- Lord Likely.

Witness the awesome spectacle that was the previous Incredible Inter-Active Adventure, by venturing hither.

Now where was I?

Ah, yes. In the gutter, in a pool of my own urine, apparently homeless and with no recollection of who I really was.

In other (decidedly more succinct) words, I was in big trouble.

I elected to try and get up, and maybe take a stroll to see if there was anything about that might help refresh my memory as to my true identity. It would transpire, however, that this plan was much easier to formulate than it was to practice, as getting to my feet proved to be a task of near Herculean effort. Every bone and muscle screamed with pain, and my head began to spin wildly like an out-of-control carousel driven by a drunk.

I steadied myself against the wall behind me, and tried to regain some composure. As I did, I felt my trousers moisten, and not in a sexual way, either. I fumbled at the zipper of my trousers, and found that I was, in fact, urinating. I grappled with the gargantuan organ within my trousers, and directed it towards the wall, whilst urine gushed forth like a powerful jet of water from a (particularly large) firehouse.

As I continued to pass water, my head began to spin again, and nausea enveloped me. Before I could do anything, I found myself spewing up vast quantities of yellowy liquid.

So there I was: standing in a street, in urine-soaked trousers, with my cock out, pissing and vomiting in equal measure.

Truly, there has never been such a terribly tragic sight.

Once I had stopped peeing, and puking upon my own pee, I collapsed to the floor again, exhausted and (quite literally) drained.

Ruddy Hell, I thought to myself. Where in the name of arsery is… what’s his name when you need him?

I frowned. What’s his name? Who was this what’s his name? Did I have some sort of acquaintance with me? A friend, perhaps? Or was it a pet…I seemed to recall something small, hairy and incredibly foul-smelling following me around…

Blotter. Butter. Blister? Buttocks?

Confound it. I almost remembered something.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Maybe there was nothing else to remember. Maybe the pitiful existence with which I was currently presented was the sum total of my life. Maybe I was nothing more than a homeless shambles, a piss-stained mockery of manhood.

I felt something gently fall into my lap. I opened my eyes and blearily gazed down, to see a coin resting there, head-side up. I raised my eyes to see a smartly-dressed man smiling sympathetically at me.

“There you go, you poor blighter,” said he. “Perhaps you can afford to buy some bread now, or some such thing.”

I smiled back, and looked back down at my lap. I beheld the image of a woman’s face upon the surface, my brow knotted in deep concentration. I knew that stern, noble face. She was important.

“Sir!” I said, still slurring slightly but I was far more comprehensible than I had been earlier. “This woman, on the face of this coin. She is someone of great importance, is she not?”

“Why, I should say she is, friend!” The man beamed. “That is Queen Victoria, after all! God Save Her!”

Queen Victoria, I thought. Queen Victoria…

Suddenly, I felt that python-like appendage betwixt my legs stiffen to attention.

Queen Victoria! Yes, I knew her alright. Her Majesty gave me the raging horn, I seemed to remember. I wanted to take her, and pound her with my Lord Palmerston, thrusting away at her magisterial mimsy until…

Lord Palmerston! Yes, of course! My penis had a name! Lord Palmerston! I clawed excitedly at my zipper once more, and unfurled my mammoth member. It was fully erect and throbbing with barely-contained excitement. Clearly I was in a state of considerable arousal bought about by the thought of humping the Queen.

I looked at my penis. I looked at the coin in my other hand. This seemed familiar, I thought. I am sure I have been in this position before…

“I say, friend! What on Earth are you doing?” cried the man, looking upon the spectacle unfolding before him with shock and disgust.

“I am not yet entirely certain,” I replied. And then, for whatever reason, I began to masturbate furiously. It seemed like something I should do.

I pounded my Palmerston for a few, short, blissful minutes, ne’er once taking my eyes off of the embossed portrait of Her Majesty. The building excitement proved to be too much for any sustained act, and I soon found myself spurting forth a glorious jet of my fantastical cock-foam, narrowly missing a young couple on the other side of the street.

From that point on, everything seemed much clearer, almost as if I had spunked out any last remnants of doubt and uncertainty through this splendid act of self-abuse.

I now knew exactly who I was.

“Thank you, sir!” I bellowed, leaping to my feet and shaking the horrified man’s hand. “You have helped me to find myself once more!”

“So..who…who are you?” stuttered the flustered fellow, as I gathered up my top hat from the floor.

“I am Lord Likely, aristocratic adventurer and gentle-man of action,” I replied firmly, as I placed the hat upon my noble head, showering myself with pennies in the process. “Now if you will excuse me, I must go and have a frightfully violent discussion with a bunch of homeless bastards.”

I strode off, leaving the man bewildered and confused, and with a rather sticky hand to boot.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: His Lordship seeks vengeance upon the vagrants!

Presenting gaup - another quality venture from the cads responsible for these Astonishing Adventures.

Likely Bags A Blogscar! Dear Valerie Morrison, writer of the marvellous ‘Thinking Out Loud‘ web-log, has chosen to honour his lordship with this fine, shiny award:

His lordship is truly grateful, and plant to spend many hours diligently polishing his little chap to celebrate. Many thanks indeed!

As his lordship attempts to penetrate each and every nook of the inter-net, we are proud to announce the unveiling of his latest undertaking – Lord Likely’s Fanatical Followers, a brand-new fan club for Lord Likely on the ever-popular Facebook web-site. Do feel free to join up, and declare your moist lust for his lordship!

The Further Scrawlings of Mr. A.D Fanton:
Digital Sickbag | New! gaup
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The Best Bit of the Internet (R.I.P)

Other places of interest:
The Clay Pigeon

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“Aye,” said Harry Flashman, leaning in to get a closer look at the Koh-i-Noor Diamond, now believed to be a fake. “I’ll say we have a mystery on our hands. This one is definitely not the real thing.”

“Now, Mr. Flashman, are you absolutely certain? I need you to be totally and utterly, one hundred per-cent sure of this, before we commence our investigations. I do so hate going into anything half-cocked.”

“Listen, your lordship,” Flashman replied, swivelling around to face me. “I’ll never forget the Koh-i-Noor diamond. You can’t easily forget such a gem when you’ve seen it passed around an orgy as a highly-expensive sex-toy¹.”

“That’s good enough for me, ” I mused, stroking my beautiful moustache in deep contemplation. “Sex-toy, you say? That rather piques my interest, I must say.”

“Oh, you should have seen it, your lordship! That diamond has been up more mimsies than our two todgers combined, I’d warrant.”

“Blimey!” I exclaimed. “So it is true what they say – diamonds really are a girl’s best friend.”

Flashman laughed. “Aye, milord! You could say that!”

“Right, enough of that! Let us focus on the mystery at hand!” I snapped. “Where should we begin our investigation, hmm? I wonder who…” I paused. “Did anyone place that diamond up their anus, perchance?”

“Every orifice, your lordship!”

“Jesus Christ, that makes me as randy as hell, I can tell you. Do you think I might be permitted to go and have a quick one off the wrist before we continue, to clear my head, as it were?”

Flashman looked at me like I was a crazy person, but nodded his acquiescence. I tipped my hat, and darted off around behind some nearby curtains to begin pounding my Palmerston.

“So, Mr. Flashman,” I shouted out from my secluded spanking spot. “Who do you think would crave the diamond so badly that they would steal it from under everyone’s nose at such a very public event as the Great Exhibition? And, more to the point, how in the name of Jupiter’s jizz-bags did they achieve such a feat?”

“Well, as I recall, the Indians weren’t too keen on giving the diamond up,” Flashman offered. “And the Afghans have always maintained that they have a legitimate claim on the damned stone, too. I wouldn’t be too surprised to find one of them lot behind this theft.”

“Yes!” I agreed. “Oh, yes. Ohhhhh, yes, that’s the trick. Ohhhh, yes!”

Flashman cleared his throat noisily. “I could go around and talk to some of the Afghan and Indian delegates at the exhibition,” he volunteered.

“Marvelous!” I shouted back. “Absolutely fucking-well marvelous! Oh yes!”

“Is that an agreement to my plan, your lordship, or are you just in the throes of sexual ecstasy?”

“Pardon?” I asked, as I exited my makeshift tossing-chamber, adjusting my trousers. “You shall have to repeat that, Mr. Flashman, as I am afraid I was not really paying attention.” I turned to my man-servant. “Here, Botter, dispose of this, will you?” I said, handing him a large wad of slightly-sopping, screwed-up tissues.

“Thank you, milord,” Botter grimaced, gingerly taking the crumpled-up bundle into his own hands.

“You are quite welcome,” I said. “Now, Mr. Flashman, as you were saying?…”

Before Flashman could repeat his articulations, we were once again interrupted by the arrival of the two police-officers who had been chasing us earlier, along with the wretched, bothersome old coot, the latter of whom pointed a boney finger in our direction, and shrieked at the top of his ghastly lungs.

“There they are! Apprehend them at once, officers!”

“Shit the bed,” I cried. “Will that twat-stick not let us be?”

“Halt, in the name of the law!” shouted one of the Bobbies, somewhat unnecessarily. I sighed wearily, and then snatched the pile of recently-used tissues from my man-servant’s hands, and threw them with not inconsiderable force at the approaching police-men. The spaff-filled sheets found their targets with ease, and landed with a satisfying squelching sound upon the police-men’s faces.

“Huzzah!” I cheered, as the officers ground to a halt whilst attempting to disentangle themselves from the recently-soiled rags. “Come, chaps, let us run like cockery!”

We took to our collective heels once more, and ran on through the crowded corridors of the Crystal Palace. “Get out of my cocking way, you slack-jawed bastards!” I roared, as we pushed through the teeming halls filled with doe-eyed proles, bustling about the place like cretinous cattle. “Vacate the area, lest I twat thee with my mighty cane!”

We continued to dash away at full pelt, until we were forced to a stop when we found ourselves at rather a dead end. There were no exits, no entrances, just walls of glass.

“Oh, excellent work, your lordship,” Flashman said, his words positively dripping with sarcasm. “Now we are cornered like foxes on the hunt! Bravo! Bravo indeed!“

“We’re trapped!” Botter added, unhelpfully. “There’s no way out!”

“Nonsense. There is always a way out!” I grinned, and then I hoisted my man-servant up by his collar and belt, and flung him at the great, glass windows. The panes shattered upon impact, and fell away.

“The thing about foxes, Mr. Flashman, is that they are incredibly cunning. Shall we?” I said, patting the dumb-struck fellow on the shoulder, then I made my way through the freshly-made exit.

“Good show,” Flashman said, and followed after me.

“Come on, Botter,” I said curtly as we stepped out into the gardens of the palace, upon which lay my simpering servant, in among some shards of glass. “There is no time to lie down. And do try and keep that sniveling down to a minimum, there’s a good chap.”

- Lord Likely.

Lord Likely’s Thought for the Day: In a bid to encourage greater discourse amongst his loyal readers, his lordship has decided to pose a question to one and all, which may be discussed in the comments section of his journals. Today’s poser is as follows:

As you have all witnessed, Lord Likely pounded his Palmerston in a booth inside the glorious Crystal Palace, during a massive public exhibition. But where is the strangest location wherein you have indulged in a spot of onanism? Ever cracked one out while enjoying the cricket? Touched yourself up at a tea-party? Fondled your fleshy friend at a fun-fair? Feel free to unburden yourself here, it shall be our little secret.

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December, 1856.

It was Christmas Eve, and I was in London Town, doing some last-minute Christmas shopping, for myself, of course. I had thus far treated myself to a solid-gold moustache comb, five bottles of whisky and a particularly pornographic pamphlet entitled ‘Shoeless Hussies’. All being told, it was proving to be a most successful expedition.

“Can you spare a penny, guv?” croaked an awful, wizened old creature as I passed by, engrossed in my copy of Shoeless Hussies.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“Can you spare a penny, guv?” repeated the beggar.

“Why yes, I most certainly could spare a penny. I shan’t, however, as you are much too ghastly and disgusting to waste even ha’penny on.” I said, scornfully.

“Oh, c’mon, guv! It’s Christmas after all! Surely you can spend a penny on a poor, crippled, homeless man?”

I stopped and slowly turned to face the repellent being, a smile creeping across my lordly lips.

“Ah, but of course,” I beamed, gently placing the packages upon the floor. “I should only be too happy to oblige.”

With that, I pulled down my trousers, unsheathed my proud Lord Palmerston and began to urinate most forcibly upon the homeless wretch.

“I must confess, it does indeed feel good to spend a penny on the unfortunate,” I beamed as I continued to piss upon the foul fellow. “Who could have guessed that charity would feel quite so rewarding?”

The putrid pauper spluttered and coughed as my wondrous waters cascaded upon his filthy face.

“Agh! Stop it, stop it, please! I ‘as my dignity, y’know!”

“Oh, be quiet,” I snapped as I continued my evacuations. “Some people would pay huge amounts of money to be pissed upon by a lord. You should consider yourself to be very fortunate indeed!”

With my bladder now emptied, I withdrew my Palmerston and pulled my trousers back up. “Merry Christmas!” I smiled, tipping my hat. The beggar grudgingly tipped his cap in return, my urine pouring off of it as he did so.

My charitable work thus concluded, I set off, whistling Christmas ditties as I went.

I was still laughing about the incident when I finally arrived back at the Likely Estate later that afternoon. I was in extremely high spirits when I entered my luxurious mansion, a fact that did not escape my bumbling twazzle-stick of a man-servant, Botter.

“You seem very chipper, milord,” he observed.

“And why shouldn’t I be? It is the season to be jolly, after all!” I beamed, handing him my hat and coat. “Plus, I did get to urinate all over a homeless man today. All in all, I had a rather good day!”

“I see,” said Botter.

“Ah, Botter!” I exclaimed, as I headed to the drinks cabinet in my living room. “Another year draws to a close. And what a year, eh? What a year. We’ve certainly had our share of adventures, haven’t we, hmmm? Killer prostitutes, female pirates, homosexual Indians, mad Russians, gunfights, parties…”

“…intercourse with Abraham Lincoln…” Botter added.

“Yes, intercourse with Abra-” I stopped. “Uh, let us never speak of that particular escapade ever again, lest you lose a bollock, Botter.”

“Fair enough, milord.”

“Good chap!” I cried, throwing myself onto my favourite chair. “Yes….we’ve certainly been through a lot this past year,” I mused, sipping from a recently-poured glass of whisky. “And do not think that I have overlooked your continued loyalty and support through it all, Botter. I have put a little something extra in this month’s pay-packet, as a token of my appreciation.”

I threw an envelope across the room to my man-servant, who tore it open with almost child-like fervour.

“Oh, milord!” He said as he opened the envelope. “I don’t know what to say…I…I…”

Botter stopped as he tipped out the contents into his hand. I watched as he pushed the few coins inside around his palm, somewhat despondently.

“Um, milord, I don’t mean to question you, but this seems like my normal salary…I…I thought you said there was something extra?…”

“And so there is!” I grinned, bounding across the room. “Look,” I said, leaning over Botter’s shoulder and pointing at his outstreched palm. “There.”

“Where?”

“By the newborn baby Jesus, are you blind, man? THERE.”

“Do you mean…this hair, milord?” Botter asked, carefully lifting out a curly black strand from between the coins.

“Exactly!” I cried. “Isn’t it a beauty, Botter? That, my good fellow, is one of my very own pubic hairs. Treasure it well, Botter. Treasure it well!”

“Oh. Uh, thank you, milord.” Botter mumbled.

“Not at all, Botter, not at all! It is the least I could do.”

“I can’t argue with that,” grumbled my man-servant, glumly.

“Well, I’m off to bed now, Botter. I want to be up bright and early in the morning, in order to get in a full day’s drinking. Goodnight!”

With that I ascended the staircase, leaving Botter to enjoy his most magnificent of gifts.

I was enjoying a rather erotic dream involving Queen Victoria, my todger, a small Persian fellow and a large vat of custard when I was rudely roused from my slumber by a noise emitting from outside my chamber door. I silently cursed the unseen offender, and picking up a nearby candle, I ventured to the door to confront the bounder responsible.

“Botter,” I said sternly. “If that is you scratching at my door, I swear I shall batter your baubles.”

I was about to turn the door-handle, when suddenly something swooped right through the wood and into my room.

“Shit on a cake!” I cried. “What in the name of the Virgin Mary’s untouched vadge is going on?”

“Looooord Liiiikely…” wailed a voice, as a ghostly white form appeared before my eyes. “Looooord Liiiiikely….“

“Yes, yes,” I snapped. “That is I. What in the blue-blazes do you want, confound it?”

The ghostly form slowly began to assume the shape of a female, and not an unattractive one at that. She seemed to resemble an angel or a fairy, as she sported a large pair of wings upon her back, and a large pair of tits on her front.

“Loooord Liiiikely…” the ghoul continued. “You are a terrible man, Lord Likely, and you have…AN ASTONISHINGLY IMPRESSIVE ERECTION.”

“Pardon?” I said. The apparition pointed at my groin, where Lord Palmerston was standing proud, most definitely wide-awake. “Oh yes, so I do,” I concurred.

“That…is huge,” observed the female phantom, running a spectral finger across her lifeless lips. “I mean, just enormous.”

“Yes, I know.”

“It…I…good heavens!” the ghost continued, fanning her face with her hand.

“I do not believe we’ve been properly introduced,” I said. “I’m Lord Likely, a fact you seem to already know…and you are?…”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I’m Past. Uh, the ghost. The Ghost of Christmas Past,” replied the flustered phantasm.

“Charmed,” I said. “And what can I do for you, my dear?”

“Well,” replied the spirit, her gaze not moving from my tumescent todger. “I was…I was supposed to chastise you for being a wicked man…”

“Oh really?” I whispered, moving nearer to the angelic apparition. “You have not given me much opportunity to be wicked, yet…”

“No…no, really, listen,” stuttered the spirit. “I am supposed to warn you that if you do not change your horrid ways…”

“Yes?” I said, edging closer, my fully-aroused penis almost touching the ghoul.

“Then…”

“Yes?”

“Then…oh, forget it!” cried the exasperated entity. “I do not want you to change one bit, Lord Likely. I want you to be wicked. I want you to be wicked with ME, right NOW!” she panted, throwing me back onto my bed using her supernatural powers. Naturally, I was only too happy to oblige, and so I set about channeling the spirit all through the night.

I cannot quite recall the actual physics of our love-making, nor how I was able to engage in intercourse with a ghost. I do recall that she was a lively little minx in the sack, far more lively than some of the living ladies I have humped in my time, I can tell you. I do faintly remember grabbing onto her wings at one point, whilst roughly taking her from behind, while she moaned and wailed like…well, like a ghost. A ghost getting the pumping of her after-life.

I awoke with a start the next morning, as the sound of church bells in the distance heralded the beginning of Christmas Day. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and glanced across at the other side of my bed. It was empty, practically undisturbed from the night before. Had my erotic exertions with the Ghost of Christmas Past all been a figment of my fevered imagination, I wondered.

I moved to get up out of the bed, when I felt something sticky near my groin. I looked down, and saw a small pool of some gloopy, gooey substance. Ectoplasm!, I thought. Proof indeed that I had not dreamt up the entire scenario. I really had fucked a phantom! Oh, joy of joys!

However, on closer inspection, it transpired that the sticky substance was simply my own exalted ejaculate, and not ectoplasm as I had first assumed. I sighed.

Ah well. Whatever the truth behind my supernatural encounter, it was now Christmas Day, and as I listened to a chorus of carol-singers gently singing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem‘, I made a vow to myself. I made a vow to change.

Specifically, I made a vow to change my pants, for they were soaked through with my spaff. After that, I resolved to throw my own shit down upon those infernal carol-singers, and then go and deliver a festive beating to Botter.

I do so love this time of year.

Merry Christmas, dear readers, and Lord bless you, every one.

– Lord Likely.

Post-script: if you are wondering what became of Mr. Silas Surprise and The Curious Case of the Conjuring Calamity, then simply know this: I beat seven shades of effluence out of that magical bastard, and saved the day again. Well, what else did you expect?

Attention! His lordship is one of the many rogues featured in the marvelous new publication, Revealing the Human Behind the Avatar – learn more about it here!

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Lance took my unconscious form back down to Camp Camp, where I was immediately taken in by the Red Rump Tribe and given the very best medical aid they had to offer. I do not recall much of this part of my adventure, as I flitted in and out of consciousness, although I do recall being tended to by Titty-Titty, the tribe’s only female. On a fair few occasions I opened my eyes, to find her leant over me, wiping my brow or redressing my wounds, her ample bosom brushing against my face and causing my Lord Palmerston to twitch in excitement. I have many happy memories of those mammaries, I can tell you.

As Titty-Titty nursed me back to health over the days, we got to talking and I found her to be a most charming, if slightly bashful creature. That is, until the topic of sexual intercourse reared it’s massive, purple head. Being the only female in a camp full of homosexual Indians had clearly taken it’s toll on poor Titty-Titty, and her eyes lit up with fervent excitement as I began to press upon the subject, detailing some of my many sexual conquests of the past. When I had finished talking, she leapt onto the bed and grabbed my hand, pressing it to her chest.

“Do me, your lordship!” she blurted, excitedly. I recalled Chief Spurting Cock‘s words about how Titty-Titty was considered sacred among the tribe, as the would-be mother of the Indians’ children, but as I beheld Titty-Titty’s glorious knockers, heaving with lustful passion, I decided it would be far more sacrilegious to let this girl go un-pumped.

I smiled, and flung back the bedsheets.

“Thank you, your lordship, for saving our tribe form those awful beasts,” said Chief Spurting Cock, shaking my hand with evident glee as I prepared to depart the camp and head back to England. “And thank you too,” he added, addressing my crotch.

“Don’t mention it,” I said, modestly.

“Anything we can do in return, just let us know,” the Chief continued. “We could bathe your penis for you, if you like,” he added, hopefully. “With our mouths.”

“That is a most generous offer,” I said. “But I must decline. My man-servant and I must return home, now. I have been away from the Likely Estate for much too long, and I greatly desire to be back among my expensive furnishings and extensive collection of pornography.”

“Suit yourself,” Spurting Cock replied. “The offer is open-ended.”

“Believe me, I have no compulsion to go anywhere near your open-end,” I retorted, dryly. “You can let go of my hand now, Chief.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Spurting Cock exclaimed, releasing my lordly appendage from his grip.

“Thank you,” I smiled, then turned to my brother, Lance. “It has been a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lance. Let us hope that any future family reunions pass off a lot more peacefully.”

“I hear that,” Lance grinned.

“For a filthy outlaw with a weakness for penetrating the backsides of farm animals, you are a good man, Lance. I wish you well with your future endeavours, whatever they may be.”

“Well, I’ll probably go an’ bury Ludlow, first,” Lance drawled. “He’s startin’ to stink a bit, an’ vultures have started to peck bits off of him.”

“That would be a good move, certainly.”

“Then I’m thinkin’ I might marry my horse, Jezebel, an’ make an honest mare outta her.”

“That…would be an interesting move,” I smiled.

“Hey, d’ya think it’s true what Ludlow says about dad? That he’s still alive?”

“It would not surprise me one bit,” I answered. “And if he is, I shall certainly find him.”

“Well, if you do, can you do me a favour?”

“What would that be?”

“Kick the ol’ bastard in the nuts for me,” Lance growled.

“I will, brother,” I rested a friendly hand upon Lance’s shoulder. “Right in the love-spuds.”

This touching moment of brotherly bonding was suddenly rudely interrupted by one of the braves from the Red Rump tribe running, screaming from a tent. It was Sucking Pole, and his face was scarlet with rage. I watched in baffled befuddlement as he exchanged some furious words in his native tongue, with Chief Spurting Cock.

“What in the name of the devil’s anus is going on here?” I asked.

“Beats me,” Lance shrugged his shoulders.

“I think something has gone awry with the fornication ceremony,” Botter replied, despite no-one asking him.

“Pardon?”

“I have managed to pick up a little of the tribe’s language while staying here, your lordship.” Botter explained, as he watched the unfolding drama. “Yes, I think Sucking Pole attempted to impregnate Miss Titty-Titty, but claims that she has been defiled.”

“Ah.” I gulped, the colour draining from my cheeks. “They…they can tell that, can they?”

“It seems that they can when the man in question leaves his ejaculate all over the woman’s chest,” Botter said.

“Ah. Botter, prepare the horses, I fear we may have to leave rather sooner than we had planned,” I cried, as a sea of angry Indian faces turned to face me. “In fact, forget the horses, and run like fuckery!”

With that, Botter and I sprinted from the campsite, and into the sunset, pursued by a mob of angry tribesmen eager to tear my wondrous self a new arsehole.

All in all, it had been quite an adventure.

Goodnight, and God Bless America. And God Help Me.

- Lord Likely.

His Lordship will return on Hallowe’en, with a tale of terror so terrifying you may well shit your trousers. In the meantime, his lordship requests – nay, DEMANDS – that you visit the following websites for more entertainment:

Lord Likely’s Audio Adventures: his lordship reads poetry, performs readings from his journals and even indulges in some song. WARNING: may be too erotically charged for some to handle.

Lord Likely: Stripped Nude: the companion piece to the Astonishing Adventures, taking a behind the scenes look at the making of these frankly fantastic journals.

Lord Likely Interviewed: Mr. Chris from the web-log Nothing to See Here interviews Lord Likely, revealing his lordship’s hatred for the French, and discovering how one should practice safe sex if one is prone to violently explosive orgasms.

Lord Likely Filmed: As part of his MyBlogLog Sunday initiative, Mr. Ed teamed up with Mr. OS9user to produce a short film highlighting certain web-logs, including this very one you are reading right now. Click here to witness the resulting piece of remarkable video footage!

Lord Likely’s Lavish Lounge: If you are a member of the Blog Catalog community, you can now socialize with his lordship in his own opulent group, where the wine flows freely and intercourse is always on the cards. If you are not a member, join up now, else you shall miss out on all this excellence.

humor-blogs.com: For further humourous web-logs (some of which are almost approach these journals in terms of excellence), visit this fine blog directory.

Fuel My Blog: As ever, one may ‘fuel’ his lordship’s web-log by clicking on this link. NOW!

Or, simply read the entire Astonishing American Adventure from the start.

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“Bollocks,” I exclaimed, as Doctor Corkscrews continued to advance upon me, seemingly hell-bent on running me through with his two bottle-opening devices.

“Do not try to resist, yer lordship,” he growled, “it’ll only hurt for a while…heh, heh, heh.”

Doctor Corkscrews, as drawn by my good self, using my finest inks.

“You shan’t get away with this, you blaggard,” I cried.

“Why not, may I ask? It seems I rather have the upper-hand, after all. Here I am, with two corkscrews that I fully intend to plunge into your stupid, fat throat…and you? You are weaponless, yer lordship. Or had you forgotten?”

“Au contraire, my dear doctor,” I replied coolly. “I think you will find that I have a very powerful weapon right here in my hand.”

The doctor looked down, and beheld my mighty Lord Palmerston, still throbbing away madly. I had been caught in the vinegar strokes when the doctor had intruded upon my ejaculatory evacuations, and my fully-loaded flesh cannon was more than ready to burst forth with my lordly juices.

“Ready or not,” I said, giving my proud member a couple more strokes, “here I COME!”

With that, my Lord Palmerston finally let issue an almighty stream of my mighty-man batter, which flew across the room and right into the hapless doctor’s eyes. He screamed, and put his hands up to his face in horror, dropping his corkscrews as he did so. Seeing my chance, I leapt off the toilet seat and grabbed the murderous medic, and then I forced his head down into the lavatory bowl. He thrashed about wildly for a while, then his body went limp as he finally expired.

“It is terrible to see such a promising career go down the toilet,” I wise-cracked, making a mental note to jot that particular gem down for future posterity. At that point, a young lad entered the bathroom.

“I heard a ruckus, sir, so I thought I’d just…oh!” he said, as he noticed the late doctor’s form bent over the toilet seat, with me stood behind him, carefully pulling my trousers back up. “Oh, I see. Terribly sorry to intrude, sirs.” Before I had a chance to explain that I was not indulging in a spot of buggery with the doctor, the young man had vanished. I sighed.

As I cleaned up, I began to wonder who on earth this Doctor Corkscrews was – or had been – and why he had wanted to kill me. Was he just a lone lunatic, or was there someone else, someone who may well have hired the doctor to terminate me? In short, what in the name of Greek sodomy was going on here?

The questions continued to run through my head as I made my way back to my luxurious cabin, and so distracted was I, that I failed to notice that the door to my room was unlocked, and left ajar. I casually strode in, still ruminating heavily on the evening’s events, when I suddenly realised that something was awfully amiss. I looked back at the door, then back into the room and noticed it was a terrible mess, with my luggage strewn about haphazardly all over the place, drawers emptied, glasses smashed.

“BOTTER!” I called, loudly. “What the cock is going on here? Come here and clean this mess up at once, or heaven help me, I shall beat you until your arse is nothing more than a bloody stump.”

There was an eerie silence. Usually, my threats of outright physical violence terrify Botter into action, but this time he did not come running. I began to get an all-too familiar feeling of dread, as I contemplated the facts.

Botter, it seemed, had been kid-napped, which was mightily inconvenient. I would no doubt have to go and rescue the little toad, and when I had done so, I would be sure to dock his pay for wasting my precious time.

- Lord Likely.

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