March, 1857.

Having been left a homeless wretch, caked in vomit and piss and with my natural sense of style and grace rent asunder, I was naturally more than a little displeased with those vagrant swines who had placed me in such a position.

In fact, it would not be a terrible understatement to say that I was fucking livid, and dearly wished to crack open some skulls with the nearest blunt instrument.

Talking of blunt instruments, my man-servant Botter met me at the scrap-yard residence of the blasted beggars, as I stormed in later that afternoon. My first inclination was to smash him right in his awful mouth for deserting me in my hour of need, but as he shuffled up to me I noticed he was holding my precious cane, long thought missing by my good self.

“Oh, be still my beating heart! ‘Tis truly glorious to behold you once more! I had feared I had lost you forever, old friend!” I cried out joyously.

“It’s good to see you too, milord,” Botter answered.

“I am not referring to you, you bumbling cock-shaft,” I snapped. “I am referring to my wondrous cane! Give it here at once!”

Botter meekly handed over my prized possession. “There y’are, milord. It got dropped in the tussle, earlier.”

I stroked the top of my cane lovingly (and for once, I am not referring to my penis at this point), and then thwacked Botter across the back of his head with it. Botter yelped in pain.

“Ah, good. It still thwacks properly,” I smiled. “That was for abandoning me earlier, and not coming to my immediate and prompt rescue, you tiny bastard.”

“I-I’m sorry, milord! It just happened so fast and I was trying to hide and – “

Another thwack, another yelp.

“Just be thankful that I have a score to settle with these homeless scoundrels, Botter, else you’d be receiving a full thrashing for your woeful incompetence. As it is, I am saving my full rage for these rough-sleeping rapscallions.”

“Thank you, milord. You are much too kind.”

“I know, I know. Now, where are these wretches hiding? We must go forth and…oh!” I stopped, espying an unopened bottle of beer on the floor beside me. “Hmm, there can be no harm in having a quick drink before I embark upon a vigourous bout of fisticuffs…”

I cracked open the bottle, and raised it to my lips, but before I could sample the golden goodness encased within, Botter leapt at me and knocked the bottle from my hand, sending it crashing down onto the ground, where upon it shattered into a thousand pieces.

Naturally, I punched my man-servant squarely in the face for his troubles.

“What in the name of Captain Fellatio Hornblower do you think you are doing, man?” I roared.

“The beer, milord!” Botter replied, nursing his bloodied nose. “The beer is contaminated with tramp’s piss, don’t forget!“

The stinking oaf was right, of course, but I refused to let him know as much, and simply punched him in the face again.

“That is for using the word ‘piss’ in my presence, when you could have said ‘urine’. I am a very sensitive fellow, you know.”

Botter mumbled an apology from his resting place upon the ground.

“Don’t be too hard on the poor fellow,” came a voice behind me. “There is plenty more beer where that came from, your lordship.”

I spun around to face that filthy cur, Kenneth the Hat, the erstwhile leader of the vile vagabonds. He was joined by a good thirty or so other skanks, all of whom seemed to be cradling a makeshift weapon of some sort – broken sticks, disused mops, discarded bicycle spokes and so on and so forth.

“Oh fuck, fuck and double fucking fuckity-fuck,” I whispered.

“I think the beggars are revolting,” Botter observed.

“Revolting?” I answered. “They are positively vomit-inducing.”

“Go on, your lordship,” Kenneth said, smiling a horrid, broken smile whilst offering me another beer. “Just one more for the road, eh?”

“NEVER!” I roared defiantly. “Your beer is nothing more than an errant fraud, concocted from piss and stink.”

“Heh. You’re very observant, my lord,” Kenneth chuckled. “I should imagine that at this point, you’re wondering exactly why we are making beer out of our own piss, Lord Likely. Well allow me to explain my brilliant plan to you…”

“Do not bother yourself,” I sniffed. “I think I have figured it out. You are brewing a beer so potent it renders a chap completely insensible, and with no recollection of his former life. You no doubt plan to flog this beer to everyone in the land, thus bringing the entire population of Great Britain down to your own awful, shit-stained level, blah blah blah, etcetera, etcetera. I have heard this sort of thing a thousand times over, so if you do not mind can we simply move on to the climactic skirmish, as I am an awfully busy man and I have a party still to organise..”

“Uh, milord,” Botter interjected. “About the party…you went missing for a few days, you see, and the scheduled date for your planned ball has since elapsed quite considerably, so…”

A red mist began to form before my eyes.

“Are you telling me, Botter, that these reprobates have made me MISS my own PARTY?”

“I…I’m afraid so, milord,” Botter confirmed.

I do not know precisely what happened next, as I was suddenly consumed with a rage so powerful that it controlled my every action. From what I have been able to determine from Botter’s eyewitness account, I let out a deafening roar and, cane in hand, ploughed into the amassed vagrants with considerable gusto. It would seem I became something of a blur, swiftly working my way through the rabble, sending bodies flying left and right as I battered them viciously with my cane. Skulls were indeed cracked, noses broken, limbs shattered and organs pulped as I tore through the swine like an ‘Oriental warrior’, in Botter’s own words.

Once that was over, I apparently dragged Kenneth the Hat to the warehouse-come-brewery, wherein I drowned the maleficent miscreant in a vat of his own piss.

“Rest In Piss,” I quipped, as Kenneth The Hat’s body floated lifelessly atop the urinary waters. “Well, Botter, I think I am all done now.” I said, as I returned to my usual, well-composed self. “A jolly fine day’s work, too. I say, this calls for a celebration, don’t you think? We must throw a massive party to-night, and invite all the very classiest people I know. Of course, we shall need some booze…”

I turned to Botter, only to find him running out of the warehouse at top speed, screaming at the top of his filthy lungs.

What a peculiar fellow.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Something completely different.

> Subscribe in a reader

Hallowe’en.

Upon returning to the Likely Estate after my long, arduous, but nonetheless astonishing American Adventure, I was annoyed to find that there was scant food in the house, and the food which we did have had long since expired and gone off. Worse still, squirrels had somehow gotten into my lovely new Porn Library, and chewed their way through my entire thirty-eight volume Karma Sutra.

I chastised Botter for allowing things to slide into such an awful state, to which he replied that he would have been more diligent, but he had been too busy accompanying me to America, and could not keep a close enough eye on the Estate from across the ocean. Needless to say, I clipped him around the ear for his insolent back-chat.

Although exhausted from my recent travails, it was clear to me that there was no option but to take matters into my own hands, and venture into the city to replenish our supplies. I left Botter with instructions to set about cleaning up the mansion, then I set off to London Town.

I stepped out of Liverrott’s Alcohol and Booze Emporium, my final port of call on my shopping trip. I was feeling rather pleased with myself as I had managed to complete the shopping in record time, no doubt due to the fact that I was unhindered by my cretinous man-servant. I smiled to myself, and with my spirits soaring as high as a kite, I set about trying to find a hansom cab to transport me back to the Likely Estate.

After forty-three minutes of fruitless searching, my mood had soured somewhat, and I was cursing every cab driver in the city, and their families, and their families’ families. Why was it one could not find a cab when one really needed one, I pondered angrily. And where in the name of Charles Dickens‘ cock-hole was I? It appeared I had strayed into the more unfamiliar regions of the nation’s capital, and was rather lost.

As I mused on this conundrum, I heard a slow, shuffling sound coming from behind me. I tensed every muscle in my body – even my Lord Palmerston – and prepared myself for the worst. Then I swung around to confront it.

‘It’ was horrifying than I could have ever imagined.

There, in front of me, was some kind of filthy, grotesque apparition, with drawn, sunken eyes and lifeless, pallid skin. This awful spectre slowly reached out to me, its clawed hand turned palm-up. I almost felt like vomiting into my own hat, so hideous and disgusting was this shambolic mockery of humanity.

Then this fearful creature spoke.

“Change?” it hissed. I recoiled in disgust. I do so hate filthy beggars. “Change?” the demon repeated, thrusting his hand towards me as if to accentuate the point. I had absolutely no desire to part with my precious money, for which my father had worked so hard, and so I attempted an evasive maneuver. However, as I turned away, ready to flee, I was faced with yet another fearsome phantasm.

“Change?” croaked the second abomination.

Sweat beaded my lordly brow, as I feared for my wallet’s life. I backed away slowly from the putrid, poverty-stricken pair, but was stopped in my tracks by another of their ilk, who had mysteriously appeared from nowhere. I quickly came to realise that these awful creatures were numerous and many, and were bleeding out of the shadows and towards me, the scent of fresh currency filling their nostrils. They all advanced towards me, hands held out, chorusing the word, “Change” as they approached me.

“Get back, you vile devils!” I roared, brandishing my cane as if it were a weapon.

“Please, sir,” said the first man-beast, slightly surprising me with his eloquence. “Do not fear us. We do not wish to harm you. We just ask for your kindness.”

“AAARRRGGH!” I screamed, and twatted the man with the end of my cane, sending him crashing to the floor with a nasty cut to his head.

“Please! Sir, you must stop!” cried another of the vagrants, who seemed to be a female, or at least the closest to female. “Leave poor Gary alone! Please! He is just a man, like you! The only difference is, he has nothing. Nothing at all.”

At this juncture, a small, dirty, scruffy, crippled child hobbled out from the crowd, and towards me.

“Have you come to save us, mister?” he asked quietly, tugging at my trouser leg.

“ARRRGGGH!” I yelled again, punting the tiny terror clear across the street.

“Please, sir!” cried out the female. “That is my poor, sickly child! What kind of monster are you?”

“You will have to forgive me,” I said, stifling the urge to be sick as I beheld the woman’s grotesque countenance. “You all look so ghastly that I cannot help but be terrified and offended all at once. I feel like I should put you all out of your misery.”

The disgusting crone shook her head sadly, forcing dust and grime to become dislodged from her wispy locks as she did so. Then she scurried off to the aid of her son, and scooped him up into her arms, cooing soothing words into the boy’s ear. As I watched this tender, caring act unfold before me, I felt something approaching pity and compassion well up inside me. Could it be that I was beginning to care about these unhappy blighters, I wondered.

“Sorry my head got in the way of your cane,” said Gary, suddenly appearing at my shoulder, nursing his bloodied head.

“AARRRGGGH!” I cried, and struck him once more with my cane. He crumpled to the floor., silently.

“Right!” I exclaimed. “That is it! I have had enough of this! I am going to do something about this terrible situation RIGHT NOW! Wait here, I shall be but five minutes! Do not go anywhere! Not that you have anywhere to go, I suppose. Ta-ta for now!”

And with that, I departed.

“There! Is that not much better?” I said, standing back to better admire my fine handiwork. The assembled paupers murmured something in return, which I took to be a show of appreciation. “Marvelous, glad you agree. I must say, I think I have performed something approaching a miracle, here today.”

To understand exactly what I had done, I must furnish you with some pictorial aids. This first illustration shows the awful creatures in all their hideous foulness, so I recommend that you view the image on an empty stomach:

Quite a horrendous sight, I am sure you will agree. Now then, is the second image, showing them after I had taken it upon myself to greatly improve the quality of their life:

I am sure you will agree, I had brightened up their drab and dreary life quite considerably, and I had also made them look far less threatening with the simple addition of gaily-coloured party hats. In addition, I took the liberty of replacing the horribly deformed crippled child with a delightfully cute lemur, as everyone likes lemurs, after all. Finally, to cap it all off, I donated a very handsome statue of my good self, so that these savages may remember my extraordinary benevolence for ever more.

As I stood surveying my wonderful work, Gary sidled up to me.

“Thank you, sir,” he faltered, adjusting his party hat atop his wounded head. “You…um…you have done us an honour, here today. No doubt about that! But we were just wonderin’…it’s just…we’d like somethin’ to eat, we are all so famished and so weak…so, um…do you have any spare change? “

I snorted with outright indignation, and thwacked the dismal creature about the head with my cane once more, then stalked off.

Some people are just never satisfied.

- Lord Likely.

His lordship will be taking a short sabbatical, to recover from his Astonishing American Adventure and his exhausting charity work. He shall return next Monday, when he hopes you will join him in celebrating the Likely Centenary. Smart dress essential.

Lord Likely recommends you pass the time waiting for his return by visiting any of the web-logs listed on the left-hand side, or by visiting these web-sites:

> Subscribe in a reader