08 July 2008
Tunneling Into the Past
Hmmm, now where was I?
Ah yes. I had apparently lost my home and my entire estate to a couple of swarthy Italians in a drunken wager, and my man-servant and I were now attempting to sneak our way back into the Likely Estate via a secret tunnel, when all of a sudden something was scurrying out of the darkness towards us.
I believe that should bring you all bang-up-to-date…now, let us continue!
So, there we were, stuck in a rather tight spot. Usually, being stuck in a rather tight spot is something I relish, but on this occasion I feared that the creature heading towards us might have a taste for upper-class flesh, and did not wish to become the mid-afternoon snack of some foul beast.
“Botter,” I said to my petrified man-servant. “I fear you may have to lay down your life for the greater good.”
“Greater good?” Botter replied.
“Yes. I am greater and far more good than you, hence I should live and you should perish at the jaws of some slavering monster.”
“Oh,” Botter said.
Before we could properly say good-bye to one another, the creature was upon us. I braced myself for the worse, but was rather surprised to find the abomination did not tear us from limb to limb, but merely stopped and said calmly; “Excuse me. Sorry to bother you chaps, but you wouldn’t happen to know how where the exit is, would you?”
I allowed myself to look at the creature, and saw that it was in fact no creature at all; instead, standing in front of us was an incredibly unkempt naked man, with long straggly hair and a beard to match, long yellowing finger-nails and toe-nails and a surprisingly short penis. He was certainly foul, but not a beast.
“What the Dickens?” I exclaimed. “Who the tit are you?”
The man looked at me, then looked at me much closer, his awful face craning towards mine, allowing me to catch a whiff of his frankly vomit-inducing scent.
“Likely?” he finally said. “Likely? Is that you?”
“Yes, it is I – Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action!” I bellowed.
“Likely!” cried the man, throwing himself upon me and taking me in a full embrace. “You came back! You finally came back!”
“Oh God!” I lamented. “It is touching me! Help me, Botter! Find me a crucifix and a priest, pronto!”
“Don’t you recognise me, Likely?” beamed the man, revealing a smile bereft of several teeth. “It is I, Tugger!”
My mind raced backwards trying to recollect where I may have met this fellow before, until I finally found a match. Tugger had been one of my fellow students at St. Bumthrusty’s School for Boys, a decent enough chap, who had become rather well-known due to his habit of constantly masturbating during classes – hence his nickname, ‘Tugger’.
“Tugger?” I repeated slowly. “Tugger Johnson?”
“In the flesh!” grinned Tugger.
“And little else,” I noted, wryly.
“Yes, well, you shall have to forgive my appearence, Likely. I have been trapped in these tunnels for the past God knows how many years, ever since that night we were down here…remember?”
Despite having been pumped full of alcohol over the years, I was surprised to find that my memory was able to clealry recollect the day in question.
It was back in my school-days, not long after I had made the discovery of the very tunnel we now stood in. Such a discovery excited the younger Likely greatly, especially when I realised I could use the tunnel to bunk off from school and slink back into the Likely Estate unnoticed, get blind drunk and return to school completely pissed as the proverbial fart. Happy days.
One day, however, I was confronted by Tugger and that awful little shit-box Harold Loathsome, who had noticed my inebriated state and wanted to know how I was getting hold of booze during school hours. As I was pissed at the time, I gladly gave up the information, which served only to excite the boys further, and they pleaded with me to allow them to accompany me on my next trip. I agreed to permit Tugger to join me, but I denied the same prvilege to Loathsome.
“But why won’t you let me let come?” whined Loathsome.
“Because you are a wretched, whiny little ball-sack,” I had replied. “And in addition, you smell like ham.”
“You rotter, Likely!” spat Loathsome. “You will pay for this, you’ll see!”
I ignored the little twat’s words, and the very next day Tugger and I set off to raid my father’s liquor cabinet and drink our weight in gin. However, as we trotted through the tunnel, we suddenly found our way blocked by the imposing figure of my father, Lord Eustace Likely (now missing, presumed dead).
Tugger had fled in fear, leaving me to face the wratch of my father. He was deeply furious, not because I had been drinking in school, but because I had been drinking his booze. My father boarded up the entrances to the tunnel and I received quite a thrashing that night, but the next day I was sent to school with a hip-flask full of whisky – the very same hip flask I carry to this day. My father was nothing if not fair.
Of course, I knew that Harold Loathsome had grassed me up to my father, as he was a weasly little runt who delighted in putting a stop to other people’s fun. This fact was later confirmed when he came up to me in the Common Room that afternoon.
“How did your little expedition go, Likely?” he had sneered. “Did your daddy approve?”
“Well,” I smiled, removing the hip flask from my pocket. “You might well say that he did.”
With that, I had taken a swig of whisky, and spat it out in Loathsome’s eyes. Then, for good measure, I hurled the pathetic urchin through a window. For that action, I received another thrashing upon my noble buttocks that afternoon, but it had been worth it. Loathsome really was utterly loathsome.
Loathsome certainly has figured in a lot of my reminiscences of late. I wonder if that will prove to be important later on?
Anyway, back to the present day. I snapped out of my recolections to find Botter and Tugger sat on the ground, quietly chatting to one another.
“Oh!” exclaimed Botter, as he noticed me. “I do believe milord has stopped having a flashback now.”
“Indeed I have,” I stated. “Was I gone long?”
“About forty-five minutes, milord,” Botter answered.
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, leaning back against a wall.
“Tugger was telling me how he’s been trapped down here ever since the day your father caught you, and that he survuved by eating rats, and that over the course of the past thirty years he has masturbated over every inch of this tunnel. Incredible, is it not?”
“Incredible,” I agreed, quickly moving myself away from the wall. “Well, Tugger, it has been a pleasure, but we must depart, for we have to rescue my home from filthy Italians!”
“I quite understand,” Tugger nodded. “We have all been in that position at some point or other.”
Tugger and I shook hands (and then Botter wiped my hands clean for me), and I bade my former classmate farewell, giving him clear directions on how to finally escape from his current dilema. He thanked me profusely, and headed off into the darkness.
Botter and I continued on without further incident, save for one moment when my man-servant broke wind rather violently, which I bore the brunt of as I was following behind him at the time. After another half an hour or so, we finally reched the end of the tunnel, and the entrance into the Likely Estate.
There was indeed light at the end of this particular tunnel, but what I would darken my mood considerably…
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Likely Mourns A Loss!
humor-blogs.com has had a relaunch, so now is the perfect time to show your support for his lordship by clicking upon the link at the start of this sentance (or this one, if you are far too lazy to move the cursor all the way over there) and rate these fine journals as being the funniest thing you have ever read ever. Which, in fact, they are.
Also, many thanks to Mr. Canucklehead for bestowing this fine award upon his lordship:
Lord Bless canucklehead, and Canada too! Cheers!
