17 May 2007
The Mystery of the Missing Moustache – Part Three
May, 1856
“You sir, are a rotter of the highest order, and I will not hesitate to punch your lordly lights out!”
These were the angry words of Lord Hungwell, who was now standing in my doorway, having assaulted your noble narrator once already.
“Sir, I must ask your reasoning for this outrageously violent outburst upon my perfectly-sculpted nose!” I said, bringing a handkerchief up to the nose in question.
“You really need to ask?” spat Hungwell, his eyes bulging.
“I believe it is traditional when seeking an answer,” I replied drolly.
“Such insolence! Why, I am in good mind to knock your head right into your arse, Likely!”
“Please, Hungwell, my memories of the party are still rather hazy, to say the least. My mind is enveloped in such a thick fog of alcoholic uncertainty that I do not think I could even remember my own name, were I not so infamous that I did not recognise Lord Likely in the mirror. Please, furnish me with some further detail.”
Hungwell mulled over my words, then nodded slowly.
“Very well, Likely. I shall tell you, and then – Ha! Then! Then I shall knock your head so far down your arse you will be forced to defecate through your mouth!”
“That sounds delightful. Please, do go on.”
“Last night, I ventured to make love to my delightful wife, Lady Hungwell. I was in rather high spirits following the banquet, having drunk rather heavily to blot out any recollections of your abhorrent behaviour. So, with alcohol flowing through my veins, I set about derobing my wife. However, as I worked my way downwards, and removed her undergarments, I made a terrible discovery.”
“A penis?” I suggested. Hungwell shot me an angry stare.
“No, Likely. Not a penis. Instead, I found, to my horror…THIS!”
Hungwell held up something in his hand, and waved it furiously in the air. I recognised the article he was clutching in his mitt, and my face lit up.
“My moustache! You found it!” I exclaimed, joyously.
“Yes, I found it. Found it nestling in my good lady’s MIMSY!”
I paused.
“I had no idea cunnilingus could be quite so hazardous,” I said after a moment’s reflection.
“Egads, man! You are brazen indeed! You not only confess to the crime, but you seem completely unapologetic about it! Furthermore, according to Lady Hungwell, after you had your wicked way with her, you went on to claim that you were ‘far more hung well than Hungwell’, and dismissed me as a ‘tiny-cocked blaggard who’s penis pales into comparison with that of a gnat with a particularly minuscule todger.’ What say you to that now, Likely? “
“I assure you, Hungwell, it was most certainly the drink talking. Although I can only partly blame the drink for the screwing.”
Hungwell exploded with rage at this point, and made a mad dash for my person. Quick as a flash, I retrieved the ‘talking stick’ from within my coat, and bought it swiftly up to Hungwell’s chin, sending him reeling backwards and onto the floor, where he remained in a dazed and confused state. I stood over him for a moment, then crouched down.
“I believe this belongs to me,” I said, removing my moustache from his limp grasp.
By now, Botter had arrived upon the scene, and dutifully set about removing Lord Hungwell from my hallway, and loaded him back into the carriage he had arrived in. I, meanwhile, concerned myself with reattaching my moustache to its rightful place on my top lip.
“Botter,” I said, as my man-servant re-entered the house. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
“Yes, milord,” replied Botter, quietly.
“That being the case,” I continued, checking my glorious moustache in a nearby mirror. “Allow me to fetch my ‘apology stick’ and I shall apologise forthwith!”
“That won’t be necessary, milord. I have forgotten all about it already!”
“Very good, Botter. Now, grab a bottle of whisky, and then join me in the garden. It is time to celebrate the conclusion of another perplexing mystery!”
Botter scampered off to the kitchen, leaving me to admire my reflection.
“I shall not allow us to be seperated ever again, my dear,” I said, stroking my facial hair tenderly.
I fucking love my moustache.
- Lord Likely.
