11 April 2008
When In Doubt, Crack One Out
April, 1857.
Writing these very journals is usually an exceedingly simple task. Being so incredibly gifted and ridiculously talented, I find that writing is almost second-nature to me, like breathing, or love-making, or crapping into my man-servant’s bed.
However, as my last entry proves, I was having great difficulty in penning an article worthy of my gifts, and after a solid twelve minutes of furious scribbling I had still yet to craft a suitably thrilling and enticing piece of prose.
It seemed that I had been stricken with the dreaded writer’s block; and for that there was only one remedy – a good, hard wank. That should ‘unblock’ me and return me to my verbose and eloquent self, I reasoned.
So, with my Lord Palmerston in one hand, and a copy of Victorian Housewives in the other, I set about pleasuring myself to the point of climax. As I viewed the stimulating images of ladies washing dishes, sweeping carpets and cooking roast dinners, I felt my mighty rod swell with my gentlemanly fluids, and before too long I was ready to release my lordly load.
However, at that precise moment, my man-servant, Botter, entered the room, along with Inspector Albert Spunkleford of Scotland Yard. As I was too close to concluding my bishop-bashing business, I was unable to control myself, and as I turned to face the newcomers I shot forth a glistening globule of my frothy cock-broth, which whizzed through the air like a spunk-encrusted bullet.
Had Mr. Spunkleford not had the presence of mind and quick reflexes to dodge my dignitary discharge, then he may well have wound up with a rather unexpected welcome indeed.
“Good heavens, Likely!” Spunkleford exclaimed as my man-batter missile came to a squelchy halt on the wall behind him. “You should be careful where you aim that damned thing! You could have somebody’s eye out with it, I should not wonder!”
“I am flattered, sir,” I replied, as I calmly wiped myself down after my furious bout of onanism. “But we shall have to leave the skull-fuckery to a later date, I fear. Pray tell, what brings you to my glorious home at such an hour?”
“Well, Likely, I have a most unusual mystery on my hands, which I thought would be right up your street.”
“There is a crime afoot on my very street?” I said, aghast.
“Um, no, milord,” Spunkleford said. “I was referring to a metaphorical street.”
“Metaphorical Street, eh?” I mused. “Is that not near Rhetorical Lane, just off of Hypothetical Avenue?”
“Um…right,” Spunkleford mumbled. “Listen, Likely, there has been a terrible incident at Rydeham-Harde House.“
“Ah! Rydeham-Harde House! I know it well. It’s owned by that rather rich couple, is it not? Lord and Lady something or other. Gah! Confound it! What is their blasted name?”
“Lord and Lady Rydeham-Harde?” ventured Spunkleford.
“That’s it! Yes, of course! Lord and Lady Rydham-Harde. Lovely people. So, what is this terrible incident of which you speak?”
“Well, it appears that one of Lord and Lady Rydeham-Harde’s maids was found dead in their garden this morning. The poor woman had been brutally slaughtered, and furthermore, she had been horrifically mauled, by a creature unknown…”
“Egads!” I cried. “Tell me, was this maid attractive?”
“I…I am not in possession of that particular fact, Likely,” Spunkleford replied. “Is it really important?”
“Everything is important, Spunkleford! No detail is too trivial in a case such as this one!” I leant in closer to the Inspector, and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Besides which, I should like to know what the chances are of me getting…excited when I see the corpse. People can be rather funny when a gentleman becomes aroused around a dead body, you know. Polite society tends to disapprove of stiffs near the stiffs, if you like. So it is preferable that I know in advance, so I can prepare myself by thinking completely un-erotic thoughts when I visit the crime scene, and thereby spare myself any involuntary embarrassment.”
“Likely! Please! She was viciously savaged by a blood-thirsty beast, for Christ’s sake!”
“Hmmm. Yes, you are probably right,” I concluded. “Still, if you have that photograph of your wife handy, it might be worth bringing it along just in case…”
“So…you will take the case, then?” Spunkleford asked, choosing to ignore my barbed comment about the odious Mrs. Spunkleford.
I sat back down in my arm-chair. I had not really decided if I was going to take the case or not. It did sound most intriguing, but then again I did have an entire library stocked full of pornography, and a cellar full to the rafters with wine.
Maybe this time, I would sit this one out…
- Lord Likely.
- Yes, of course he should!
- No, give the poor fellow a break, dammit!
- I don’t mind, I’m easy!
- I’m VERY easy!
Should Lord Likely Take the Case?
( surveys)
You have until 18:00 hours (GMT) on Monday the Fourteenth of April to cast your vote. As an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment.
The first randomly-selected winner, who rightfully suggested that his lordship should have a wank, and thus garners a free hyper-link placement upon his lordship’s journals, is…
Congratulations to you, sir!
Now choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.
Joy to the Lord! Mr. Adam Kamerer chose to highlight Lord Likely’s Incredible Inter-Active Adventure in his won wondrous web-log at Penfencer.com. You may behold the astounding article in question, by clicking upon the word ‘here’, here. Many thanks indeed, Mr. Kamerer!
Other places of interest:
Digital Sickbag | New! gaup
The Carrotty Kid
The Best Bit of the Internet (R.I.P)
The Clay Pigeon
