BEING A RICH and ridiculously wealthy member of the aristocracy, I myself ne’er need worry about money again, or if I do it is merely to worry about where I shall keep it all, or whether or not a vagrant will try and thieve it from me. Otherwise, my financial concerns are next to non-existent.

The same, however, cannot be said for my wretched scribe Mr. A.D Fanton, who is currently so overladen with financial concerns that I fear his weak shoulders shall snap clean off.

Having been made unemployed about six weeks ago (through no fault of his own, staggeringly enough), my scribe has been enduring great difficulty in not only securing further employment (well, he IS wretched, after all), but also in securing so much as one, single penny from Her Majesty’s government with which to feed and house himself while searching for suitable work.

The bilge-headed bureaucratic bastards have delayed his progress at ev’ry turn, through woeful ignorance or downright incompetence (such as losing a form my wordsmith filled out right in front of their accursed eyes). Suffice to say, this has left Mr. Fanton in some decidedly dire straits, ever-hungry and nervously eyeing up the front door for fear of bailiffs smashing through it and taking his worldly possessions (one hat, and a cup), before hurling him out into the street like the rubbish he is. And so, uncertainty and woe are now his only bedfellows – not that he has e’er attracted anyone else into his filthy, grime-encrusted pit.

Anyway: the upshot of it all is that Mr. Fanton has come to realise that the only good thing in his miserable existence is this very web-site you now read, which he works upon with all the dogged determination of a determined dog, bringing thrilling adventure and exhilarating mysteries to your eyeballs every week.

This he does for the princely sum of no pence, save the odd contribution from generous donators (of whom we are truly grateful). However, in hard times such as these, Mr. Fanton is forced to – once again – come top-hat-in-hand, and beg for your generosity, for without it he simply cannot progress. Largely because his inter-net connection shall probably be shut off at any moment, but I digress.

So, how may you be of assistance?

1. Donate! If Mr. Fanton’s daubings and scribblings have at all amused you (which they jolly well should do, seeing as how they’re sourced from my EXCELLENT diaries), then mayhaps you shall consider throwing a shilling or two into the topper. Or perhaps a shilling per smile, one pound per chuckle, ten guineas for a belly-laugh, and a sack of gold for each instance of overwhelming, trouser-soiling merriment.

You may donate via the PayChum button coming up…any…moment..NOW.

Anything you can spare shall be gratefully and eagerly appreciated, friends. Ideally, we’d like to ensure Mr. Fanton can stay in his actual home, and possibly eat as well, a rare luxury indeed! (Which, as frivolous as it sounds, is actually depressingly true). We both are continually astonished by how our loyal readers lend their incredible when crisis looms it’s ugly, wart-spotted face, and such generosity is never taken for granted.

As such, all those kind of enough to toss a coin shall be invited to gain entrance to my magnificent Member’s Lounge, wherein you shall find exclusive, hitherto unseen, Likely treasures, as well as upcoming give-aways and other INCREDIBLE wonders! If you cannot spare any cash (I know the economic climate is ‘a bit buggery’, as economists term it), then do not fear, I shall think no less of you!

2. Hire-A-Fanton! As well as spreading the word (through the Twittering device or whatnot), perhaps you might know of someone who is looking to hire a cartoonist or writer, or perhaps you yourself require such services? Mr. Fanton can do both (just about), and is most keen to begin any future, paying commission! Just email me at hislordship@lordlikely.com and I shall put you in touch with the cove!

3. Advertise! If you are interested in getting a Victorian-themed advertisement made for your web-site or business, to be proudly displayed in these very journals, or are intrigued by the notion of somehow sponsoring our endeavours, please do contact me through electrical letter, and let us discuss!

4. Buy Clothing! And finally, Mr. Fanton has a range of t-shaped shirts on sale, some of which feature ME, so feel quite free to purchase many by visiting his little store, Mr. Fanton At Redbubble.

And, there we have it. If you can help my stinking scribe out of this sticky wicket, then we both shall be truly, truly humbled and thankful.

And then, if he is able to successfully traverse this awful bump in the road, then perhaps Mr. Fanton will be free to toil away on the myriad exciting Likely-based projects he has in the works all that much quicker!…

Many fully-engorged thanks, and toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely.

We now return you to the Astonishing Adventure in progress.

WELL HUZZAH! ‘Tis time to hang out the bunting, crack open the champage, and set fire to an urchin in celebration – my beloved journals have been relocated!

Hip, hip, hoo-bloody-ray!

Regular readers will recall that I had somehow misplaced my beloved journals – those fine diaries into which I chronicle my astonishing adventures and exhilarating exploits – whilst in the midst of transcribing one such escapade for the collective enjoyment of the entire globe.

Well, fear not, ladies and gentlemen, for the journals have now resurfaced, and thus humanity need not be deprived of the finest story-telling e’er read by man, woman or particularly literate beast.

Huzzah, I say again.

But where were the journals, you may be wondering? And if you aren’t wondering that at all, then what in the name of blue blazes is wrong with you? I fear you may have suffered a head trauma, rendering you an imbecile.

Upon losing said diaries, I turned to you – my loyal followers – for assistance. Naturally, you all leapt to my aid, scouring the corners of the earth in search of my treasured journals, seeking high and low in every nook and cranny, and every crook and nanny.

The first lead came from Mr. Jeffman, who suggested the books may have been lurking under my top-hat. Upon closer inspection, however, it transpired that they were not there, although I did find several pounds in change, a half-eaten sandwich and a copy of Strumpets and Trumpets magazine – a most delightful read if e’er I saw one.

Mr. Augusto hinted that he had found in underneath my dear friend Dorothy Mount-Worthy’s dress, but after a thorough search I turned up nothing, save for Ms. Mount-Worthy’s knickers, which subsequently came down and…well, let us just say she has nothing hidden about or indeed inside her gorgeous form.

Ms. Tiggy thought that I might have lost it in Penge. A quick telegram to Penge revealed that the place was still as bum-achingly dull as ever, so clearly my journals had not turned up and roused the spirits of its inhabitants, else there would no doubt have been a frenzy of wild boozing and wilder intercourse on the streets.

Mr. Scaryduck made the bizarre claim that I had left it up a goat, but his promise of pictures to follow was never realised. I can only imagine that he had become so lust-filled whilst taking the photographs that he spent the rest of the time humping the goat, and it would not surprise me at all if he and the goat were now married, with kids.

Mr. Wood offered the possibility that I may have lost the journals in a card game. I have, as you will recall, once lost my entire house in such a fashion, but since then I have learnt my lesson and now only gamble things of no use to me (e.g my trousers, my man-servant). So once again I came up blank.

Sir Static attempted the old blackmail ruse upon me, by claiming he had the journals and would return them for ten thousand pounds. Naturally, I saw through his caper, and so by about…now, Sir Static should be falling ten thousand feet, after I arranged to have him hurled off a dirigible for daring to tangle with this particular aristocrat.

Lady Catherine came up with a most intriguing proposition, that my journals may have been taken from me and used to form the basis of a new religion. The suggestion may have proven to be incorrect, but it is still an excellent idea, which should be enacted upon IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner.

But then, a breakthrough! The ever-enchanting Lady Softbreath helped jog my memory, by sending me this marvellous missive:

Kind Sir;

Far be it from me to suggest that your memory is failing, but I hasten to remind you that the aforementioned diary was not, in point of fact, lost at all.

It remains precisely where you left it, and however it might disturb me that your memory of the leaving is not as sharp as mine, I will make an attempt to clear what is quite obviously a muddy recollection on your part. Being a lady, please be assured that I will not divulge those things about the evening that might be unsavory to those whose eyes pass over this missive.

After a most delightful evening spent debauching each other, you propped up a device – which has been known to give me quite a lot of pleasure – proudly atop the diary. Upon arranging it just so, you declared to me that the things that gave me the most glee should be kept together in a place of honor near my bedside. The diary to be kept, of course, as a reminder of the decadent evening passed in your company.

It would seem that it was not I that required such a reminder, your Lordship. As such, I shall endeavour to return the diary by post at my earliest convenience.

It will be returned to you inside your missing left sock.

Ever yours,
Lady Softbreath
So THAT is where I left it! Of course! Sometimes it is rather difficult to keep track of who’s bed I have been in, so these things can naturally get quite confusing and muddled.

Suffice to say, I shall now journey to Lady Softbreath’s abode, to reclaim my journals and deliver her the grand prize of a damned good pounding.

All is well that ends well, and I thank you all most fervently for helping me locate my missing diaries. Truly, each and every one of you is a credit to the human race!

I shall return Monday, when I will no doubt have lost a fair amount of my seminal fluid, but gained a journal. And having done so, I shall immediately set about recommencing the transcription of my latest astonishing adventure – The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle!

Until then,

Toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely.

February 27th, 1858.

YES, dear readers, it is true – I need YOU! For to-day is truly an historic day, for it was on this very day, two short years ago, that I began to chronicle my Astonishing Adventures!And such a momentous occasion cannot possibly go by unheeded, which is why I need you to come and join me in a massive, spectacular two-week celebration of my continued excellence and sheer, bloody incredibility.

Since February the 27th, 1856, and over the course of some two-hundred and twenty thrill-packed entries, I have continued to dazzle, entertain and arouse my many magnificent readers. I have done battle with killer prostitutes; travelled to the United States of America and come face-to-face with unruly, homosexual savages; tackled randy beasts; defeated maniacal mad-men and beaten off many a cad and a bounder. (No, not like that, you swine).

After so long being so ruddy fabulous, I recently decided I needed a change of scenery to refresh my weary bones (being so relentlessly wonderful is extremely tiring work, you know), hence the decision to blow up the Likely Estate (I did not want it falling into the hands of ruffians or – urgh – commoners) and my relocation to my glorious new abode, here at Likely Towers -  a glorious new residence which thrusts into the sky, a powerful erection making love to the Heavens.

Of course, transporting all of my priceless possessions was hard work, hence why I employed the use of an elephant to help me move my things to my new home. My extensive collection of pornography itself took two whole days to rehouse, but it was well worth the effort. I simply cannot be without my vast supply of smut, you know.

Now I am settled in, I am ready to throw the mother, father and great uncle of all parties, to which you are all duly invited, of course.

Over the next two weeks, I shall be playing host to some breath-taking tributes to my stupendous self, from artists and writers of great repute. Of course, if any of my loyal follwers also wish to produce such a work – maybe a poem detailing my many great achievements, or an erotic portrait, or a song about how excellent I am, then do feel free, and I shall share it with the masses over the next fortnight.

Send such homages to hislordship@lordlikely.com

But for now, let us eat, drink and be naked – for it is a time of celebration and great cheer.

Bottoms up!

- Lord Likely.

(Post-Script: I also wish to make it clear that despite Inspector Spunkleford’s asertions, I did not have intercourse with his wife. His sister, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether).

(Post-Post-Script: also celebrating today is dear Meilin Miranda, who’s own scintillating serial, ‘An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom‘, is celebrating one year of greatness! Congratulations, m’dear!)

Good day, dear readers!

Behold a bold new era for my (frankly incredible) journals, as Mr. Isambard Kingdom Brunel has just completed his renovation of my diaries, resulting in the cock-stiffening, mimsy-moistening new look you are currently witnessing before your doubtlessly stunned eyeballs.

Mr. Brunel did take a day longer than I had hoped, but he cannot really be blamed. I did wind up treating him to a few drinks on Monday evening, which led to a few dozen drinks, which in turn led to a twelve-hour stay in the local hospital for the poor chap. Some people really cannot hold their booze, you know.

Luckily, Mr. Brunel is rather more adept at holding a hammer, and his work upon my journals is looking very nice indeed, even if I do say so myself. Which I do. Excitingly, I am told there are a few more changes to come, which has me pounding my Palmerston in erotic anticipation, frankly.

I do hope that you – my dear, darling and deliriously gorgeous readers – approve of the changes as well. Let me know by sending my some sort of communication, and I shall take the time to respond to you all. Unless your comment is negative, in which case I may just wipe my arse upon it and hurl it into a fire. (The comment, that is, not my arse.)

Many thanks to you all for bearing with us through these difficult – but knee-tremblingly exciting – times.

Toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: More thrilling escapades and adventures!

humor-blogs.com wishes it could look this good.

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Oh, dear diary! Today is a special day indeed, for it heralds the one year anniversary of our joyous union!

Can it really be twelve months since I first opened you up, took my quill firmly in my hand and thrust it betwixt your soft, creamy pages, and filled you with my wondrous words and my powerful punctuation?

I am very pleased and more than slightly surprised to reach the one year mark. I rarely manage to keep anything up for an entire year (except back in 1845, when I maintained an erection for a whole three hundred and sixty-five days). I usually find myself very easily distracted, and quickly bored, which explains why most of my relationships have been fleeting and temporary, amounting to little more than a few hours of exquisite, passionate, and incredibly sweaty love-making.

Truly, then, the fact that I have stuck at this journal writing lark is something worth celebrating,
and worth celebrating in the way I know best – by getting blind, roaring drunk, and hopefully penetrating a few maids along the way.

I am going to party like ’twas 1899.

“Botter!” I cried as I strode into the dining-room, where Botter was busily cleaning up a large pile of vomit. “Good heavens, man! What has happened here?”

“Don’t you remember, milord?” Botter replied, scooping up some chunks of chundered chow into a bucket. “You got rather drunk last night.”

“I did?” I said, stroking my moustache in deep contemplation.

“Yes, milord. You said you wanted to celebrate the fact that it was a Saturday, and then you drank heavily into the night, threw up here, stripped naked and ran out into the garden, loudly proclaiming that you were the ‘hanging judge’. I found you later asleep under a cow.”

“Well,” I said. “Saturdays are really rather splendid. But not as splendid as to-day, Botter – for to-day I am celebrating the one year anniversary of the commencement of my journals!”

“Congratulations, milord,” Botter replied, depositing more vomit into his bucket.

“Thank you, Botter. I have decided to mark the occasion by throwing one of my massive balls.”

“Throwing one of your massive balls at whom, milord?”

“Ah, I see the mistake you have made there, Botter. I am referring to holding a big party, and not hurling one of my generously-sized testicles at an individual. You blithering twat.”

“Oh.”

“I shall leave the arrangements in your capable, puke-caked hands, Botter. I trust you can cope with that?”

“Certainly, milord, however there is a slight problem,” Botter replied.

“Problem? Problem? Of what problem do you speak, you grubby little shit-stain?”

“Well, after your drunken antics last night, I am afraid to report that…well, you should probably like to sit down for this, milord.”

“Nonsense! I can take it standing up, as the whore said to the bishop.”

“Well, um…you know…erm… ” Botter babbled.

“Jesus Cocking Christ! Just give it to me straight, man!” I yelled. “Which is also what the whore said to the bishop, now I think about it.”

“Alright, milord, alright. I am afraid to report that…we are entirely out of booze!“

My eyes widened in horror.

“Bollocks!” I cried. “This is serious.”

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: will Lord Likely be able to procure more alcohol for his magnificent ball? Or will he be forced to celebrate his anniversary stone-cold sober?

His lordship would like to take this opportunity to give his hardened, fully-engorged thanks to his loyal readers, for their continued support over the past year. His lordship is truly grateful, and wished that he could penetrate each and every one of you in return. Cheers!

Stop the Presses! The deliciously delectable Diane of the web-log Much of Muchness, has awarded his lordship a wondrous award to mark the occasion of her own one year blogiversary. Many thanks, m’dear – and happy blog birthday to you! Huzzah!

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! The second issue hits the virtual newsstands tomorrow!

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November 5th, 1856.

Remember, remember the fifth of November. Not because of that awful terrorist bastard Guy Fawkes, and his preposterous plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament. No, dear readers, the real reason to remember this historic day is that it is the very day that I, Lord Likely, celebrate my one-hundredth journal entry! Hurrah, and indeed, huzzah!

Who would have imagined that when I set out to transcribe my thrilling adventures in my trusted journals all those months ago, that I would still be writing them one-hundred entries later?

Well, I would have imagined it, of course, as I am cocking-well brilliant.

Naturally, to celebrate such a milestone I set about cracking open a fresh bottle of champagne – quite literally, infact, as Botter did a terrible job of opening the bottle himself, leaving me with little recourse but to smash the bottle open upon his wretched skull. Of course, he then whined and moaned and carried on about needing ‘several stitches’ to his head, but I was not going to let a bleeding man-servant ruin my celebrations, and so I carried on drinking while he passed out under the table in a pool of his own scarlet.

Happy times!

Feeling in such a reflective and celebratory mood, I thought I would re-read my journals and select my favourite moments. A surprising amount of these choice cuts seem to revolve around me injuring someone, which is why I refer to them as:

Horses, in which I give details about my collection of horses. In lesser hands, this would have been a dull entry, but I make it fascinating and fantastic, as is my way.

Aches and Pains, in which I list some of the injuries I have suffered whilst trying to remain so gloriously composed and ravishing.

Brawls I Have Known, where I recount some of my more violent sojourns to various drinking establishments around the country.

Fight to the End, in which I tackle a small army of bloodthirsty prostitutes.

The Astonishing Adventures of Lady Likely, where I recall some of the escapades of my dear mother, the errant Lady Likely.

Things I Have Stabbed, says it all, really.

Things I Have Stabbed – Part Two, also says it all, really.

Ladies I Have Loved and Lost, in which I recall a small selection of the many sexual conquests of my past.

Shopping Habits of a Lord, whereby I list some of the fine establishments I frequent when shopping.

A Wanted Man, in which I become a fugitive from the law, and have my handsome face plastered all over ‘Wanted’ posters across London Town.

Banquet and Wild, wherein I attend a party thrown in my honour, only to be forcibly ejected from said party not long after it has commenced.

Dealing with Aristocratic Anger, in which I demonstrate exactly what to expect should you find yourself disagreeing with my lordly self.

A Tidal Wave of Filth, wherein plans for my gloriously decadent Porn Library are exposed to the world.

All Rise for Her Majesty, in which I reveal my barely-concealed lust for the monarch, Queen Victoria. God Save Her!

The Likely Family Tree, in which I give a little bit of background on the Likely family.

Pounding the Palmerston, wherein I have a wank, or at least try to.

Loopy Lisa, in which I nearly wind up getting wed to something that closely resembles a man.

Lord Likely’s Schooldays, in which I recall some of my scholastic memories, some of which almost got me expelled.

If You Are Going to Party Then Party Hard, wherein I have one hell of a birthday party, and wind up many miles from home.

Quite a fine selection of wondrous writings from my incalculably incredible self there, I am sure you will agree. And I am sure you will not hesitate to join me in proposing a toast to the next one-hundred entries, and many more astonishing adventures. Especially as the booze is on me!

CHEERS!

- Lord Likely.

The Likely Centenary will continue apace for the rest of the week, where lucky readers can expect to bear witness to Lord Likely’s Birthday Honours, an all-new Likely Portrait, more recollections of his lordship’s schooldays and more besides. Chin-chin!

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I am Professor Julian Syngen-Smythe, editor of these here astonishing journals that you have been enjoying. No, there’s no need to thank me!

I have crawled out of my dusty corner of the internet, at http://lordlikelystrippednude.blogspot.com, for a rare public appearance to tell you some things, and some other things. Listen carefully now!

Firstly, those of you expecting another thrilling chapter from the pen of Lord Likely, do not despair! Being the generous type, and eager to share the historical riches that are Lord Likely’s journals, I have kindly decided to donate today’s entry to the official blog of fuelmyblog, a fine blogging network dedicated to bringing the best blogs to the world’s attention. So, if you wish to read Likely’s latest jottings, head over there and behold Lord Likely’s Guide to Servants! It’s another outstanding piece of writing, I assure you.

Secondly, the Syngen-Smythes are on the move, relocating to a new house in the small village of Spaffton-Upon-Grime, a lovely rural location which should prove ideal for my historical writings. So, from now until early June, I may not be able to update Likely’s journals as often as I would like. I apologise for this in advance, and hope you will not all rise up and threaten to kill me. Normal, uninterrupted service should resume in a couple of weeks, but in the meantime I shall do my very best to sate your collective lusts for all things Likely!

A big thank you to everyone who has dropped by in these first three months, I truly appreciate your support and your kind words. I am pleased that you are finding as much joy in these fascinating old journals as I have. The overwhelmingly positive response has left me with a lump in my throat, and my trousers.

Anyway, that is enough waffling from this old fool. I shall bid you farewell for now, and leave you with this tantalising taste of the treat to come when we return to regular service. How does this sound?…

Good bye!

- Professor Julian Syngen-Smythe, editor of The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, Lord Likely: Stripped Nude, and The Wild World of Lightnin’ Lance Liklely.

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