26 November 2007
Wherein his lordship takes a trip down Memory Lane, and vomits up some anecdotes.
November, 1856.
Needless to say, after being caught with his trousers around his ankles with a solitary playing card sticking out of his arse-crack, Archibald the Entirely Adequate looked more than slightly embarrassed, and less than entirely adequate.
“And what is going on here?” I asked, with mock outrage in my voice.
“Good heavens! Likely!” my old school-chum gasped, recognising my handsome features in a flash. “Um…this? This…well, this… is a new trick I’m…um…practicing,” Archie stuttered.
“Really?” I sniffed. “Or is it merely a rather feeble attempt to get a lady to touch your buttocks?”
“Uh…” Archie dithered, his brain resolutely failing to proffer forth anything even vaguely approaching a witty retort.
“Same old Archie,” I mused, snatching the playing card from the conjurer’s crevice and presenting it to Archie’s bemused-looking female assistant. “Was this your card, my dear?” I asked.
“Well, um, to be truthful, sir, no. No it was not.” The scantily-clad siren replied.
“Just as I thought. Well this,” I said, producing a smaller card from thin air. “This is my card. Do get in touch, my dear, and maybe I could show you a disappearing act that shall make your eyes water.”
The woman blushed a bright shade of crimson, took the card and then scurried out of the room, pausing only to glance back at my resplendent glory before she departed. I allowed myself a satisfied smile.
“Gosh, Likely!” Exclaimed Archie, hurriedly hoisting his trousers back up. “You always were quite a winner with the ladies. I see you still have that legendary charm.”
“It is a blessing, and a curse, I fear,” I replied.
“Gosh. Really?”
“No, not really. It is entirely a blessing. But enough about that! How are you, Archibald? Long time no see, and all that!”
“Crikey, I’ll say! It’s been….what? Nineteen? Twenty years?”
“Indeed, indeed. I see you are now in the business of show, Archie! How is that working out for you?”
“Oh, well enough, I suppose,” Archie said, rifling through a nearby drinks cabinet. “I am earning a fair enough wage, and I get to travel the country a lot. I have yet to top the bill, but I have a new trick that I have been working on that I think will finally make me rich and famous, by George!”
“If it’s the card-in-the-bum trick, Archie, I would consider ditching it.”
“Oh, no. This one is much more spectacular! I’m unveiling it in the show tonight, as a matter of fact. Drink?”
“Whisky, thank you. Well, that all sounds… nice. Of course, you will no doubt be familiar with my recent activities.”
“I’ll say! I was reading about your recent travels to America just the other day! Why, you must be almost as famous as Silas Surprise, I’ll bet!”
“Hmph.” I bristled, my pride battered. “I believe I am considerably more famous than that fellow. And richer. And in possession of a far larger todger.”
“I still cannot quite believe you are here, Likely! Gosh, I was just thinking – do you remember that awful boy at school…what was his name? Hateful?”
“Loathsome.” I corrected. “Harold Loathsome. Curiously enough, I did find myself recalling that wretched swine just the other week, in fact. He was an utter cock-rash, and no mistake.”
“Do you recall that time when he dobbed you into the House Master about you slipping out of school to visit a local prostitute? The House Master was furious, and when you returned he dragged you up in front of the class and gave you a sound caning in front of everyone.”
“Ah, yes. Fortunately for myself, I had just paid that self-same prostitute a most handsome sum of money to exact a similar thrashing upon my buttocks, mere moments beforehand. Hence, my arse was entirely numb already, thus I was left immune to the Master’s punitive beatings. Needless to say, I had the last laugh that day.” I knocked back the rest of the whisky. “That is, until two days later, when I found I had contracted gonorrhea…”
“What about that time Loathsome started that rumour that you had no penis? And then you challenged him to a duel?…”
“A cock duel!” I laughed, as Archie topped up my glass. “Suffice to say, my proud Lord Palmerston made short work of his minuscule member!”
“I wonder what became of Loathsome?” Archie asked.
“The last I heard, he had been exiled to Africa. With any luck, he would have been either raped by savages, or torn apart by tigers.” I paused. “Or vice versa.”
We roared with laughter in unison.
“What about that odd little fellow…Ginger Harrison, I think his name was?” said Archie.
“Ha! Ginger! I do remember him! I could never quite fathom out why he was called Ginger. He had black hair, as I recall.”
“Ah! Therein lies another funny tale!” Archie beamed, pouring more whisky into my glass. “I think it was in the second year of school – possibly the third – when Harrison was caught in flagrante delicto with the school cat…”
“…Ginger!” I bellowed. “Yes, I do recall that particular pussy. Poor creature. Curiosity very nearly killed the cat on that day.”
We laughed uproariously once more, the years melting away as we reminisced about our terribly sordid school days.
By the time I left Archie’s dressing room, I was rather drunk, and it took me a terribly long time to make my way back to the theatre in my inebriated state. My progress was further hindered when I drunkenly stumbled into the chorus-girls’ room again, entirely accidentally.
Well, I say ‘accidentally‘. I of course mean, ‘entirely on purpose, with a view to ploughing as many of the girls as I could mange before curtain up.‘
I exited the girls’ dressing-room a further thirty minutes later, feeling rather pleased with myself. I staggered back to the auditorium, which was enveloped in near-darkness now, a fact which only helped to compound my disoriented state. I stumbled over several of the theatre’s patrons in an effort to locate my seat, vomiting in the lap of one particularly unfortunate chap as I went, until I finally sat down heavily next to my man-servant, Botter.
“Bugger me!” I exclaimed. “My scrotum does not half ache after being ball-deep in all that fanny, let me tell you.” I groaned, turning to Botter. It was then that I discovered that far from being seated next to my man-servant, I was in fact sat next to a distinctly unimpressed-looking nun. I smiled apologetically, doffed my hat politely, and then made my excuses and left.
By the time I managed to locate my correct seat, the curtain had been raised and the night’s entertainments had begun in earnest. And what an unforgettable show it would prove to be…
- Lord Likely.
Now Open: We are very pleased to announce the unveiling of The Upper Crust, a very special web-based community for all those loyal to his lordship to engage in friendly discussion, befriend one another, share items of interest and to get blind, roaring drunk. It is absolutely free to join, and his lordship hopes to see you there. Please bring a bottle.
