With insanely easy DNA sampling now, coupled with minute-by-minute accounting of their lives on the road, I do wonder from time to time, whatever happened to the illegitimate offspring of the Beatles.
We know, of course, that behind their squeaky clean press image, lurked a foursome of young, hard partying Liverpudlians, turned loose on a world of hormonal female fans (not to mention a few less than cautious working girls).
Many of the Beatle herd probably have no idea of their actual heritage, and I can’t see Paul or Ringo *coughing up* any DNA for comparison. (Yoko and the Harrison clan would probably have plenty of hair follicles and toothbrushes to NOT donate).
Just think, that guy showing off his butt crack, while clearing your clogged toilet, and humming “When I’m 64,” may be a love child from the Beatles’ 1964 tour!
Get his autograph. Or better yet, have him spit in a test tube before he packs up.