Barf-inducing news this week from Wales, as an inquest learnt how a drag queen had his ticket punched and ended up brown bread under a covering of flattened cardboard boxes.

Stay classy.

CCTV had seen the lubed-up gender-bender on something of a transmission, quelle surprise, repeatedly darting into alleys to duel with various salubrious pork swordsmen.

As is the norm, a post mortem was convened, which had dear old Dr Quincy spitting out his Nescafé warp 10. For on his microscope slides, following a scrape from the distended balloon knot before him, there was evidence of not only human jizzer, but a rope or two of Bonzo Beluga.

That was one hell of a Lab report, I can tell you, and the good doctor probably ought to have done a CAT scan as well.

No wonder the corpse pulled the cardboard boxes over itself. So embarrassed, it probably wanted to crawl into a hole. Well, it would have wanted it that way.

As the barking mad yarn unravelled, it turned out to be quite a scoop for the tabloids, but not the sort you’d want to make directly into the brownstar with a dessert spoon to then clean off on your tongue.

A witness confirmed that the old spooge sponge had been rooted not only by some old poofer, but also his faithful woofer. Not the first time someone’s been battered about the ring by a boxer, and by the time the seconds had left the ring, he was feeling more than just a little ruff.

The witness to all this was actually the chap with the dog, who apparently opted not to flea. He told the cops that the matter was ‘consensual’ and that the dog had ‘just joined in’, presumably doggy style.

Maybe the hound’s lipstick had popped out, there had been an understandable misunderstanding, and it had gone on from there?

I’m being generous – there needed to have been some sort of encouragement, surely?

Being superbly diligent and persistent sleuths, the police chose to leave it at that. So not just a question of letting the sleeping dogs lie, then.

I know – it’s really knot funny, but I had to double check that this was all taking place in Cardiff and not up north, as it seemed that the sorry switch-hitter had a Wigan address.

Sorry – I just had to get that one in, which is what I guess the dog purportedly said when he explained to the cops that he had given his consent.

But back to the main event.  We’ve just had the Super Bowl on, so I suppose we can aptly refer to the deceased as the ‘wide receiver’ in these frolics, and – shock horror – the old bandit had form: he was a convicted paedophile.  It was however unclear whether he was on the Corgi Register.

He was also apparently a Special Constable, but that information has been withheld to shield his family from any embarrassment.

At the time of writing, we haven’t been told whether the Old Bill have any leads, but there is some consolation for the next of kin.

They’ve been told that they’re going to get the pick of the litter.

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