04 April 2012
Why being so fabulously wealthy and impossibly handsome is such a terrible burden, by Lord Likely
ON A recent rail trip to Yorkshire, I was informed by a conductor that I would have to forgo my seat in the First Class carriage. Naturally aggrieved, I demanded to know why.
“You are, I fear, making the other First Class passengers feel quite inadequate, your lordship,” the conductor replied. “The vastly superior breeding and great wealth you possess are making them feel like Second Class travellers – or worse still, Economy.”
I shook my head sadly. This was hardly a surprise, no matter how inconvenient it was.
Lord Likely in his capacious mansion, itself a terrible burden.
“Furthermore, your incredibly handsome form, coupled with the rhythmic pounding of the train’s pistons, are rending the ladies on board quite insensible, and they are passing out all over the place. I fear our stock of smelling salts is now dangerously low, and we cannot risk more of these delicate creatures fainting in your presence, for we would soon be quite unable to revive them.”
I sighed loudly (causing another woman to faint away nearby) and was moved into a carriage of my own (the ‘Upper Class Carriage’, I was informed), where I was offered free champagne for the remainder of the journey, along with a proposed night of passionate sodomy from the locomotive’s driver. I gleefully accepted the former, and had to decline the latter, which lead to the poor, love-struck driver hurling himself from the train’s cabin later on, and causing quite an irksome delay to our journey.
This is just a taste of the immense struggles one has to face when one is as fabulously wealthy and impossibly handsome as I am.
Every waking moment of my incredible life presents yet more fresh challenges to my wondrous self. I can barely step outside of my opulent home without womenfolk (and, indeed, many menfolk) stopping to stare at me in all my glory, their jaws hanging open like a drawbridge to a castle, a castle long since vacated by sense and decency. It is getting to the point where I can no longer enjoy my humble, naked strolls through Hyde Park, the sunlight dancing off of my muscular, manly form, my tallywhacker swinging free like the pendulum on the world’s most desirable clock. What sort of society do we live in where a fellow cannot take such nude constitutionals unmolested by lecherous eyes?
Even when fully clothed in suits of the most expensive material, my journeys about town are no easier. Women fling themselves at my beautiful feet – quite literally, leaving me to negotiate an obstacle course of fallen female bodies if I am to ever hope of making it to my destination on time.
Ladies laden me with copious gifts, grab at my strong legs and plead with me to marry them, demand that I impregnate them with my noble seed so that they might give birth to someone almost as perfect as I. It is terribly wearying, I must say, and a simple trip to a high-class restaurant can turn into an epic quest at which even Odysseus would baulk.
Females cannot resist his lordship's charms, nor would he wish them to resist (unless it was part of some kinky charade).
If you are a gentleman reading this (or a working class man having it read to you by a learned friend) then I have no doubt you have formed your own opinion about me (unless you too have fallen madly in love with me as well, which would not surprise me in the least). Most men do not think very highly of me, and regard me with unkind eyes. Admittedly, sometimes this is because I am usually balls-deep in their wives, who have dragged me into their beds so overcome with lust, but even then I can tell that the real reason for the man’s ill-feelings is pure, unfettered jealousy at my incredible physique, and my unrivalled sexual prowess.
People are often all-too quick to assume that the life of a wealthy, handsome aristocrat must be a life of complete leisure and contentment, but these poor, deluded fools rarely stop to consider the daily trials and tribulations people like me (if, indeed, there ARE people like me, which I doubt) must face. Have you ever fallen over while carrying a huge, cash-stuffed wallet about your person? Your painful descent to the ground is greatly accelerated when you are so laden with money, let me assure you. Meanwhile a penniless orphan in the same situation might fall – nay float – to the ground, and thus suffer less significant bruising. Yet still my existence is labelled as painless! Hah!
The challenges I have to overcome are myriad, and I do not think that it is an exaggeration to say that I am most definitely braver than any soldier, fireman or policeman alive today. I would wager that even those in the poorest corners of our world would concede that compared to my problems, their lack of clean water and proper nutrition are mere trifling quibbles.
Why do I stir such powerful feelings among the populace, I have to wonder. I have not set out to arouse or enrage people, I have merely had the splendid misfortune to have been born into money (quite literally, my mother gave birth in the family vault), and to have been blessed with unbelievably good looks. God above truly did break the mould when He made me, and then He had to rummage around in the back of His cupboard to find another mould with which to create the rest of humanity, finding only a cracked and dusty old thing that He had bought years ago and had quite forgotten about.
Is that a reason to despise me, I ask, for having merely been so fortunate to have been cast in such perfection? I think not, but sometimes I wonder if my blessings are not curses. Then I take a look at myself in my full-length mirror in the spacious bedroom of my expansive estate, and realise that no, they are not curses. Then I laugh at myself for having entertained such a ludicrous notion, and go off to roll about in money for a while and then to a lavish supper.
I cannot change who I am, nor would I want to. I am completely happy with my life, and with the cards Lady Fate has dealt me (whilst fantasising about straddling me on the table, I should not wonder!) I shall simply have to struggle on with the downsides such virility and riches bring with them, and shrug off the cheap jibes thrown my way by the eternally envious.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but even then I shall still be more gorgeous than any of my detractors.
- Lord Likely, as told to Mr. A.D Fanton (esq).
