25 June 2007
A Lot of Likelys
Botter, having regained consciousness, prepared the carriage for our immediate departure to Southampton, from where we would sail to America. As he busily set about his task, I stood around looking handsome and suave, as is my wont.
“Well, my father, Lord Eustace Likely, was a keen traveller and made several trips to our former colonies himself. During one of these visits he became rather fond of a waitress he met, called Mandy Murkerfarker. Suffice to say, being a Likely, he quickly impregnated her then disappeared into the night, off on another wild adventure. I do not believe he ever saw Mandy again, but I do know that she gave birth to a son called Ludlow, to whom she gave the Likely name in honour of my father. This Ludlow Likely is the fellow who has written to me.”
“So, he’s your brother, then, milord?” Botter asked, deftly avoiding a hoof to the face as he spoke.
“I suppose so. Though I have yet to meet him face to face. We Likelys do not convene often, as it is feared such a high concentration of sexual charisma in one place may cause the very fabric of the universe to unwind.”
“Milord, a thought has struck me. You too are often bedding beautiful ladies around the globe – do you think you too might have a child, somewhere out there?”
“Oh, I’m quite certain of it. My fantastically fertile seed has been sown in so many furrows, that I am sure that I must have, at the very least, enough children to form an entire football team.”
“So, what did Ludlow say in his letter, milord?”
“Not an awful lot. He merely wrote the words, ‘Come Quickly‘.”
“No, ‘Come Quickly‘, Botter. It must be italicized. Now, assuming that this is not some sort of advice as to how I should conclude my acts of sexual intimacy, I can only presume Ludlow needs my most immediate help. And, while I have never seen or spoken to him in all his life, when a Likely is in trouble I am quick to respond. Blood is thicker than water, Botter. And so is semen.”
“Wow,” said Botter, upon hearing my wonderfully wise words. He stared at me with astonished eyes but was soon snapped out of his awe-struck trance by a sudden kick to the testicles from Reynolds, who was getting increasingly impatient.
“Reynolds makes a very good point, Botter, in a damnably hilarious manner. We should stop standing around chit-chatting, and head off to Southampton. There is much traveling yet to do!”
Botter struggled to his position at the reins, clutching his recently bruised ball-bag, while I clambered into the carriage and poured myself a whisky. Botter jerked the reins, and we were off on an uncertain journey, with hidden dangers and death lurking in every shadow.
Although, having said that, Southampton can be nice enough in the summer-time.
– Lord Likely.