The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely

21 February 2008

His Lordship Has A Close Shave

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February the 22nd, 1857.

I had been admiring myself for two hours in the mirror this morning, when I came to the inescapable conclusion that I was looking considerably less than my usual dapper self. My hair was approximately half an inch longer than usual, and my moustache had begun to resemble an unkempt hedge upon my upper lip. Also, after further investigation, I noticed that my pubic hairs were looking far from luxuriant.

There was no doubt about it, I was going to have to go and get a haircut and a shave, especially as there was a rather fancy ball scheduled for tomorrow evening. I would need to be looking my damned finest if I was going to attend, and snare myself some aristocratic fanny.

“Botter!” I yelled to my feeble man-servant. “I shall need the address of my barber! I must depart post-haste and get myself a trim!”

“That barber closed down his business, milord,” Botter informed me as he trudged into the living-room. “Don’t you remember? After you’d stabbed him in the leg with his own scissors?”

“Ah yes,” I recalled. “Well, the bugger did trim my eyebrows unevenly. I cannot abide having wonky eyebrows, you know. It makes me look eternally quizzical. Well, then, in light of this news, I shall need you to find me a new barber, tout de suite!”

“To the what, milord?” replied Botter.

“Tout de suite, Botter. It is French for ‘ruddy quickly before I set fire to your head.’“

Botter mused upon this momentarily, then he did something most curious. Most curious indeed.

He began to sing:

“Fret not though, my lord,
I know a place, my lord,
A barber, my lord, of skill.
Plus he’s reasonably priced, my lord,
and both his legs are un-diced, my lord,
he will tend ’til you’re sufficed, my lord,
You’ll dazzle the girls until…”

“Until what, you jabbering anus?” I snapped angrily.

“Until they slurp ‘pon your wil-ly!” Botter sang, and then he held his position, looking at me hopefully as if I was to applaud his lunatic, improvised sing-a-long.

“Shut the cock up!” I shouted instead. “Shut up, and go and get me that blasted address. And next time you feel like bursting into spontaneous song, do us all a great, big favour and hurl yourself under a carriage instead, will you? Jesus, man!”

It transpired that this new barber, a Mr. Sweeney Todd, resided on Fleet Street, above Mrs. Lovett‘s pie shop, an awful place which sold equally awful pies. However, time was pressing upon me, so I could ill-afford to be overly fussy about the barber’s location.

I left Botter to peruse Mrs. Lovett’s selection of putrid, puke-filled pastries; while I ascended a flight of stairs up to Mr. Todd’s barber-shop.

“Good day,” slurred the barber as I strolled in to his shop. “What a honour to receive your patronage, my lord.”

“You know me?” I asked, slightly taken aback.

“Who in this wide world does not know the great Lord Likely?” Todd said, softly.

“Well, quite. I could not have put it better myself,” I returned. “Actually, now that I think about it, I probably could have put it a lot better myself. A lot more eloquently and without slurring so much.”

“And what may I do for you today, sir?” Todd continued. “A stylish trimming of the hair? A soothing skin massage? Sit, sit, sit.”

I sat.

“I should think I would very much like a hair-cut and, if possible, a shave.”

“The closest I ever gave,” Todd hissed, grinning in a slightly maniacal fashion.

“I should hope so,” I said, as Todd wrapped a sheet around my neck. “I hear you’re a demon barber,” I continued, trying to muster some small-talk with the fellow. “Are you really that good, sir?”

“Oh yes!” Todd beamed, as he smeared shaving cream upon my noble chin. “You shan’t find a man alive with a bad word to say about me, my lord.”

“Marvellous!” I brightened. “It is gratifying to find a man of such consummate skill plying his craft. There are far too many hacks working these days. Take my last barber, for instance. A frightfully slap-dash fellow. I had to stab him, you know. Terrible business, really. I forget his name now. Benjamin something, I believe.” I paused. “Barking! That was it! Benjamin Barking!”

“Barker,” Todd corrected. “Benjamin Barker.”

“Well, whatever his cocking name was. The point is, he was a prick.”

“Indeed, my lord,” Todd replied, absently, as he unfurled a razor. He held the blade up to the window, and seemed to become transfixed by it.

And then, unbelievably, Mr. Todd began to ruddy sing as well:

“Now then, my friend.
Now to your purpose.
Patience, enjoy it.
Revenge can’t be taken in-”

“Bollocks!” I interrupted. “For the love of bollockery, don’t you ruddy well start! ‘Twas bad enough with my blasted man-servant howling away like a cat with its testicles trapped in a door. What is it with everyone to-day? Has everyone taken leave of their senses?”

“You shall have to indulge me, my lord,” Todd whispered, as he leaned over me, razor in hand. “My mind is far from easy…”

“Well, just continue with the job in hand and try to refrain from – OW!” I cried, as Mr. Todd’s razor-blade nicked my skin. “OW! Look what you’ve done, you fucking great mental-case! You have made me bleed my own precious blood!”

So enraged was I by this, that I thrust my fist out to the side of me, catching Mr. Todd squarely in the balls.

“My friends!” he squealed, as he collapsed to the floor, clutching at his recently pounded man-pouch. “My lucky friends!“

“Hm,” I said, dabbing at the small cut on my neck. “I should get used to singing falsetto now, if I were you, Mr. Todd. And do not think for one instant that I shall be tipping you. Good-day, to you sir. Good day!”

With that, I stormed out of Mr. Todd’s shop and slammed the door hard behind me, to further reiterate my great displeasure.

“Come, Botter,” I said sternly, as I descended the stairs where my man-servant was silently munching away on some horrid-looking pie or other. “We are going. This Mr. Todd is no demon, but I dare say his business will be going straight to Hell if that is how he conducts himself!”

“Nice pies, though,” Botter mumbled in-between mouthfuls of meat. “Nice an’ chewy.” He stopped, and picked a chunk of meat from out of his teeth, and regarded it closely. “‘Ere, d’ya think that this looks like a man’s cock-end, my lord?”

“Well, even if it is, Botter, I dare say that will not be the first nor the last time you shall have a man’s penis in your mouth. Now for the last time, come along!”

And so we left Fleet Street, ne’er to return. I did manage to find a replacement barber, however. I have an appointment with him soon, in Seville.

I do hope he’s good.

- Lord Likely.

Next time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely:

Mr. Diesel, long time supporter of his lordship and the chap behind Mattress Police and humor-blogs.com (where his lordship currently resides at an incredibly sexual 69th place), has launched a new offensive upon the world of comedy, called The Clay Pigeon, chock-full of amusing articles and witty writings. Although nowhere near as hilarious as his lordship’s own scrawlings (naturally), we still encourage you to visit the Pigeon by clicking the image below!

Awarded and Lauded! Lord Likely has received not one, but two more wondrous awards this week; firstly, an ‘E for Excellent‘ award from the delightful Venessa Giunta from her Writing Journey blog, and a ‘You Make My Day’ award bestowed upon his lordship by the delectable JD of i do things. Many thanks, ladies! His lordship is delighted, and is going to be in need of a far bigger mantle at this rate. And loose-fitting trousers.