It was a rainy, quiet morning for John Lennon, in contrast to the wild revelries of last night. The Beatles had the number one album in England, and they partied like they never partied before! They had reason; the stodgy London Times proclaimed them the rage of the young decade. The Daily Mail said the lads practically re-invented Rock and Roll. Wherever they went, the band was awash in hordes of screaming girls. And the checks they received for their musical efforts were enough to buy and sell their former nasty critics who once called the lads "a long-haired freak show" and "four effeminate men shaking their heads and screaming at the top of their lungs to the delight of pubescent girls and other immature types." But the band's leader, who was still asleep at eleven o'clock in the morning temporarily forgot all that. Cynthia wouldn't be surprised if the spirit of Buddy Holly materialized at the breakfast table with a request to turn down the noise. His two-year old son Julian climbed on top of the bed and sat down on his father's rump while Daddy snored. The playful little lad wanted to wake Daddy up, but couldn't quite articulate this desire. Father didn't respond to his baby talk, so he tried a proven method of getting everyone's attention. Suddenly, John woke up with a wet spot on his back.

"Cyn! Julian's wet his nappies again!"

His wife came into the room and placed a cup of tea on the table. She handed her nearsighted husband his glasses before taking the toddler.

"Hello, darling. How do you feel?"

"Like I went a couple of rounds with Sonny Liston."

"Sorry to hear that, love. Oh, Paul called earlier. He said something about Brian quitting the band. I think it's serious. He said Brian's crushed by your remarks last night."

"Damn. What did I do this time?"

"Well, perhaps you should talk to Paul. He's waiting downstairs."

"Like a boil, he always shows up at a bad time. All right. I'll be down in minute."

His dapperly dressed song-writing partner (who was not at all covered in pus) looked the image of perfection. He wore a fashionable blue blazer with a darker blue turtleneck underneath. He looked slim in his tight pants and Cuban-heeled boots. Paul was casually smoking a cigarette while having a cup of tea. John, however, looked like a ruin. He finally plopped down the stairs like a barefoot corpse in his open pajama shirt and his red boxers that he tried in vain to hide beneath a ratty, cigarette hole-burned bathrobe. Two bloodshot eyes squinted behind his eyeglasses. And he had a hangover that could rival the Apocalypse.

"Hello, John-luv. How did you sleep?"

John coughed, and spat out a cigarette butt.

"That well, eh?"

John collapsed into a chair and held his hands over his ears.

"No practice today. I can't handle it. What did I do last night?"

"Well, this time me and George are to blame as well. We're getting quite nasty in our own right. I knew you'd corrupt us someday."

"Wot happened?"

"When we went to that party yesterday night, we got a look at all the Beatle shit the stores are selling, and some businessman told us we're not making a dime of the profits, thanks to Brian's bad management skills. We started griping about money and how Brian holds us back. We didn't know he was in the same room about an earshot away."

"Oh yeah. When he heard us, he ran out the room. I shouldn't have said that about Jews."

"And we shouldn't have said that about his mother. I thought he'd flatten us!"

"Ah, so wot? He's a grown man, he's used to our rubbish by now." John took a huge gulp of tea.

"Ringo didn't say anything except that it looked like Brian had tears in his eyes. He saw him leave."

"Why is it that 'that kind' are so bloody sensitive?"

"Ahem! I'll have you know, Johnny, that Mr. 'That Kind' was the only manager who ever did anything right for us. He sank a lot of his own money into the band when we were playing piss holes in Hamburg. We owe him a lot of gratitude."

John rubbed his throbbing temples. "Sometimes I wish he'd grow some manhood and sock me in the gob. He's so…feminine!"

"Aw, leave poor Brian alone. He's not from the slums, like us."

"Right. After I have tea, I'll get cleaned up and go apologize to the old queen."

Just then, Ringo and George decided to knock John up. (British slang for 'knocking on the door'). While John tried to unpeel his head from the ceiling, Paul let them in. Cynthia gave them cups of tea then put little Julian to bed after they gave the little fellow lots of kisses.

"Hey, Johnny!" called Ringo. The casually dressed drummer wore a black leather jacket with a black sweater and blue jeans.

"Up yer..!" Paul stopped John's profanity. " 'es got a bad hangover, guys."

"Oh, really!" George shouted in John's ear. John stumbled trying to strangle George, who easily outmaneuvered the lurking Lennon. George was dressed for the street in loose jeans and a black T-shirt and tennis shoes.

"Serious, mates. Brian's really pissed at us. We'd better call and apologize for last night."

"You're the band diplomat, Paulie. So go do it, then." commanded John.

"Not only me! The three of us have to apologize! It took the three of us to bring Brian to tears last night!"

"Why do I have to apologize because John's such a git?" said George, who jumped out of the way of John's kick.

"That's it. Anyone who doesn't apologize with me in this phone call is out of the band!" Paul picked up the phone and dialed Brian's office. After he exchanged pleasantries with Ms. Moneypenny, he was connected to Brian.

"About last night," Paul began.

"We're sorry!" they said in unison.

"Yer the best manager we ever had." John said, a little half-hearted.

"Yeah! Besides, I still owe you five bob!" George put in.

"So are we on for tea today then?" asked Paul. The response he got could have turned his dark hair white. Then he put down the phone.

"Brian told us to "Go to Hell", and if John ever calls him a thieving little homosexual Jew again, Brian will personally see to it that the Elders of Zion blackball him from ever making records again!"

John felt his stomach fall to the ground. He had never heard gentlemanly Brain talk that way!

"But I didn't..." John started to protest, but was cut off by Paul.
"Did you?" he asked George, who shook his head 'no' in reply.

"I certainly didn't. It's not me diplomatic nature!" He gave John the eye.

"Well, maybe I did. I dunno. I was out of me head. I didn't mean it." he stammered.

"Well, if John goes down, I'm going down with him. We're both in the shithouse." said George and put his arm around the ailing bandleader.

"Then I'm a dirty dog too, then. I called Brian an old queen. I'm in the shithouse with him, too." said Paul.

Ringo, who was silently sipping tea the whole time, said, "We're a band. I'll stick me neck out for you guys, too."

"But you had to be a nice guy and not say anything, Ringo! You swine!" John mocked.

"Then maybe I should be the one to talk to him. Mum said I have the most soulful eyes when I'm sorry."

"We'll all apologize, Ring. Maybe I'll even bring me boxing gloves and let Brian sock me one on account." John sighed. "It's a wonder how Cynthia puts up with me. But then, when I make her mad, she goes out and shops." Cynthia gave him a smile. "But if that's what it takes to make the lady happy!" He gave her an affectionate smooch. "She doesn't stay mad at me, unlike Brian."

"Go get cleaned up and we'll all go see Brian. Maybe we can get a pint in him so he'll listen." said Ringo.

"Cor, what a headache! I may never drink again!" John muttered as he rose to the bathroom.

"Wot about the time…" Paul began.

"And then there was the time.." George continued.

"And then when we drank all that champagne!" Ringo finished.

"No toast for me, Cyn. I'll be very full today after I eat me own words."

He plodded his way to the bathroom while the boys sipped tea and try to decide what to say to get into Brian's good graces again.

Back at Brian's office, Mr. Epstein was on the phone with an important business contact when Mrs. Moneypenny silently walked in with a dozen roses. She set them down on his table, and he read the note while he continued talking. Contracts, facts, figures, percentages, when the boys will make their next appearance. Tedious details only a manager knew how to put up with. He took the note out of the bouquet and it had one of John's cartoons on it. It was of four crying beetles and a word balloon above it that said, "We're sorry! You're the top of the pops! Luv, your boys."

Brian smiled and repressed a giggle. But he couldn't lose this important client.

"Then you'll arrive tomorrow to finalize the details? Yes, it is a tidy sum of money." Pause. "Yes, my boys will be thrilled and pleased. They can't say I botched this deal up for them!" Pause. Laughter. "Yes. All right then. Good afternoon." He hung up the phone in time for Ms. Moneypenny to announce that the Beatles wanted to see him. The boys walked into Brian's sparse office.

"I suppose you lads want something?

"As a matter of fact, Eppy, we do." John said.

"Eppy? Why not 'that thieving Jew', Mr. Lennon?"

John groaned, but he let it slide.

"Brian, we're really sorry about what we said last night. We were stoned, and we didn't know what we were saying."

"Yeah. You're like a father to us, Brian. We may poke fun at you, but that doesn't mean we don't love you!" said Paul.

"Some Yank was trying to make us mad at you so we'd change managers. But we'd never get rid of you, Brian. You're way cooler than any other manager we had." George said.

Brian smiled, but then he said in a grim voice:

"You lads did hurt me last night, but I'm afraid it revealed to me an awful truth: I am a bad manager. If I had handled your TV appearances and ticket sales better, you lads would be much wealthier than you are now. Instead of being millionaires, you boys would be billionaires. And I'm to blame." He looked down at the floor.

"Aw, Brian, so what? We have all the success we ever wanted. What more do we need?" said Paul.

"More than I can give you, apparently. But just so you lads won't suffer anymore, you will all be happy to know I made a deal that might just even things out. As you know, a man named Colonel Tom Parker manages your hero, Elvis Presley. And today, I am negotiating with him to buy out my contract and become your manager. Parker promises whatever money you lads are making now, he will quadruple that. He'll handle the merchandise and see that you all get hefty shares of Beatles paraphernalia. He'll negotiate the highest bids for television appearances. With him, the future is covered in gold."

The boys were temporarily stunned. Elvis' manager! Even more money!

Suddenly, John came back to himself.

"Fuck that, Eppie. We already have more money than we know what to do with. We want you to manage us! Besides, the Colonel will just have us play fancy posh shows in Vegas for jarheads and right-wing gun nuts that only go there for Sinatra and cheap gambling! It would be grottier than Hell! You're a better manager than 'im, anyway!"

"Right, Eppy!" said Paul.

"Come back to us, luv," said George. Ringo nodded hopefully.

"Aw, just smash us one in the gob, Brian." George said. "But not Ringo. He was the only one who stood up for you last night."

"Want me to hold John back for you, Brian?" Ringo joked. Paul turned around and brandished his trousered backside.

"Give us a kick, Brian luv. We deserve it!"

"We'll even let you wear yer steel-toed boot!" John offered.

Brian laughed as he used to when the boys put on a show for him.

"I’m sorry, lads, but the contracts already are signed. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do even if I wanted to."

The Beatles were defeated. With downcast eyes, John said,

"Alright, then. Let the bugger manage us. But wot will you do with yourself, Eppy?"

Not having thought about this, Brian was at a loss for words.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I'm sure I'll find something. Perhaps go back to the record store. Perhaps I'll move in with my mother. I don't know." He looked at his watch.

"I'm afraid I have a meeting with my barrister about the contract. You boys will have to excuse me."

They watched Brian leave with sunken hearts. Then Ringo spoke.

"We've really done it now, lads. Brian isn't coming back."

"Cor. It's as if we're gonna have to seduce him to get 'im back." John groaned. Then he smiled and gave the "I have an idea!" gesture. The rest of the Beatles yelled "No!"

"It's too manipulative." said Paul.

"Yer right. And I'd have'ta be the sacrificial virgin." John said.

"Wot about that holiday in Spain?" George gave John a knowing look.

"Shad' up!"

"Wait a minute, lads. I have an idea! We won't have to sleep with Brian, but we can give him a night to remember! Remember what we did with those queers gave us all that money in Hamburg back in '61?" Paul exclaimed.
The boys gather in a circle and Paul whispers his plan. "You don't have to do it, Ringo. You never said anything bad about Brian in your life."

"Thank Heaven. Besides, I look horrible in a bikini! But do you lads still have your leathers?" Ringo asked.

"Of course! I wouldn't get rid of me leather for anything!" John said.

"As long has you've had them cleaned. You guys pong like dogs in those dirty things!"

"Bite his bum, George!"

"No. Let Brian do that after we get a couple of drinks in him!" George replied.

"No go. Besides, I can't dance." Said Ringo.

"Yer already half-naked, Ring. 95 per cent of yer nude body is exposed." John mocked.

"Yeah. His nose!" giggled Paul.

"Just fer that I'll sit in the back row and "boo" the lot of yeh! Now go get suited up, you whores!" said Ringo.

Later that night, Brian kissed his mother goodnight and drove to his favorite club, The Rainbow Room. He had a heavy heart that night, and he hoped some new acquaintance might take his mind off of his retirement. When he got to the dank club, a dwarf waiter greeted him and took him to the table right in the center in front of the stage. The club stank of cigarette smoke and was decorated in purple curtains with gold trim and tassels. It usually looked like a ballroom of King Louis the 5th of France with its all-masculine clientele on a crowded night. But tonight, the place was empty. "Why are they open tonight? Where is everybody?" Brian thought. The dwarf served him fine champagne, then gave a loud whistle. Immediately, a hidden voice announced, "Tonight, the Rainbow Room is proud to have the esteemed Brian Epstein in the audience! We have a ripping young trio who will perform for his exclusive entertainment, The Spastic Spiders!"

Brian sensed something unusual was up, and his intuition proved him correct. The velvet red curtain rose, and a light beamed on the silhouette of three young men with guitars. They wore bad, shaggy Beatle wigs on their heads, and fake, neon pink guitars were suspended on their waists.

Suddenly, the leader spoke in a thick Souse accent, "All right, lads, Let's give Brian what he really wants!" Then the amplifiers blared the Beatles tune, "I Wanna Be Your Man". The boys whipped off their Beatle wigs to reveal their lush, long locks that perfected their good looks. When the music started, the boys lip-synched while suggestively thrusting their black leather crotches to the beat.

Brian nearly spat out his drink. It was John, Paul, and George up there! But why?

The boys spun their plastic guitars around while they rocked their pelvis in synch.

Then they turned around and brandished their leather-clad behinds.

They turned to face Brian and sang into a single microphone.

The fake plastic guitars were thrown offstage. Keeping with the beat, the boys took off their leather jackets to reveal tight black T-shirts underneath.

Without the slightest bit of awkwardness, the boys shook off their tight leather pants and whipped off their T-shirts, until they were half-naked in their black bikini underwear.

Trained since birth to be a gentleman, Brian put his hands over his eyes. But his lust made him peak through his fingers at the boys' wiggling scrotums. He tried not to show his excitement by covering his gaping mouth with his hands, but his eyes grown into saucer-shape watching the boys shake their firm bums. He was reminded again of why girls hysterically shrieked and screamed at the sight of them!

Paul and John screamed and George passionately hooted and sang the rest of the chorus. Brian couldn't take his eyes off their gyrating hips and lean bodies that shook their pelvises like some madly inspired Elvis impersonation. Brian shook with desire: the boys were performing a fantasy just for him! He was grateful the tablecloth hid his lower extremities from view.

With the song over, an air raid siren blared through the club. The boys picked up three helmets from World War II that said, "Home Guard", and strutted suggestively over to Brian's table. The stage turned into a shadow play of London burning.

George got behind Brian's chair and put his hands on Brian's shoulders, massaging them with care. Brian put down his drink and relaxed into the massage. Paul then took Brian's arms and fastens his hands behind his back, and he put handcuffs on Brian.

"Erm, lads, I think this is getting a bit beyond the pale." He muttered.

Paul sat in his lap and put his hand beneath Brian's chin.

"Just relax, Brian. We wouldn't hurt you for the world."

John slapped Paul on his backside and Paul got out of Brian's lap. John kneeled before Brian.

"Want us to prove how much we love you, Eppie?" John asked.

The proximity of John rubbing his legs made Brian's organs tingle. John then unbuckled Brian's belt and unzipped his fly, then pulled Brian's pants and under trousers down to his ankles, making him unbearably excited.

John smiled and said, "Are you ready to be a hero, then?"

Hiding his own eagerness, John took Brian's member and rubbed it, aiming at the stage.

"Oh, my God!" groaned Brian. He could take no more. He burst into the air and John aimed Brian's penis at the pretend fire on the stage. The white fluid showered the black silhouette shadows. John was amazed at how far Brian could shoot his sperm.

"Blimey! If he ever did some bird, she'd be preggers for sure!" John thought, and continued putting out The Great Fire of London.

"Goodbye, Fritz!" yelled John.

"For England, blast 'em Brian!" Paul and George cheered.

Pleasured past all endurance, Brian passed out.

The next day at his Savile Road office, Brian gathered his belongings into a small box while he talked to Colonel Tom Parker.

"Ya'll sure seem real glad to be letting go of your boys." said the cowboy-suited Parker, who wore a five gallon hat and a string-tie suit.

"Oh, I assure you, Mr. Parker, that I'm quite heartbroken."

"Then why are you grinning like a mad coot up a redwood tree?"

"Oh, I had the most splendid time last night! But I shan't go into detail."

"You bagged some pretty little thing, did'ja?" Parker grinned.

"Three pretty things, Mr. Parker!"

"Three! Epstein, you're more a ladies man than I gave you credit!"

Brian said nothing but continued on his high from last night.

Then his secretary said through the intercom:

"Mr. Epstein, The Beatles have arrived."

"Very good, Ms. Moneypenny. Show them in."

The lads, all dressed in black, somberly walked in.

"I'm very glad ya'll stopped by, guys. This will give us a chance to get acquainted." Parker started.

"Well, that's the last." Brian said, neatly putting a picture of his mother into the box. "I'm afraid this is 'goodbye', boys." Brian tried hard to conceal his broken heart. The Beatles said nothing, but continued looking down at the floor. Finally, John muttered, "Goodbye, Brian."

Brian held out his hand for them to shake, but they all embraced Brian in a group hug.

"We love you, Brian." Paul croaked.

"Yeah. Don't go." George pleaded.

"We're sorry. We're all dead…sorry." John said.

"It won't be the same without you, Brian." Said Ringo.

"Ya'll could have just shaken hands". Parker said. "But I forgot what effeminate people you English are." Ringo gave him a dirty look.

"Now if you, erm, "boys" are finished crying into your dainty little suits, I've got a business deal that will blow ya'll back to Liverpool!"

Brian walked out the door and the boys watched him leave. Parker continued to talk.

"But first, let's get one thing clear. My Boy Elvis don't give me no back talk, and I expect the same treatment from you little boys too! When I tell you boys to do something, you better do it lickety-split! Time is money!

He walked right up to John and looked him in the eye.

"And that goes double for you, Lennon! I don't want your smart-alecky remarks or getting the others to rebel against me! I heard you were a handful, and that tongue of yours is the first thing I want gone now that I'm managing the Beatles! From now on, none of you boys makes a move without my approval. From here on out, you boys are nice to reporters and call them "Sir" or Ma'am" without any of yer wisecracks. And another thing! You boys could be Middle America's sweethearts and make a ton of more money if you'll just get crew cuts and record a gospel album so your fan's parents will like you! I already booked you guys at Sun Records. From here on, you boys are booked at the on Country Classics Club in the US and perform concerts daily in Branson, Missouri. What do you boys think about that?"

The Beatles looked at each other for the briefest of moments. Suddenly, the lads grabbed Col. Tom Parker and gave a cry of "Ready, Steady, Go!"

Brian was waiting for the elevator when suddenly there was a loud CRASH! Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!

Ms. Moneypenny gave a startled scream.

Brian turned around to investigate. He saw shocked Parker lay sputtering amid giant splinters of wood and glass on the floor.

"Go back to America, you star-spangled twit! And give Elvis our regards!" they yelled through the broken door at Parker.

"Brian, tell Yosemite Sam over here that no matter how much he offers us, we're not selling ourselves out to Disneyland!" John barked.

In spite of his shock, Brian was glad to have his boys back. "Now there's the lads that I know and love!" he giggled.

Shaken, Tom Parker rose from the floor and took out his newly-bought contract. "I'm ripping this thing up! You didn't tell me they were this ornery!"

"I know. Aren't they wonderful?" Brian smiled.

"You just wait until I tell Elvis about this! You lymies won't be able to order a drink in America after I'm through with you!"

"That's all right. We don't like your Yankee horse piss beer anyway." said Ringo.

Parker stormed his way onto the elevator as the boys put their arms around Brian. They gave Parker the backward V sign as the elevator doors closed.

Smiling, Brian said, "Boys, that was brilliant! I knew you lads wouldn't put up with him for a minute!"

"Wot a complete bastard! Try and tell us how to play our music! Get crew cuts! Ugh!" John recoiled.

"Brian! How could you sell us out to that disgusting hillbilly?" Paul questioned.

"I only had your best interest at heart, lads. I know I'm a bad manager and you lads have lost so much money already." Brian looked at the floor.

"Brian, wot made you think we'd ever want to be rid of you? You're the one who knocked on every door in England to get us a record contract!" exclaimed John.

"Yeah, even when they all laughed at us." said Paul.

"Obviously, you know talent when you find it. It's not your fault you're in love with us," George put in.

The proper, middle-aged manager blushed.

"Yes, well, about the other night, lads."

"Forget about it, Eppy. We're just glad we can do something you liked for a change."

"Come on Brian, let's get stoned!" John put his arm around Brian.

"I understand last night was only a one-shot deal. I don't expect you and the boys will ever want to do that again." said Brian, who was hoping they would.

"Is that a hint?" Paul smiled.

"Well, we've got good news for you, Brian. If you like that kind of thing, we found you someone with me wit, Paul's looks, George's youth, and Ringo's…" John looked at Ringo to sum him up. "…heart!"

"Gee, thanks!" Ringo muttered.

"Anyone wanna watch these two get acquainted?" John asked.

"I've got a date with Jane!" Paul reported.

"Pattie's taking me shopping." George said unenthusiastically.

"I'm going to get a pint." Ringo finalized.

John gave Brian a quick, passionate kiss.

"There are times I wouldn't trade being your manager for all the sex in the world." Brian said with a blush on his face.

Wanting to discourage Brian, John clicked on the intercom. "Ms. Moneypenny, show Jared in."

A tall, thin and very handsome young man with high cheekbones walked into the room.

"Brian, this is Jared Allister. Jared, Brian Epstien."

They shook hands.

"Jared is from Liverpool and plays in a band we think has some real talent. Jared is the lead singer. All the girls go for him, except he doesn't quite go for the girls." Paul declared.

With his eyes shining, Jared motioned to Brian: "If there is anything I can do for you, Mr. Epstien."

"Watch out! This lad's almost as clever as me!" John said.

"Yeah. He can add two and two!" Paul returned.

John grabbed Paul's head and gave him a ferocious noogie.

"I'll cripple you!" Paul threatened as he tried to get John off him.

With all the unpleasantness behind them, the boys bade their manager, their manager's new object of lust, and Ms. Moneypenny 'goodbye', then walked out into the rain to an awaiting limousine.

"Do you think Jared and Brian will hit it off?" asked Ringo.

"No doubt. Jared will fuck anything or anyone if it had something to do with the Beatles." said George.

"Yeah, but Brian deserves a lover, not a whore." Paul replied.

"Which leaves you out, John." Mocked George, and he received a swift kick in the bum.

"I think Jared fits the bill. He can play right well. And you know how Brian loves to play father figure." Paul analyzed.

"Fathers? Get off! There's nothing wholesome about the way Brian was looking at Jared." said Ringo.

"Speaking of holes, how many does it take to fill the Albert Hall?" asked John.

"Oh boy." Paul, George, and Ringo groaned at the bad pun.

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