03 July 2008
Interval: No Use Crying Over Spilt Tea
Americans attempt to make the world’s largest cup of tea. World’s largest biscuit to dunk in it not shown.Anyhow, I understand that this date is something of an occasion among the American people, a significant number of whom are loyal readers of my fine journals. With this in mind, I have unearthed a rather interesting extract from my grand-father’s own diaries, wherein he reveals his part in the Boston Tea Party in 1773, an event which would help to put into motion the eventual Declaration of Independence.
I present to you this fascinating piece below, as my own small contribution to the day’s celebrations. Do please enjoy!
From the Diaries of Lord Charles Hyley-Likely.
December the Sixteenth, 1773.
It has been a rather curious two weeks for me, I must say. As one of the stockholders in the British East India Company, I had elected to travel to Boston in the colony of America, to deliver some of our extremely tasty and truly mouth-watering tea. I had heard unhappy talk that the American colonials were becoming increasingly discontent with British rule, and so I had imagined that delivering some fresh, ambrosial tea might help lighten their mood, and maybe we could all sit down and have a bit of a chin-wag with a nice, hot cuppa in our hands.
So, I had boarded one of the company’s ships bound for America, a ship which was named the Beaver. Alas, this was to prove to be a most misleading moniker, for there were absolutely no females on board at all. They should have called the vessel the Floppy Cock or some such, as that is all that was present upon it.
Anyway, we arrived in Boston Harbour nine days ago, only to discover that the situation was far worse than we had imagined. Far from being hailed like the heroes of the Empire we so clearly were, we were given a rather hostile reception, and told in no uncertain terms that we could not unload our exquisite tea here, and that we should – and I quote – ‘fuck off back to England’.
Having been stuck on board a boat for the past two weeks, with no ladies with which I could copulate along the way – I was rather miffed at this, and demanded to speak to whomever was in charge. I was presented with a rather unassuming looking fellow who introduced himself as a Mr. Samuel Adams.
“What the arse is all this about?” I asked him. “I came here to deliver rich, flavourful tea, and by the King’s cock-hole that is precisely what I shall do!”
“I fear not, sir,” Adams answered. “We are reacting to the underhand and unlawful Tea Act passed by your Government, an act designed to give your company tax breaks so that you can can continue your aggressive expansion into America, to the detriment of smaller traders. We Americans will never accede to you and your giant corporations who seek to establish monopolies at the expense of fair competition. Never, I say! Never!“
“You shall do what you’re jolly well told, or else you will feel my boot in your ballsack, sir,” I replied, pouring myself a steaming hot cup of fabulous tea.
“Ha! The typically aggressive act of the British Empire!” snapped Adams. “We may be under your colonial rule now, sir, but the time will soon come when the American people are free from the yoke of British rule! We shall form a glorious republic, where all men are created equal…”
“Good heavens,” I said, sipping my highly-palatable beverage. “All of you? Even the Negroes and the Natives?”
“Do not be a lunatic, man!” Adams cried. “Of course not the Negroes and the Natives. But there shall be liberty for the rest of us.”
“Libre tea?” I said. “Free tea?”
“Liberty,” Adams repeated. “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness!”
“You do seem rather passionate about this entire situation, I must say,” I observed.
“You had better believe so, sir.”
“I would wager that such a diatribe has left you rather parched, has it not?”
“I do believe it has.”
“Would you…would you care for a lovely cup of tea, maybe?” I asked, offering forth a cup of the British East India Company’s finest char.
“Why, thank you, that is really most generous…” Adams began, as he reached for the tea-cup, before he stopped himself. “Wait a moment! No! No I would not care for your filthy, Imperialistic tea! Get it way from me at once, and turn your ships back to England. You shall not be unloading any tea – no matter how piquant and luscious it may be – and that is final.”
“You will be sorry,” I retorted over my shoulder as I headed back to the Beaver. “You will come running back to us when you come to acknowledge that your own tea tastes like the diahrettic expulsions of a disease-ridden anus!”
And with that, I returned to my ship, but vowed not to leave until all of our wondrous tea was safely unloaded.
*****I left the ship half an hour later, and ventured into Boston itself. It was a most agreeable city, it has to be said, although the inhabitants were less than friendly, despite my best efforts to ingratiate myself to them by trying to engage them all in a sing-a-long to God Save the King.
One young lady did seem suitably impressed with me, however, and we soon got to talking. I found that her name was Sandy Cleft, and she was a Loyalist who was thrilled to pieces to meet an actual real-life member of the British Aristocracy, and one so incredibly handsome and damnably attractive as I, to boot. I took her to a nearby bar (which I believe was called Cheers or What-Ho or something), where I deployed all my Likely charm, and entranced my female companion with numerous tales of my dashing derring-do, and vast wealth. Soon, she was overcome with desire, and demanded that I make love to her, right there and then on the table. I politely declined, fearing that I might get a bar-snack lodged in my anus, and suggested we return to my cabin on the Beagle.
*****We had no sooner then set foot on the Beagle then Sandy demanded I take her immediately, and ravish her with my manhood. I did not need to be asked twice, and threw her gently against some of the tea-crates on the ship, and quickly set about unfastening my trousers.
“I declare independence from my trousers!” I roared, as I tossed the garment aside, revealing my incredible length to the delectable Ms. Cleft.
“My word!” she gasped, upon catching sight of my monstrous man-meat. “It’s so big!”
“Indeed it is, my dear,” I said, as matter-of-factly. “I call him Captain Cook, for like his namesake, he does love to explore unchartered territories.”
“Then let him explore me, my lord! Let him explore me DEEPLY!” gasped Sandy, pulling up her dress and lowering her knickers.
Starved of female company for so long, I did not hesitate and plunged my Captain Cook into her silken crevice, then I began to bang away with great force, my swollen balls slapping against her most satisfactorily.
Sandy moaned and groaned with pleasure as I thrust deeper and harder, forcing her to grab a hold of a tea-chest to steady herself as I continued my erotic exertions. I drew Sandy’s legs up under my arms and forced myself further inside her tufty mound, until I was hilt-deep inside her. Sandy yelped with delight, and I was now so damnably excited that my motions became faster and faster and faster until -
The force exerted by my furious thrustings became so great that one of the tea-crates against which Sandy was leaning became dislodged, and tumbled into the water, shedding it’s delicious contents upon impact.
“Heavens!” I cried, as I saw the scrumptious tea fill the harbour waters. “Boston Harbour’s a tea-pot tonight!”
As if they had been waiting to be cued, dozens of fellows dressed as Indians suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and quickly began to throw the rest of the crates overboard, crying out ‘Victory for the Sons of Liberty‘ as they did so.
I could only watch in horror as all of the deliciously delectable tea was tossed into the murky waters below, and to cap it all I still had not finished rutting with the delightful Sandy Cleft.
Oh bollocks, I thought. Still, at least I could content myself with the fact that Mr. Adams’ crazy notion of an American Republic had not yet transpired.
July the Fourth, 1776.
Oh bollocks.
Well, there you have it, ladies and gentle-men, a first-hand account from the pen of my slightly tea-obsessed grandfather, Lord Charles Hyley-Likely. Astonishing, is it not?
May I now take this opportunity to wish all of my American readers a most delightful July the Fourth. I dearly wish I could pump you full of my love-juice, even if you are filthy tea-drowning miscreants!
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: We return to the adventure in progress!
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