THE SECOND LAST GOSPEL OF MR(S). HENDERSON.

"You know him?" said Mr(s). Henderson, utterly flabbergasted.

"Of course I know him, but not in the biblical sense darling!" Rufus replied, laughing like a hyena and scaring all Mr. Jackson's second year students going by on Nassau Street on the way to Leinster House with their iced cappuccinos, little cosmopolitan fuckers.

"Okay, so, where do we start then?" asked John.

"Well," said Hendy, "let's start at the start—the Pro-Cathedral!"

So off they went on their merry little gay ways, first stopping to pick up a lovely coffee from Insomnia on Nassau Street. Along the way they sang "YMCA", annoying Dubs with fuck-the-gays mentalities.

Just as they came to the Kylemore Café, they saw some lower-ranking Green Party members (like Ciaran Sleevend, Lola's brother) picking their beloved ex-leader Trevor Sargeant off the ground, as only recently he had been mashed into the street by the Geebus. Then, suddenly, posing beside the James Joyce statue with his cane and bow-tie was none other than David Kelly.

"It's him!" exclaimed Rufus. "It's Mrs. Kelly's son from the Yellow Lounge, looking as faaabulous as ever may I say!"

Pushing out of his/her way a group of Japanese tourists who were taking photographs and making peace signs, Hendy caught a glimpse of David Kelly. He was his/her key to finding the truth.

"Oh, David?!" squealed Rufus, in his most alluringly gay voice.

"Ah, Rufus, howya?" replied David, just before Rufus jumped on him and gave him a randy hug. This unfortunately was too much for the poor old man who wasn't used to all this homosexual activity. He fell immediately to the ground, clutching his chest and shouting, "Me heart, me heart!"

"Mr. Kelly!" interjected Hendy suddenly, knowing that time was running out, "do you know anything about a young child called Henderson?"

Clearly in breathing difficulty, Mr. Kelly said nothing but removed a yellowed envelope from his breast pocket and pointed it at Mr(s). Henderson. In a fashion that would imply death in a Hollywood film, Mr. Kelly breathed his last and died. Walking away towards Nelson's Pillar and ignoring the crowd that was gathering to gaze upon the dead David Kelly, Hendy examined the envelope and read the print on the front:

FOR THE SOLE ATTENTION OF JEREMY M. O'C. J. C. M'Q. HENDERSON.

"Jeremy M. O'C. J. C. M'Q. Henderson? Could it possibly be for me?"

"What a fucking kick ass name! Open it anyway, you HAVE to open it!" said Rufus.

"Okay then. Here it goes!"

Tearing open the envelope, Hendy found inside a single sticky post-it note bearing one word: Hellfire.

"Hellfire?" said John.

"Yeah, whatever that's supposed to mean."

Mr(s). Henderson's mind was racing. David Kelly? Joyce? Hellfire? What would Dan Brown do?

"Hellfire..." says John. "Hellfire...Club? It's up in the Dublin Mountains. I went there with the YMCA on a cruising expedition. I really enjoyed myself. It was much better than the toilets in Eason's which is where we went the previous year."

"Hellfire Club?" said Hendy. "Do you reckon we should go there? Perhaps there'll be a clue."

"Oh, adventure. I love it!" said Rufus, rubbing his crotch against Joyce's stick.

In the background, the Greens were hoisting Trevor Sargent onto their shoulders as he listened with interest to the gays' conversation.

"But how will we get there?" said John, puzzled, as in the distance somewhere "Leaving for Paris No. 2" played.

"We can ride on my fabulous bus," said Rufus, "and there's plenty of dress-up and dress-down material on it!"

"Bus?" said John, always one step behind Rufus (just as Rufus likes it, I might add).

And then, as if by fairy magic (or by Bram), a pink, fluffy bus appeared from nowhere, driven by an unnamed sexy German.

"Hi," he said, "you get on de bus?"

"Sure," said Rufus, with a twinkle in his eye and a glimmer in his cock.

"1.70 please," said Hendy to the driver.

"Ladies on free to de bus," he replied.

"But I'm a not a lady," said Hendy. "I'm a man."

"That's vot dey all say in Germany. Did you never vonder vy old German vomen are so fucking ugly?"

"Actually, no, but thanks for that anyway."

So they all had great fun on the Gaybus (as opposed to the Geebus) all the way to the Dublin mountains. When they alighted, the bus suddenly disappeared in a poof of pink smoke, and there they were, all three gays alone in front of the Hellfire Club.

"Wow, it's so...phallic," said Rufus.

"It looks so familiar," said Hendy. "It must be the right place."

The three gays made their ways through the doors of the desolate building and up the winding stairs. Staring around for a few moments, eventually something caught Hendy's eye. In a far corner of a darkened room, s/he caught a glimpse of a well-hidden picnic basket.

"Look gays!"

"Wow, cool," says Rufus. "I always wanted a picnic basket...they had a really nice one in the antiques shop that I want to go back and visit when it's open...IIIIIN TULSAAAA...!"

"Be quiet, Rufus, this is not the time for silliness. Can't you see this an important narrative moment?"

"Sorry darling, I didn't want to ruin the moment. I just can't help myself. I will never bay as cute as you."

Crouching down together (oooh!), the three gays went to open the box (Lol!).

"You know, gays," said John, "I've never been so close to a box in my life, apart from that time I did the macarena with Shirley Temple Bar."

"Quiet John," said Rufus, "you're ruining the moment!"

"Shut up both of you!" screamed Hendy. "I'm opening it."

"Ooooooooh!" said John and Rufus at once, creating an atmosphere of tense homosexual expectation.

Hendy winced as s/he opened the picnic basket, but soon discovered that it contained nothing more than three jam jars.

"Jam jars?!" exclaimed John. "Is that all? This is a shit adventure."

"Wait a second, John," said an irritated Hendy.

Hendy lifted up the first jar in the row, which appeared to contain thick black liquid. Opening it carefully, suddenly the air was filled with the strong stench of malt vinegar.

"Vinegar? What...?"

In the darkened room Hendy could barely make out the outline of something small and rather cucumberish protruding from the vinegar. Placing that jar on the ground, Hendy opened the second jar, which contained a rolled, yellowed piece of paper. Unrolling it, s/he and the other two read it open-mouthed.

BIRTH CERTIFICATE issued in pursuance of Births and Deaths Registration Act 1863

Number:
32.

Date and Place of Birth:
6th December 1922,
Monto.

Name:
Jeremy Michael O'Cock John Charles McQuaid Henderson.

—"What the...?" whispered Hendy.

—"Kick ass," whispered Rufus.

Sex:
N/A.

Name and Surname and Dwelling Place of Father:
John Charles McQuaid,
Archbishop's Palace, Drumcondra.

Name and Maiden Surname of Mother:
Susan "The Lips" Henderson.

—"Wow, I wish my mom had such a kick-ass name."
—"Shut up, Rufus."

Rank or Profession of Father:
Archbishop.

Signature of Registrar:
Michael James John-Joe O'Cock.

TO ALTER THIS DOCUMENT OR TO UTTER IT SO ALTERED IS A SERIOUS OFFENCE.

Stunned, the gays could only stare blankly at the third and final jam jar and wonder what shocking revelations it might contain.

"OH MY GOD WE'RE MISSING DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES!"

The shock of Rufus's sudden exclamation caused Hendy to knock over the vinegar jar, spilling its murky contents all over the floor. From the jar had come a small, shrivelled object about the size of a Macaroon bar. After a couple of seconds, they all realized what it was and suddenly shouted together:

"IT'S A PICKLED MICKEY!"

Hendy was sure his/her life could get no stranger. In silence, all s/he could do was open the third jam jar and unroll the large manuscript paper in it. S/he slowly read the hastily scrawled title:

TESTAMENT OF MRS. JOAN KELLY, 8TH MAY 1925.

...