woman this fat and scary, I could begin to understand

why it is that guys should choose the shy guys.

And that is the Iron Lady.

That woman, as you might say, is your man.

You think she's a murderer?

Surely she wouldn't have a penis.

I mean, not even a tiny one, you know, like three and a half 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

dicks.

The Iron Lady had it all sorted.

Not only was she taking money through the front at the bar, but she was also

making money off the punters through the back in exchange for other under-the

-counter services.

The brothers then were the other services, whereas the father...

Was a punter.

I've never had wet African before.

Well, it's all the first time.

So go on.

Take your pick, father.

Oh, I couldn't possibly choose.

They're all so tasty.

Well, which one do you like?

I would like them all.

You want them all?

Because that can be a rain.

You know what I like to say?

Where there's money, there's love.

And that's exactly what he did.

The father proceeded to have them all, one at a time. There were three West

African brothers altogether, the youngest being only 14 years old.

He's how old?

14.

Only 14?

Yes, only 14.

You've had your love, father.

Now pay your money.

But I don't have any money.

Well, then you just have to pay me in kind, won't you?

No.

No.

In the end, love costs a father

very dearly indeed.

Because where there's money, there's the Iron Lady.

And you don't want to fuck with the Iron Lady.

Not when it comes to money, you don't.

Believe me, money's important.

But it's not that important.

Burns, where are you going now?

We're going back to the elephant's graveyard.

What about Golden Scream's money?

Look, Penny, there's some things that even I don't do for money. And don't

fuck with the Iron Lady. I wouldn't like to sleep with the Iron Lady either.

Me neither.

And besides, there's easier ways of making money than trying to find a three

and a half inch willy.

You're better off looking for UFOs.

Go look for UFOs. Aye, ugly, fat oldies.

Now that Jeff is dead, I need a new benefactor.

And there's none as ugly, none as fat, and none as old as old Nick.

Hi, Nick.

Meet Kenny.

He's just over from Ireland.

Kenny, say hello to Nick.

I don't need to know his name, Byron. I just need to know...

What's monogamous mean?

Monogamous means, my dear boy, does he keep a boyfriend?

Or does he sleep around with other people as well in a more modern

relationship?

We're not in a relationship.

We're just mates.

You're not attached.

How wonderful.

You wouldn't be, uh...

No, why'd you say no, Byron?

Kenny, do you really want to shag me? I sure as hell don't want to shag you.

Kenny, we're mates, and mates don't shag each other.

Yeah, but it's work, Byron. It's money, you know.

Kenny, shagging each other is a bum.

It's penetration, and I don't take it or give it for that matter. Well, I don't

like it up the bum either.

Nor me. I don't like it that way either.

No, dear.

No. Me?

I ain't going back to earning a proper, decent, respectable living.

Or in other words, I went back to blowjob.

Donkey Dick Don.

I wonder if you might happen to know of any sad bugger who's not only desperate

enough, but also sexually repugnant to such an acute degree as to have little

choice other than to pay me to give him a blowjob.

By any chance?

Yeah, I do, actually.

And I'm a desperate dwarf.

Desperate dwarf?

Yeah. You know.

He's a dwarf.

He's about three and a half feet tall.

And he's desperate.

And naturally, it goes without saying, he ain't one of the brothers.

He's about three and a half feet tall.

Yeah.

Three and a half.

Three and a half?

Three and a half?

So what if I'm only three and a half?

So what if I am small?

Size isn't everything.

I mean, I may not be huge.

But after all, it's only a matter of inches we're talking about here.

Inches? Yes, inches.

Don't you mean feet?

You know, three and a half feet?

No, inches.

Three and a half inches.

No, he meant inches, all right.

Coincidentally enough, not only was he three and a half feet tall, he was also

only three and a half inches long.

I had found our three and a half inch willy and we had found our murderer.

No. Three and a half inches.

That's the problem.

No one will take anything under four.

They say it's too small.

They say it's painful.

But I'm telling you, whenever it comes to penetration, there's always got to be

a thin line between pain and pleasure.

No, no, no. I only agreed to a blowjob, and no one said anything about

penetration. So what? What's the difference?

Well, I'm not gay, right?

Yeah. If someone's gay, I might enjoy it. No, no. It's under four inches.

It'll hurt.

I'm telling you, you won't enjoy it. Well, if I'm not going to enjoy it, then

I'm definitely not up for it.

I'm sorry.

I think you'd better go.

Oh, not again.

Yeah, right?

As it happened, being a short arse wasn't a problem for him. He didn't mind

that so much. But having a wee willy, well, that drove him round to bed. That

drove him flipping mental.

I mean, this was one seriously desperate dwarf we're talking about here.

Don't you touch me! This is a Class 5 offensive weapon.

I know it's a Class 5 offensive weapon.

It's my Class 5 offensive weapon.

I lost it that night.

That night?

That night you murdered the Queen.

Yeah. So, where's the money?

What money? The money you stole from Gordos Green after you killed the Queen.

The money hid inside the bed.

The money inside the bed? What bed?

What do you mean, what bed?

The biggest bed in the entire world, Gordos Green's bed.

I didn't get as far as his bed.

But I never usually take anything under heaven, let alone four inches.

Four inches?

Shit. Well, anything shorter than four inches, it's pure hell.

It doesn't go in properly.

In it, it just lingers around the edge.

Forever teething.

Never penetrating.

Pain without pleasure.

No fun.

No fun.

I won't let go. I promise you.

I won't linger.

No.

I'm afraid it's no good.

I've tried it once before and never again.

I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that I couldn't sit down for a whole

fortnight afterwards.

It was, and you'll have to pardon the pun, a real pain in the arse.

No, when it comes to my bottom, I'm afraid four inches is the bottom.

Anything less?

No go. In fact, I think you'd better go.

Please, don't. Don't make me go. Don't make me beg for Christ's sake.

No, don't. I'll beg.

I'll beg.

I'll do anything for you.

Do you know, I thought it would turn me on to be taken by a midget.

Sort of kinky, you know.

I'm not a midget.

I'm a dwarf.

Whatever.

Small is small, and I like big.

But I'm a dwarf.

What do you expect?

Well, I was rather expecting that long, hard thing which I felt earlier.

Long, hard thing?

What will I say?

My.

You're a big boy.

You trying to be funny?

No.

No.

Not at all.

You are a big boy.

And hard to be.

Oh, you mean this long-haired thing?

Oh, my God. What's that?

A cattle prod.

Oh, is that what it is?

What were you going to do with it, darling?

Electrocute me?

Or shove it up my arse? Well, I was hoping you'd shove it up my arse,

actually.

I think you'd better go, don't you?

This is also a class 5 offensive weapon.

You know, I swear, I'm not sure what I'm more afraid of. A cattle prod?

Or a three-and-a-half-inch knotler? This isn't funny. This is a very dangerous

weapon.

It's just like you, my little darling.

All charged up and no one to blow.

Oh.

So you didn't actually get to see the bed then?

No.

So if there was money actually hidden inside the bed, then it's probably still

there, do you think?

There's money inside Golders Green's bed?

Well, that's what they say.

Hey, Byron.

If I'm not mistaken, didn't that dwarf have a three and a half inch wing?

Taxi! Yeah, I know.

He's the guy we've been looking for, Kenny.

He's the murderer.

He's the murderer?

Listen, guess who I've just seen?

Byron, you gave a dwarf a blowjob. Never mind that, Kenny.

The dwarf.

The desperate dwarf.

He didn't steal Goldish Green's money.

I know. That's what I've been trying to tell you.

Who the frig is the guy in the hat, donkey dick?

Well, behold thee, sight and taste of a succulent slice of panani.

If it isn't Golders Green himself.

Golders Green?

What's that dude doing in here? He hasn't been in the hood since he

advertised.

He's really hard.

Red bull test.

With the Queen dead, Golders Green was looking for an heir to fill his vacant

throne and his vacant bed.

We concluded, therefore, that there must have been significant funds left in the

royal treasury, as it were. Or, in other words, his bed might have been vacant,

but it probably wasn't empty.

Karen, I think it's about time we pay Golders Green a visit. Don't you?

I agree totally.

But, Barry, how are we going to get there?

No one knows exactly when Golders Green, at Golders Green, lives.

Kenny, the really hard red bull test isn't the only way of getting there.

It isn't? No.

We can always take a minicab.

A minicab?

Aye. Dick Cheese Deepak knows where everybody lives.

Dick Cheese Deepak?

Who the frig is Dick Cheese Deepak?

Dick Cheese Deepak was the minicab driver.

He wasn't the greatest driver, but he did know where Golders Green was.

He wasn't the worst driver either, but he was more than a little partial to the

professional blowjob.

Deepak!

Deepak! Oh, is that yours or mine?

A job on the job at work.

Deepak's taxi, come with me. Good morning, good evening, Deepak speaking.

Byron, what makes you think he's going to tell us exactly where it is in

Golderscreen that Golderscreen lives? I mean, Golderscreen's very discreet.

That's easy.

Everyone knows that Dick Cheese Deepak hasn't had a blowjob in the last five

years. He hasn't had a blowjob in the last five years? No, he's got a foreskin

problem. He's got a foreskin problem?

What the frig, Dick? Foreskin problem?

Goodness gracious.

It doesn't go back.

No, it hasn't done in the last five years.

Do you think it's going to be a problem?

I think maybe you'd better give him your blowjob, don't you?

Oh, OK.

Better than nothing.

Consequently, as a direct result of his dick cheese, Deepak hasn't been able to

persuade any punter to give him a blowjob in the last five years.

Yo, taxi.

Until now, that is.

It's all yours.

Deepak Taxi, come with me. Good morning, good evening.

Deepak speaking.

What can I be doing with you, please?

Gold as green, please.

Where precisely in gold as green, please? No, no, no, no, Deepak.

Gold as green, please.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Gold as green is choosing to be most private.

He's most discreet. Look, Deepak, cut the crap, all right? Bring us to Golders

Green, and he'll give you your first blowjob in five years.

But I've just had one.

You have?

Yeah, just half an hour ago.

You mean to say someone gave you, Dixie, Deepak, a blowjob?

Yeah, my first blowjob in five years.

It was terrific.

It was a dwarf.

A dwarf?

Yes, you know, a dwarf, he's only about three and a half feet tall.

Oh, but it's not like I get a blowjob every day.

All right, Deepak.

You take off the gold or green and we'll give you your second blowjob in five

years.

Okay.

To administer the second blowjob in five years on a willy with an advanced

foreskin problem and an inordinate amount of dick cheese, one first needs

to find a suitable detergent, disinfectant, and finally, last but not

least, a more than usually potent deodorizer.

And containing 40% of pure, undiluted, 100% proof, mind-blowing, brain-cell

-decimating alcohol.

There was nothing.

quite as suitable as a good old Black Death.

And that was dead gay guy number four.

Dick Cheese Deepak's second blowjob in five years proved, unfortunately, also

to be his last.

But at least it was a memorable one. He had managed to come at the precise

moment of impact, ejaculating himself through the windscreen quite a

respectable distance.

But, as is so often the case with the first blowjob in ages, Dick Cheese

Deepak had ejaculated prematurely. We hadn't yet reached folder screen.

I know one thing for sure.

I'm not in Golders Green.

Can I... What have you done with your dead gay guy?

Huh?

Byron, I've done you a blowjob.

Can I... The guy's dead.

Yet again, I don't think you quite grasp the severity of the situation here.

There's only two ways to go loose green.

And one of them is lying face down in the bonnet of his car, not alive.

Do you understand?

Do you?

What's the other?

The other?

The other is only go loose green's really hard red bull test.

Exactly. Oh.

Jeff's dead.

Dixie Deepak's dead.

It's still not yet Jarrow Week.

I could really use a drink right now.

But thanks to you, there's no gay guys left to make any money from.

Louie.

Byron. What?

Yes, there is.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

The time had come then... I'm delighted to have you.

...to shag each other.

I must say, I always welcome a nice spot of serendipity.

What the friggin' serendipity?

Serendipity means, my dear boy, that as a direct consequence of the unhappy and

unfortunate demise of our mutual friend, Dick Chief Deepak, I...

I'm in the fortunate and happy position of being able to shag you both.

Or, to paraphrase Jeff, it's a cruel irony that while some poor bugger

is six feet under decomposing, you are left very much alive and able to indulge

in a good old-fashioned reason.

Now, you two boys look like you could really use us.

Kenny and me.

We were best mates.

But as close as we were, the thought of taking each other up the bum was just a

little bit more intimate than we would have liked.

Look, Byron.

It's only work.

Ah.

Legitimate, lucrative work.

I mean, I'm not even gay.

No.

No.

Right. It's that old.

Let's get down to business.

Yeah? Yeah.

He

left

the account, eh?

What?

Was there a wallet?

What's wrong with it?

What do you think?

I have a thing.

I think it's about the biggest woolly I've ever seen in my entire life.

I would say it's average.

Average?

Lipsync, can't it?

That thing is not average.

This is average.

Let me burn.

Look at your woolly.

What's wrong with my woolly?

Six and a third inches, can't it? That's average. Average.

Excuse me, you're the one here with the flipping weird woolly.

I mean, what do the women think?

There's never been anyone.

In fact, to tell you the truth, I think I might be gay.

Oh, my God.

I'm terribly sorry, but you can't really expect me to accommodate that thing.

That's way beyond my league.

In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that could pass Golders Green's really hard

red bull test.

No!

Golders Green's really hard red bull test!

As a direct consequence of the unhappy and unfortunate demise of our mutual

friend Dick G. Deepak...

We were in the fortunate and happy position of being able to pass Golders

Green's really hard red bull test.

I must say, I always welcome a nice spot of serendipity.

Kenny's Wally had finally won us a private audience with the very private

and very discreet Golders Green, about whom very little was known other than

the fact he lived somewhere in Golders Green.

Be very discreet. You see, I'm an orthodox Jew.

Please, sit down.

No, not the chair.

The bed.

Please, sit on the bed.

The chair's private.

It's personal.

The chair is only for me to sit on.

Whereas the bed, so many people have been in and out of that bed, it might

just as well be public property. I'm funny like that, you see.

I'll let any number of willies up my bum, but I won't let anybody sit on my

chair.

In other words, my bum might be everybody's property, but my feet is my

property. Ha!

It's quite a big bed you've got here.

Yes.

I like big.

Big is good, but it takes two to fill a bed.

And with the Queen gone,

this bed is too big, even for me.

Speaking of big, you've passed the really

hard red bull test, yes?

Good. I like big.

Small I don't like.

Dwarves and midgets I don't like. Dwarves I don't do. Dwarves?

Yes, a dwarf. Earlier tonight you should have seen him. You wouldn't believe it.

He was only about three and a half feet tall.

I'm sorry, I don't sleep with midgets.

I'm not a midget. I'm a dwarf.

I don't care what you are. Small is small. I like big.

Nah, I like big.

Big boys.

And boy was the queen of big boy.

He had a big, you know, and I had a, I have a big,

you know, and it just fitted very nicely.

Now that he's gone, he's left a huge hole in my life.

Huge.

And I've been looking for someone big enough to fill my huge hole ever since.

So, it was big then? It was the biggest I've ever seen in my entire life, I

swear to God.

And can I?

Would it be fair to say, therefore, that its capacity to accommodate was directly

proportional to its bigness?

In other words, very, very big? It'd be fair to say.

That there's room up there to stick whatever the hell you want, yes.

I mean, to be honest, it's not every bum that can take a ginormous willy like

mine. Do you know what I mean?

Can I... I was talking about the size of his bed, not his arsehole.

Your arsehole.

Oh, his bed.

Well, that was pretty big too.

Fine. What do you do?

Look, if that bed's really as big as you say it is, then that's a shitload of

money. Can I?

I think it's high time we did work of a highly lucrative and wholly illegitimate

nature.

Go on, Bernie. Don't you stop me. All right?

All right? All right.

All right.

All right.

And anyway, why do you think I sent you down to Golders Green in the first

place?

Kenny, we don't have sex with guys for pleasure.

We only do it for the money. Now will you try and remember that?

Please?

And so back we went to Golders Green.

But as is so often the case when one goes again so soon after already having

had sex, we were, the second time, late in coming.

Someone had got there before us.

The Iron Lady!

What the f**k is he doing here?

Surely you don't think he's gonna scream a f**k with the Iron Lady?

No one could possibly want to have sex with Iron Lady.

At least not for a player, anyway.

Two carries of Red Bull.

Really long, really strong, and really hard. If so, please contact Golden

Screen for lots of fun and money.

Money? Is someone making money?

Rick, pass over two carries of Red Bull, will you?

They're proud and good as green spades.

That's what they're here for.

They're iron lady and the two West African brothers.

They're iron lady and the two West African brothers?

Well, why don't we raise the third one?

Rick, pass us over two pairs of red bull, will you?

Oh, you all pass gold as green's really hard red bull, Ted.

Well, we are all brothers, you know.

But I don't think I know which one of you to choose.

Well, Margaret, which one of us do you like?

Well, don't know really.

To be honest, you all look the same to me.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

Catch ya!

There's the one in the pad, in the bag.

Flip me, can I?

Look at the size of that bed.

Forget about the bed, Byron.

Golder's green.

I think he's dead.

Forget about Golder's green.

Have you ever seen a bigger bed in your entire life?

Don't touch him!

If he's dead, then it's murder.

And if it's murder and you've touched him, then we're both implicated.

Anyways. Oi.

Do you love him or what?

What? Do you love him?

Of course I don't love him. Exactly.

You don't love him and you're not gay.

Can I... I will never forget the size of that bed.

Never.

Nor will I ever forget the ginormous amount of money that must have been

hidden in a bed of that magnitude either.

Money, I might add, that we were going to steal first.

If only the Iron Lady and the three West African brothers hadn't gotten there

before us. Forget it, Byron.

The money, it's gone. We'll never get it now.

Oh, yes, we will.

How do you mean?

But where do you think the Iron Lady and the three West African brothers went

after they got the money?

Margaret, it's only the second closest pub to the flat.

Oh no, Baron, we do want to fuck with the Iron Lady, okay?

Oh yes.

Yes, we do want to fuck with the Iron Lady.

Hello.

My name's Bill Clinton and this here's my colleague Ronald Reagan.

Owing to recent national expenditure, the US economy is not as strong as it

could be, or indeed should be.

It is our responsibility, therefore, to bring about a level of stability on the

economic front.

Or in other words, to refill the coffers.

Or in other, other words, and to use plain fucking English, hand over your

friggin' money.

Is that you, Byron?

It's him.

It's the Black Death.

It's the Black Death. Can I get a Black Death, please?

Byron, they know you. They friggin' know you. Well, of course they know me.

They're in here nearly every night.

Look,

just hand over your friggin' money, all right?

What money?

What do you mean, what money? Golders Green's money. The bread and the bed.

The bread and the bed?

The money.

Where's the money?

What money?

There's no money in the bed. Where's the money in the bed?

There is no money in the bed.

Everybody knows there's bread in Golda Green's bed.

There's no money in the bed.

There's rumours and lies. Look, look at the bed. There's no money in the bed.

But Margaret, maybe he's telling the truth.

Not all Jewish people have a lot of money. It's just a stereotype.

People stereotype Jews in the same way they stereotype black men or fat women.

Jewish people are rich.

Black men are well endowed.

Fat women only become lesbians because they can't find a man.

You know, maybe there's no truth in a stereotype whatsoever.

Especially that last one.

Whether or not poor Golders Green died from being hit or from a heart attack,

we'll never know.

Heart attack or no heart attack, though, the sheer pain of seeing his precious

bed being destroyed in front of his very eyes would have killed him anyway. There

is no bread in the bed. No, it was just a stereotype, stupid.

And as we all know, there's no truth in a stereotype whatsoever.

So what's in the bag?

There's no bread in the bag either.

So there we all were, standing there like the total nobs Golders Green had

taken us for.

Golders Green, in more ways than one, had well and truly shagged a lot of us.

All of us, that is, except for the desperate dwarf.

Where's the money?

Who the hell is the midget?

I'm not a midget.

I'm a dwarf.

How the hell did a dwarf get in here?

Small is small. I like big.

No,

the desperate dwarf, Golders Green, didn't shine.

He was too small.

A young lady.

Where's the money?

There is no money.

Oh.

If there's no money, how did Golders Green persuade the Queen to have sex

with him? He didn't. They probably had sex just for pleasure.

They probably did it out of love.

They did it out of love?

They had sex for pleasure?

No. You don't need money to have sex.

That again is yet another stereotype.

Two unattractive people can have sex.

As long as they're attracted to each other.

Two people who are in love can have sex for free.

They can have sex for free.

Look, enough of this. What is this anyway, a bloody circus or what? How

many more clowns and midgets am I to expect tonight?

I'm not a midget. I'm a dwarf.

What's the difference?

Small is small.

I keep telling you, I'm not a midget. I'm a dwarf.

For a small short arse of a guy, the desperate dwarf had an awfully large

chip in his shoulder. Yet again, he went flippin' mental.

Then again, his inferiority complex could be seen as justified.

I mean, after all, the poor midget did only have a three and a half inch willy.

Hitting on everyone with his big stick, the desperate dwarf was directly

responsible for dead gay guy's numbers six, seven, eight and nine.

Number nine being himself, the Iron Lady fell on top of him.

It was the first time the desperate dwarf had ever hit on a woman, and it

was the first time the Iron Lady had ever been on top of a man.

She was a lesbian, of course.

They had sex for pleasure.

It has been known to happen from time to time, Byron, you know.

But if they had sex for pleasure, then what the frig was the big bid for, then?

That was for pleasure too, maybe?

Nah.

There has to be money in there.

Barn, there is no money, all right?

There is no friggin' money!

You just don't get it, do you?

You can't get into that thick skull of yours that people can have sex for

pleasure.

Huh?

Wow! You know... People fucking for fun.

How strange, huh?

What is it about that strange concept you just can't grasp, huh?

Jesus.

You know, there doesn't have to be any money, Byron.

There isn't any money.

There's nothing except that stupid fucking maid.

The armchair.

You see, I'll let any number of willies up my bum, but I won't let anybody sit

on my chair.

In other words, my bum might be everybody's property, but my seat is my

property. Ha!

The year I went down to London to actively seek work was a significant

year for me.

Talking about an adult, It's hardly new to me exactly.

But dusting about on the dole down in London, now that was a significant

change.

But they say the streets of London are paved with gold.

I now know this to be an undisputed fact, for even I was able to find

gainful employment in the big smoke.

Now, I'm a lazy bastard at the best of times. But if a daughter like me could

find work, then so could anyone.

highly lucrative and wholly illegitimate work.

But most significantly of all, the year I went down to London was the year of

the nine dead gay guys.

Byron, where do you have to go?

I mean, why don't you stay?

Nah.

I've had enough, Kenny.

I've had enough of dead gay guys.

I mean, I don't know what it is about you and dead people, Kenny.

But there's been nine already.

Nine dead gay guys.

I mean, that's a hell of a lot of dead people, and you've only been here a

couple of days, you know what I mean?

Why don't you come with me? Go back home for a little while. You might do you

some good.

Eh, nah.

But why not?

What's it a stay for?

You know, three to London.

Paid with gold.

Anyway, it's jar a week, sir.

How much more money do you want, Kenny?

Well, you know what they say.

When there's money, there's love.

Although you don't need money to have sex, exactly, it can, however, help.

You see, although Golders Green did, in fact, pay Her Majesty for his

pleasure... Their relationship was not totally without reciprocation.

It was what you might call a give-and-take relationship.

Golders Green gave, and the Queen took.

Thank you, Your Majesty.

But then sometimes it was the other way round.

No.

Thank you, Goldilocks.

In other words, not only could the Queen take it, but the Queen could also give

it.

And so, I guess you could say they were, in more ways than one, respectively able

to fill each other's hole.

The hole in each other's life, that is.

Little wonder, then, why Golders Green was so precious about his fate.

Or in other, other words, when it comes to Golders Green's end, it really is

true to say.

that where there's money, there's love.

And if London can do all that for Golders Green, then London can do all

that for my best mate, Kenny.

Whatever makes you happy.

Hey, Byron. What?

It's good seeing you, man.

Yeah, let's continue, Siri.

You're wondering how you will pay all the way you did

pay.

This has been fallen.

Now you're on your own.

I won't turn.

Forever you will wait.

You're wondering now what to do.

Now he knows it's his day.

I won't return.

Forever you will wait.

You're wondering now what to do. Now you know

this is the end.

You're wondering how you will...

Curtain has fallen.

Now you're on your own.

I won't return.

Forever you will wait.

You're wondering now what to do.

Now you know this is the end.

You're wondering how you will live.

You're wondering now what to do. Now you know

this is the end.

You're wondering now what to do. Now you know

this is the end.

What to do?

Now you know this is the end.