08 August 2007
Interval: Lord Likely meets LoopyLisa21f
August, 1856
I wonder if I may momentarily interrupt my recollections about my damned voyage to America, to inform you all of a rather bizarre occurrence which befell me recently.
What am I saying? Of course I cocking-well may momentarily interrupt – these are my ruddy journals and I shall do as I damned well please!
So, to business.
As a rich and charming member of the aristocracy, with a gargantuan todger, I receive many more marriage proposals than the next man (the next man, in my instance, happens to be my man-servant, Botter, so such a boast really is not all that impressive once you take into consideration Botter’s foul and ungodly nature).
To expedite the process of sifting through the countless proposals, I devised a rather splendid questionnaire, featuring some carefully thought-out questions designed to single-out those ladies best suited to marrying one such as wondrous as myself.
The first lady-in-waiting to partake in my rigourous interrogation was a Miss Lisa Phegan, who also went by the pseudonym ‘LoopyLisa21f‘. Her frankly beguiling answers to my perfectly pertinent questions are reproduced for your enjoyment and/or bewilderment:
Application for Title of ‘Ladyship’
Name:
Lisa Phegan. Sometimes known as LoopyLisa21f, or “Self-Powered Nancyâ€, my super-hero name if I was one… I’d basically just travel around in an electric wheelchair, solving crimes and that – like a cross between Professor X, Batman, and the Tour de France (or, as my dad calls it, “The Wheel-Ponce Jamboreeâ€).
Age:
21
Title (the proletariat are considered for ladyship, but must be in possession of a cracking set of jubblies to compensate for lack of noble blood):
Ms. Or miss. Or mussss.
Physical Attributes (please enclose pictorial reference, preferably a nude photograph):
(photo attached)
Name three (3) household chores at which you excel:
I’m pretty good at all the household chores. My dad has a phobia of all things around the house, and spends most days just screaming, and reeling away from stuff. Consequently, I pretty much have to do everything: cleaning, weaning, gilding, gliding, guilding, welding, wielding, building, Bill Ding…
Describe yourself in twenty words (one of which should ideally be ‘buxom’ or ‘comely’):
Buxom, comely, homely, hairless, uninfected, splintered, sore, pus-y (as in relation to pus), winded, honked-up, Tarzan, Scrabble-liker, tucked-in, tall midget, sassy.
Are you wealthy?
Not really. I’m currently £44.58 overdrawn. Craig subscribed me to a Viagra mail order service for a joke, and it’s draining my bank account dry. I keep phoning them to say I don’t need a daily delivery of Viagra, but they haven’t stopped the direct debit yet, and just laugh at me down the phone.
Unfortunately, the dog got into the Viagra at the weekend, and ate most of it. It had much the effect you might imagine, but the dog also started foaming at the mouth and eyes, and making this sort of weird grunting noise while jerking its head from side to side, like it was trying to shake off a load of flies. The dog did this for six hours. Also: it had intimate relations with my dad for a further six hours.
Are you adept at using any weapons?
Not really, dear. I used to do judo, but the judo teacher fell out of a window one day, and snapped his thorax in four places. After that I realised that judo wasn’t much use, and stopped going. What’s the point of learning a martial art if you can’t even levitate, or develop and impervious thorax?
Have you ever been in a fight? If so, please furnish further details:
I had loads of fights with Craig, but the worst one we ever had was over a game of Subbuteo. It was awful. He tried to do a nude pitch invasion, and I had to wrestle him behind the sofa before my father’s golf friends saw. And then something even more awful happened – Craig fell backwards onto the pitch, and got a goalie wedged up his cracksie. We had to take him to casualty, and they used a special pair of tongs to remove it, and then Craig told the doctor it wasn’t the first time he’d had Seamen up his bottom.
The doctor seemed to get deeply offended by this, and refused any further treatment. I don’t really know why. Maybe because the goalie was actually Edwin van der Sar, and maybe because Craig also tried to rub himself up against some medicine.
Have you ever killed another human being, or cockney?
I’ve never killed either one of those things. The biggest thing I ever killed was a proboscis monkey. I accidentally drove over it at a safari park. Craig got out, picked it up, shoved it in the glove compartment, and then it was in there for about a week until Craig took it out and fried it up. He just put its nose in a bap, and ate it with some poupon, guy!
What is your preferred tipple?
The left one.
What is the drunkest you have ever been?
I only ever get drunk when Craig makes me drink. He gets really down sometimes, and says that the only thing which will cheer him up is watching me drink myself unconscious. I’d prefer it if he got drunk with me, rather than just sitting there, watching in silence as I down a bottle of schnapps. Also, sometimes he gets me to spin around and around until I’m sick on myself. He quite likes that too.
Would you be able to sire an heir for his lordship?
You talk really funny, dear. I had to look up what that meant (I thought it was something to do with horses). I’m not sure if I ever want to have children. I get all silly when I hold babies, and get an urge to bite them. I always imagine that they are made of marshmallow. But it turns out that they’re not, and that you can be arrested for biting babies. And that they’re more likely to press charges if you do it more than once.
How many times a week would you perform the sex-act upon your new husband?
I… it… I can’t answer that. You’ve made me blush so hard that I’ve ruptured my eardrum.
What is your preferred sexual position? (eg: The Squatting Cleric, The manatee, The Reverse Handshake etc)
There goes the other one (the other eardrum – that’s not the name of a sexy position).
Would you object to your partner making sexual congress with others, with and/or without yourself present?
Now my shoes have burst.
Have you ever touched another lady on the breast? (Please give explicit detail, referencing erotic lithographs as and when appropriate):
Only my mother when she was breastfeeding me. She only tried it the once, though, and gave up because it hurt. After that she bought a small cow, and fed me directly from that. On the same subject, do you think boy cows find udders sexy?
Would you willingly lay down your life for your lordship, should he find himself under attack from natives, beggars or whores?
I don’t think so. I suppose I could try and teach him some techniques to avoid getting into scrapes. My dad always said that the best way to avoid getting beaten up is to just keep apologising. I got mugged once, and I just spent the whole time saying sorry for putting them out. It didn’t work (they stole my purse and helmet), but at least it didn’t escalate. Also, manners cost nothing. Except in my case they cost me a purse, and the cost of a cycle helmet.
Are you gagging for it?
Gagging? Is that what happens when you put some cloth over a person’s mouth? Are you trying to kidnap me in some way? You know: kidnap me via questionnaire?
*****
Well, after I had read this application through, my interest was piqued, and my ‘Lord Palmerston’ (as I am wont to calling my proud penis) was on full alert. But that was only the peak of this oh-so erotic iceberg, for then I clapped eyes upon the photograph she had enlosed with her form:
Oh! What beauty! What grace! What alluring five o’clock shadow! Oh, how my heart soared and my balls tightened – could this glorious creature be the one?
I was expressing my joy to a friend of mine, Lord SuperFitGuy1821, over a glass of whisky at a society gathering, when he suddenly dropped his glass in shock and horror, and furthermore, his monocle popped straight out of his eye and into his soup.
“Egads, Likely!” he gasped. “LoopyLisa? I know that blasted name all too well, sir! I too was courted by this slovenly wench, but it was not until I met up with her for a dinner date that I realised the horrible, shocking truth…”
“That ‘she’ is in fact a ‘he’, perchance?” I replied, coolly.
“Precisely, Likely!”
“Oh, I am well aware of that,” I said, dismissively. “I am not a cretin, nor a fool, nor a cretinous fool. Man or woman, however, I cannot help feel that I would like to pump this divine creature all the same, in one hole or another.”
Upon further research, I discovered that LoopyLisa was the creation of a gentle-man called Mr. Biffo, from London Town. Furthermore, he has written an entire book, featuring transcripts of his torrid encounters with lust-crazed men, whilst in the guise of this Lisa character. The tome is called ‘Confessions of a Chatroom Freak‘, and is, I am reliably informed by those who dare venture near the commoners, available in all good bookshops, and here.
I urge you all to spend your hard-earned pennies on purchasing a copy of this book, so you too can fall under LoopyLisa’s bewitching spell, and also enjoy a jolly good laugh.
In the meantime, if this mysterious ‘Mr. Biffo’ character is still out there….please, do get in touch. I promise to be gentle.
- Lord Likely, who will continue his tale of his journey to America at the week-end.
Thanks to Mr. Biffo for his co-operation in today’s journal entry.
Finally, please observe Lord Likely’s guide to telling if your dinner-date is a man, published HERE.
