24 March 2008
A Penny For One’s Thoughts
Somewhen, 1857.
Now where was I?
In other (decidedly more succinct) words, I was in big trouble.
I elected to try and get up, and maybe take a stroll to see if there was anything about that might help refresh my memory as to my true identity. It would transpire, however, that this plan was much easier to formulate than it was to practice, as getting to my feet proved to be a task of near Herculean effort. Every bone and muscle screamed with pain, and my head began to spin wildly like an out-of-control carousel driven by a drunk.
I steadied myself against the wall behind me, and tried to regain some composure. As I did, I felt my trousers moisten, and not in a sexual way, either. I fumbled at the zipper of my trousers, and found that I was, in fact, urinating. I grappled with the gargantuan organ within my trousers, and directed it towards the wall, whilst urine gushed forth like a powerful jet of water from a (particularly large) firehouse.
As I continued to pass water, my head began to spin again, and nausea enveloped me. Before I could do anything, I found myself spewing up vast quantities of yellowy liquid.
So there I was: standing in a street, in urine-soaked trousers, with my cock out, pissing and vomiting in equal measure.
Truly, there has never been such a terribly tragic sight.
Once I had stopped peeing, and puking upon my own pee, I collapsed to the floor again, exhausted and (quite literally) drained.
Ruddy Hell, I thought to myself. Where in the name of arsery is… what’s his name when you need him?
I frowned. What’s his name? Who was this what’s his name? Did I have some sort of acquaintance with me? A friend, perhaps? Or was it a pet…I seemed to recall something small, hairy and incredibly foul-smelling following me around…
Blotter. Butter. Blister? Buttocks?
Confound it. I almost remembered something.
I sighed and closed my eyes. Maybe there was nothing else to remember. Maybe the pitiful existence with which I was currently presented was the sum total of my life. Maybe I was nothing more than a homeless shambles, a piss-stained mockery of manhood.
I felt something gently fall into my lap. I opened my eyes and blearily gazed down, to see a coin resting there, head-side up. I raised my eyes to see a smartly-dressed man smiling sympathetically at me.
“There you go, you poor blighter,” said he. “Perhaps you can afford to buy some bread now, or some such thing.”
I smiled back, and looked back down at my lap. I beheld the image of a woman’s face upon the surface, my brow knotted in deep concentration. I knew that stern, noble face. She was important.
“Sir!” I said, still slurring slightly but I was far more comprehensible than I had been earlier. “This woman, on the face of this coin. She is someone of great importance, is she not?”
“Why, I should say she is, friend!” The man beamed. “That is Queen Victoria, after all! God Save Her!”
Queen Victoria, I thought. Queen Victoria…
Suddenly, I felt that python-like appendage betwixt my legs stiffen to attention.
Queen Victoria! Yes, I knew her alright. Her Majesty gave me the raging horn, I seemed to remember. I wanted to take her, and pound her with my Lord Palmerston, thrusting away at her magisterial mimsy until…
Lord Palmerston! Yes, of course! My penis had a name! Lord Palmerston! I clawed excitedly at my zipper once more, and unfurled my mammoth member. It was fully erect and throbbing with barely-contained excitement. Clearly I was in a state of considerable arousal bought about by the thought of humping the Queen.
I looked at my penis. I looked at the coin in my other hand. This seemed familiar, I thought. I am sure I have been in this position before…
“I say, friend! What on Earth are you doing?” cried the man, looking upon the spectacle unfolding before him with shock and disgust.
“I am not yet entirely certain,” I replied. And then, for whatever reason, I began to masturbate furiously. It seemed like something I should do.
I pounded my Palmerston for a few, short, blissful minutes, ne’er once taking my eyes off of the embossed portrait of Her Majesty. The building excitement proved to be too much for any sustained act, and I soon found myself spurting forth a glorious jet of my fantastical cock-foam, narrowly missing a young couple on the other side of the street.
From that point on, everything seemed much clearer, almost as if I had spunked out any last remnants of doubt and uncertainty through this splendid act of self-abuse.
I now knew exactly who I was.
“Thank you, sir!” I bellowed, leaping to my feet and shaking the horrified man’s hand. “You have helped me to find myself once more!”
“So..who…who are you?” stuttered the flustered fellow, as I gathered up my top hat from the floor.
“I am Lord Likely, aristocratic adventurer and gentle-man of action,” I replied firmly, as I placed the hat upon my noble head, showering myself with pennies in the process. “Now if you will excuse me, I must go and have a frightfully violent discussion with a bunch of homeless bastards.”
I strode off, leaving the man bewildered and confused, and with a rather sticky hand to boot.
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: His Lordship seeks vengeance upon the vagrants!
Presenting gaup - another quality venture from the cads responsible for these Astonishing Adventures.
Likely Bags A Blogscar! Dear Valerie Morrison, writer of the marvellous ‘Thinking Out Loud‘ web-log, has chosen to honour his lordship with this fine, shiny award:
His lordship is truly grateful, and plant to spend many hours diligently polishing his little chap to celebrate. Many thanks indeed!
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