13 March 2008
A Nice Foamy Head
Having pumped the incredibly freakish Jennifer, the Incredibly Freakish, and filled her with so much of my man-cream that she was nothing more than a walking, human Ã©clair, I decided that it was high-time for a little light refreshment.
I headed back to the scrap-yard, where I found my man-servant, Botter, already getting a head-start on the boozing.
“Botter, what in the name of Her Majesty’s regal fanny do you think you are doing, man?” I snapped.
“I…I’m ‘aving a drink, milord.” Botter replied.
“And where, pray tell, is mine, hmmm?” I enquired.
“Um…I…well, you were busy, so I thought…erm…” Botter stuttered.
“You did not think, Botter. I know for a fact that you are entirely incapable of anything as taxing as thinking. Had you actually thought, then you would have remembered that you are my servant, and thus your entire purpose in your pointless, vapid existence is to serve me, and ensure my constant and continued comfort and contentment. This being the case, I would have hoped that at the very least you would have gotten me a beer, if not many. Do you understand, Botter?”
“Sorry, milord,” Botter replied, sheepishly.
“And?…” I added.
“Would…would you like my beer, milord?” Botter said, offering me the bottle he had been drinking.
“That is much more like it,” I swiped the bottle from my man-servant’s filthy mitt. “You shall only receive a mild thrashing when we get back home now.”
“Milord is much too forgiving and kind,” Botter replied.
“And sexually attractive. Do not forget that.”
“And sexually attractive,” Botter repeated.
I nodded my approval, and began to swig on the bottle of beer. Although I had gone for several hours without any alcohol of any sort passing my lordly lips, this particular brand of beer was doing little to refresh me. It was warm and slightly nutty tasting, but in the absence of any other booze I drank up the entire bottle, and tossed the empty container upon the floor.
“Hmm, I have had better,” I declared, wiping my mouth with a handkerchief. “To be honest, that was akin to drinking tramp’s piss. Still, we are in dire need of alcoholic beverages for my celebratory shindig, so I suggest we gather as much of this beer as we can carry, and take it back to the Likely Estate, post-haste. Tell me, Botter, where did you get that bottle from?”
“Well, that’s the funny thing, milord. For a bunch of homeless geezers, these fellahs certainly have a lot of beer at their disposal. Flakey Jim gave me that bottle, an’ said there was plenty more where that came from.”
“Well, I dare say that these wretches spend each and every ill-gotten shilling on nothing but booze,” I reasoned. “Either that or they steal it all. Come, Botter, let us go and gather together as much beer as we can carry, and get back to glorious civilization as quickly as possible.”
Botter and I traipsed up and down the scrap-yard for what felt like an age, and in all that time we found neither any more beer, or any of the other filthy vagrants with whom we had become acquainted.
“Where in the name of King Solomon’s Colon is everyone?” I said. “It is not as if they have jobs to go to, or anything.”
“Why don’t we try in there, milord?” Botter suggested, pointing to a large, disused warehouse at the end of the yard.
“It looks incredibly ominous and frightfully perilous,” I observed. “Yes, let us go there immediately.”
And so, we went there immediately.
“You go in first, Botter,” I said as we stood outside the warehouse’s doors. “Should there be any crazed lunatics lurking within, I would rather they lopped off your face rather than mine. My face is far too handsome to be sliced up and worn by a deranged psychopath.”
Botter sighed, and cautiously opened the doors. He peered inside, then quickly withdrew his head and turned to me excitedly.
“Milord! You have to see this!” Botter cried.
I pushed past my grubby associate, and strode into the warehouse. The entire place was lined with crate upon crate of beer, stacked up to the very ceiling.
“Fuck me in a Turkish bath, that is rather a considerable quantity of alcohol. One far cruder than I may even describe it as a ‘shitload’,” I said, picking a bottle of beer out from an open crate beside me.
“It’s a shitload!” Botter said.
“Exactly,” I agreed, popping open the bottle and drinking the contents. “Eugh, this stuff tastes just as revolting. Still, needs must, and all that.”
As I opened another bottle, Botter wandered deeper into the warehouse, gazing around him in awe. He disappeared behind some crates for a while, then suddenly he was back, looking as white as a ghost. A stinking, foul ghost with terrible hair.
“Milord, you’d better come with me!” He whispered, pulling at my arm.
“Unhand me, Botter! I am quite capable of walking, thank you ever so much,” I snapped, as I staggered forth, and then crashed into a pillar. “Blow me, this beer appears to be far more potent than I had given it credit for.”
I followed Botter as he led me through the warehouse, and into another, previously unseen, room. Botter pointed inside.
“What is it, Botter?” I said, swigging from the bottle in my hand. “What ish it?“
I walked into this new room, completely unprepared for the sight that would greet me.
Around the entire circumference of the room were dozens upon dozens of unfortunate homeless urchins, all chained up and either asleep or unconscious. They were all stripped completely naked, with tubes affixed to their genitals, through which their urine was being drawn into a large vat in the centre of the room. The vat itself had a complicated-looking pumping mechanism affixed to it, which was taking the liquid up from within the container, and depositing it into bottles moving slowly along on a conveyor belt.
Bottles just like the one I was currently drinking from.
“Shitting Christ!” I yelled, spitting out a mouthful of beer all over the back of my man-servant’s head. “No wonder this tastes like tramp’s piss! It is tramp’s piss!”
I felt sick and revolted, and my head was spinning so fast I feared it would fly off of my neck and fly around the room.
“Focking bash-tardshhh,” I slurred, and then I blacked out completely.
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Likely is drunk. Very drunk INDEED.
Presenting gaup - another quality venture from the cads responsible for these Astonishing Adventures.
Come, See His Lordship’s Cock and Balls! His lordship has very kindly decided to let all of you join him in The Cock and Balls (his preferred drinking establishment) for light and heavy refreshments, chit-chat and barely-concealed flirting. Do the honourable thing, and visit the Cock and Ball Inn right NOW! Many thanks.