I was out tonight in my pub of choice, having a few scoops of my drink of choice with my friends of choice, when the subject of Islamic martyrdom came up.
This is how sad I am, and how pathetically sad my friends of choice are too.
As we were all men, somebody was bound to bring up the matter of the 77 virgins. You just would, y’know? Somebody said, Well, it isn’t that bad. You have the 77 virgins waiting for you when you die heroically, after the martyrdom, which is probably painful all right, probably very fukken painful getting a spear through your chest but still, 77 virgins, y’know. How bad?
And on the face of it, that’s probably true. On the face of it, you would certainly think, how bad could it be?
Well, here comes the news. It could be pretty fucking bad. There you are, newly-arrived in heaven, and here’s your 77 virgins. How’s it goin’, Boss? Satisfy us, ya bollix!
All well and good. You get down to business, and as it’s heaven, involving the afterlife where you don’t get tired or any of that kind of thing, you finally manage to satisfy the 77 virgins.
Jesus Christ, I need a pint.
You’re about to slither off for a pint.
Where the fuck do you think you’re going? says the 77 ex-virgins.
To the pub!!
Without us? Not a chance!!
And there you are, eventually, having called 19 taxis. Right darlings, what are we having?
A stupid question. You stand at the bar, discussing your order with the barman who can’t believe what a stupid twat you are:
Let’s see if I have that, now. 32 Heineken with ice. 14 Heineken with lime. 4 spritzers. 2 gin and tonic. 5 Jagermeisters. 2 Fat Frogs. 11 tequila slammers. 3 pints of Bulmers. 3 Jamesons. 1Black Bush. And a Guinness.
Jesus, there’s Mikey. How’s it goin’, Mikey – what will you have?
Oh, I’ll have a pint of Guinness, 44 tequila slammers, 15 red wines, 3 Wild Turkeys, 12 Coronas and 3 Slivovitz.
Grand, says the barman. That’s 32 Heineken with ice, 14 Heineken with lime, 4 spritzers, 5 Jagermeisters, 3 Jamesons, 55 tequila slammers, 2 gin and tonics, 2 Fat Frogs, 3 pints of Bulmers, 15 red wines, 3 Wild Turkeys, 12 Coronas and 3 Slivovitz. 1 Black Bush. And 2 pints of Guinness.
That’s right. Oh, Jaysus, here’s Tommy with his Mexican virgins. Tommy will ya have a pint? Grand. Will ya make that 3 pints of Guinness. And 121 tequila slammers. Grand. Fine.
Finally, after eight of the lads turn up, we get a cosy little sing-song going, involving a medley of old numbers by Captain Beefheart and the Velvet Underground. The 693 virgins seem a little pissed off at our lack of attention.
What’s wrong? we say.
As one, the 693 virgins reply, Nothing!