30 March 2007
Talking to Nipples
March, 1856
Having clapped eyes on Miss Eileen Nipples, I quite forgot about the missing Russian ambassador, and chose instead to pursue this most ravishing of creatures.
I straightened my top-hat, took a swig of whisky out of my hip-flask, and advanced towards Miss Eileen Nipples.
“Excuse me, madam,” I said, making sure to doff my hat in her presence. “I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment.”
She eyed me cautiously.
“I hope, sir, that your intentions are decent and true, and that you are not impeding my progress merely to ogle my wondrous breasts,” she said.
What a woman, I thought. How both my heart and my penis rose in her company!
“I can assure you, my dear lady, that my reason for stopping you is entirely free of any lecherous advances. Though, if forced, I would quite happily gaze upon your beautiful knockers for an age, until my eyesight deserted me, or the boobs sagged, whichever came first.”
She sighed, and strode on.
“My apologies, madam!” I said, chasing after her. “I was trying to pay you a compliment, but alas I fear my words must have sounded coarse and lewd to your fair ears. Please, do let me explain why I have trespassed upon your time.”
Eileen Nipples turned sharply to face me.
“Fine, then continue. But you only have the next thirty seconds of my time.”
“An ample window of opportunity to allow me to impart my information to you with both clarity and – “
“Twenty-four seconds, sir,” Miss Nipples snapped.
“Understood. I am here to question you with regards to the recent, mysterious disappearance of Ivor Romanov.”
Miss Nipples’ expression lightened.
“You are rather well turned-out for a policeman, Officer,” she said.
“Oh! You have misunderstood me, as I have failed to clarify myself adequately. I am not a policeman, I fear,” I adjusted my tie. “I am a Lord.”
There was a pause.
“Is your title supposed to impress me, sir?” said Miss Nipples.
“I had hoped it would inspire at least some awe and wonder, yes,” I said, downheartedly.
“Then I am sorry to disappoint you, milord.”
Oh! What a ferocious young filly this woman was turning out to be, I thought. I would have immeasurable fun trying to tame this wildcat!
“Pay it no mind, my dear,” I said. “Let us continue onto business. If I may, I would like to commence my interrogations.”
Miss Nipples sighed again. “Then begin, if you must.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly conduct my interview here, in the noisy, crowded streets of London Town. It would be a terrible disservice to my cause, and to one as refined as yourself. May I suggest that we adjourn to a nearby eatery to better facilitate the inquisition?”
“Well -”
At this point, like a stinking, human hyphen, Botter intruded upon our conversation.
“Milord, Al…uh, Inspector Spunkleford, was wondering if you’d care to examine the crime-scene, at all?”
“Botter, you ignorant little bastard, can you not see that I am talking to Miss Nipples, here?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Botter looked Eileen up and down “Cracking tits, love.”
Miss Nipples let out another sigh, then as quick as a flash, delivered a kick to Botter’s groin, sending him tumbling to the ground in pain.
“Let us depart to a restaurant, then, your lordship,” said Eileen, dusting off her boot daintily with a hankie. “Just be sure to leave that little shit behind.”
My heart soared, and I twatted Botter in the back of the head with the end of my cane, to celebrate my sudden good-fortune.
- Lord Likely.
