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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Ignoring Lance’s protestations, I climbed up the remainder of Mount Penis, with lightning flashing about me, and torrential rain lashing at my face as I struggled up the rocks. I recall thinking that if they ever found a way of capturing moving images onto some sort of film, that this particular moment would make for a particularly exciting and dramatic moment, possibly accentuated by a stirring orchestral score.

As I continued my ascent, my deep, unbridled hatred for Captain Huw Anchor grew and grew. Not only had he killed my poor, dear, half-brother Ludlow, but to cap it all Anchor had an incredibly ravishing wife with fine breasts, of whom I thought he was most undeserving. By the time I reached the summit of Mount Penis, I was shaking with furious rage.

Anchor was standing atop the mount, nursing his wounded arm and recently shot leg. He saw me clamber onto the peak, and smiled his sickeningly smug smile.

“Ah-hah, your lordship!” he smirked. “So glad you could join me. You know, it is funny, is it not, how – “

I was in no mood for a tedious, villainous soliloquy, so I simply marched up to the swine and clouted him firmly in the face. Anchor reeled back in shock.

“You bastard!” he cried, lunging forward at me. I blocked his attack, and delivered another blow to his gut, causing the bounder to double up in pain.

“I really do not care for you very much at all,” I said, standing over my fallen foe. “Indeed, it would not be an understatement to say that I find you to be rather awful.”

“Fu-fuck you, Likely,” hissed Anchor, then he drew his pistol out from his pocket, and fired at me. I felt my shoulder explode with pain, bringing me to my knees instantly. My head began to swim, and my vision blurred. Before I could compose myself, Anchor was upon me, striking me in the face and kicking me about the stomach. Blood filled my mouth, fine-tasting, full-bodied, rich, noble blood, but still my blood nonetheless, which was most unacceptable.

“There is almost something deeply, cosmically ironic about you dying here, atop a giant, penis-shaped mountain, don’t you think?” sneered Anchor, leaning over my crumpled form, pointing his gun at me.

“I…I would say it is more unfortunate th-than ironic,” I whispered. “I fuh-find greater irony in the fact that one with su-such a laughably tiny penis as yourself is standing upon this monument to manhood. Nu-now thu-that’s ironic.”

“SHUT UP!” screamed Anchor, delivering a swift, sharp kick to my groin.

I did not flinch. Instead, I smiled.

Anchor froze momentarily, then cried out in pain, clutching his foot and hopping about in agony.

“Shit! My foot! My blasted foot! What the hell have you got down there?” he cried, pointing to my crotch.

“My penis,” I said, rather matter-of-factly.

“But…but it’s so hard,” Anchor wailed.

“Thank you for noticing,” I said, then I leapt upon the captain and bought him crashing to the ground. We tussled on the floor for a while, punching and struggling in a ball of flailing limbs, until we found ourselves perched on the very edge of the mountain, Anchor astride me, hands around my neck, throttling me while my head hung limply over the precipice. During the fracas my hat fell off, and tumbled down to the ground below, which I found most disagreeable.

“DIE, Likely! DIE!” Anchor screamed as he tried to choke the life out of me. I grew increasingly light-headed and was sure my exalted existence was at an end, until a shot rang out across the peak. Through my increasingly-watery eyes, I made out the figure of Lance, holding a recently discharged pistol.

“Good show, Lance,” I said weakly. Anchor released his grip on me as a new wound opened up on his arm, filling his sleeve with blood. He looked at me in stunned silence, then to Lance, then back to me. I smiled politely, then Anchor tumbled off to the side. The whole terrible business should have ended right then and there, but as Anchor disappeared over the edge of the mount, he managed to grab my proud Lord Palmerston, which had stiffened considerably through the melee, thus halting Anchor’s descent. I winced as I felt his entire body weight pull on my poor todger.

“Yuh…yuh…you don’t get rid of me thu-that easily,” Anchor croaked, grinning a bloody smile, as he hung off of my mighty organ, his legs flailing uselessly in mid-air.

“I think you find I shall get rid of you very easily,” I retorted, gritting my teeth. “For you see, my dear captain…you really do not do anything for me at all.”

Upon these words leaving my lips, my Lord Palmerston went limp, causing Anchor to lose his grip. His eyes widened in terror as his hands came free, and then he plummeted downwards to his death.

“Toodle-pip,” I remarked, watching as he landed messily on the rocks below.

Lance came up beside me, and we exchanged satisfied glances, before I finally passed out as the day’s exertions caught up with me, and I collapsed into my brother’s arms.

- Lord Likely.

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“I am sorry, Lordy,” wailed my treacherous half-brother, Ludlow, doing his utmost to avoid my rage-filled stare. “Business is business, you understand that, don’t you? I mean… you would have done the same thing if you were in my shoes, right?”

“If I were in your shoes,” I hissed, “I would have thrown myself onto that ruddy camp-fire right now, and ended my worthless, miserable existence.”

Ludlow scratched the back of his head nervously, and stepped back behind Captain Huw Anchor, who was looking rather too pleased with himself.

“Well,” said Anchor, smiling a sickeningly broad smile, “that was a really touching family reunion. It really was. I think I’m getting tearful, honestly.” He cackled loudly, then in a trice he was standing toe-to-toe with Lance, my other brother who, despite his criminal leanings and penchant for bestiality, had so far proven to be far more trustworthy than that worm Ludlow.

“Now listen here, cowboy,” Anchor jeered, prodding Lance in the chest with a fat, stubby finger. “You are going to tell me exactly where the gold is buried, or else…she gets it.”

On cue, the crowd parted to reveal one of Anchor’s burly henchman holding a pistol to the head of a horse, who was lazily chewing some grass, completely unaware of how precariously it’s life hung in the balance.

“NO!” screamed Lance, struggling to break free from his captor. “Not Jezebel! I love that horse!” He turned to me, and in a hushed tone added, “I really love that horse.” I winced.

“Tell us where the gold is, Lance, and we shall not harm a hair on this creature’s head, you have my word,” Anchor said.

“Your word, sir, carries as much weight as a malnourished street urchin,” I cried, desperately stalling for time so I could plot our escape.

“Oh, your lordship, do shut up,” Anchor snapped. “If you so much as utter another word, or interfere with proceedings in any way, HE gets it,” the captain motioned behind us, where my man-servant Botter was crouched on his knees, hands cuffed behind him, while another rugged rapscallion held a gun at his temple, grinning proudly. I raised an eyebrow, and turned back to Anchor.

“Oh, go ahead,” I smirked. “Shoot him. He is really quite useless to me, and he does smell rather like an old boot filled with feces. I dare say you would be doing us all a favour.” I turned back to Botter, and gave him a sly wink. He nodded slowly, and smiled.

“Your false bravado does not fool me, your lordship. I know you are bluffing. Maybe we should see what happens if we go ahead and pull the trigger…” said Anchor, his voice trailing off as he looked back at my man-servant, who was now standing up, hands freed, clutching the gun that had been held to his head, while his captor now lay on the ground, unconscious.

“You are a perceptive man, Anchor,” I said. “I was bluffing. Botter is not entirely useless, you see. He is rather adept at picking locks, for one thing, and he is also excellent at felling men with a straight shot to the plums. Although I do maintain that he smells like an old boot filled with feces.”

“Nobody move, or I’ll…um…shoot you,” Botter ad-libbed, trying his best to sound vaguely threatening. His shambolic act somehow seemed seemed to work, and some of the roughs in Anchor’s employ, sensing the tide was turning against them, surrendered and allowed themselves to be seized by the resurgent Red Rump tribe, led by Chief Spurting Cock. Meanwhile, other members of the captain’s posse decided that they were not going down without some semblance of a fight, and attacked the tribesmen, quickly leading to a full-on battle breaking out in the camp. Guns blazed, arrows sailed through the air and tomahawks sliced through flesh, with one particularly depraved Indian busying himself with the removal of the fallen men’s todgers, waving them above his head with triumphant glee.

As chaos and confusion reigned, I seized my chance, and flung my head back sharply, cracking the nose of the henchman behind me, a maneuver that caused me slightly more pain than I’d anticipated, and which left me slightly stunned.

Lance, meanwhile, followed my heroic lead and broke free from his guard, and lunged at Anchor, who managed to sidestep the attack and caught my hapless brother smartly in the small of his back with his elbow. Lance fell to the ground, while Anchor smoothly drew out his own gun and held it to Lance’s head.

“Lightnin’ Lance Likely!” Anchor snorted. “Lightnin’? I mean, honestly, that little stunt may as well have been sent by telegram, it was so painfully slow. Pathetic.”

Still nursing a sore head, I rushed to Lance’s aid, but was met by the barrel of Anchor’s pistol.

“I should blow your smug, stupid face clean off,” Anchor snarled as I skidded to a stop. “But why get my hands dirty, when I have a perfectly wiling lackey to do my dirty work for me? He’d kill to get his book published, you know! LUDLOW!”

Ludlow stepped forward, and Anchor placed the gun in his hands.

“I want you to shoot Lord Likely. I want you to do it, now.” Anchor barked. Ludlow looked at the crazed captain, then raised the gun back up to my head, and pulled back the hammer. Anchor clapped his hands excitedly. “Oh-ho! A Likely killing a Likely! How very poetic, don’t you think, your lordship?”

I did not answer, as I was to busy fixing Ludlow with my most sternest of looks, a stare so utterly penetrating and powerful it has reduced grown men to weeping like babies, then filling their trousers like newborns. Ludlow could not look directly at me.

“Treachery, skull-duggery, back-stabbing and greed,” I whispered. “I must admit, father would actually have been very proud.”

Ludlow looked up into my eyes.

“Shoot him!” Anchor screamed. “For the love of God, shoot the bastard!”

Ludlow pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded.

Captain Huw Anchor fell to the ground, clutching a fresh wound on his arm, howling in pain. Ludlow lowered the gun, and turned back to me.

“Some people have no manners, do they Lordy?” Ludlow beamed.

“Spiffing job, old boy,” I said, very much relieved. “But do not think for one moment you have ingratiated yourself with me so easily. I would still very much like to have a thousand wild horses trample your scrotum, you know.”

“Understood,” Ludlow nodded. “I’m so sorry, Lordy. I almost forgot who I was. I am a Likely, dammit, and I’m darn proud to be one.”

“Quite as it should be,” I returned.

“Hey, ladies,” Lance said, gingerly rising to his feet. “I don’t wanna alarm anyone, but I think our man’s gone an’ fucked off,” he explained, pointing to the ground where only moments before Anchor had fallen. All that was left was a pool of blood, with smaller puddles leading haphazardly away from the spot, and out of the camp.

“Hmmm,” pondered Chief Spurting Cock loudly, appearing suddenly beside us like some kind of homosexual phantasm. He knelt down and sniffed at the blood, stood up, stroked his chin, then licked his finger and held it above his head. He made a few more loud hums, then faced us again. “I think that your man has gone to Mount Penis, at the top of the canyon.”

“Amazing!” cried Ludlow, impressed. “How on earth do you know that?”

“He’s over there, look,” admitted Spurting Cock, pointing up to a path leading out of the canyon, upon which the figure of Huw Anchor could be seen, staggering towards a cock-shaped mountain above.

“Remarkable,” mumbled Ludlow, clealrly feeling like the utter fool he was.

“Right!” I cried, clapping my hands together loudly. “Chief, how are your men coping with Anchor’s thugs and goons?”

Spurting Cock grinned suggestively. “They are coping with the men tremendously well, ” he said. “And by ‘coping’ I mean ‘buggering’.”

“Fine! That was more information than I would have liked to have been given, but still, good work nonetheless. Botter!” I cried, swiveling around to face my man-servant, who was still clutching his pistol and trying to maintain an air of menace. “Botter, you stay here and keep an eye or two on Dirigible and Lunettes, here,” I said, pointing to Anchor’s two miserable co-conspirators.

“Why? Where are you going, milord?” asked Botter, keeping his pistol trained on the pugnacious pair.

“We Likelys,” I said, putting my arms around my two brothers. “Have got an Anchor to toss out.”

- Lord Likely.

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Lance and I watched for a few more minutes as the posse of men rampaged through the Red Rump tribe’s campsite, then we withdrew from our vantage point atop Cockshaft Canyon to formulate a plan to overcome this group of horseback bastards.

“I say we go down there, guns ablazin’, and shoot each an’ every one of ‘em dead,” Lance snarled, drawing his pistol from it’s holster.

“An excellent plan, Lance, however it falls down on one crucial point. There are but two of us, and at least twelve of them. By the time we had shot off our first round we’d be riddled so full of holes they could use our corpses to strain spaghetti.”

“Oh. Right.” Lance fell silent, his brow knotted in deep concentration. “Okay, then, what about we get a big ol’ cannon, wheel it up to the edge of the canyon and BOOM! Blow ‘em all to kingdom come?”

“Hmmm.” I mused. “I think that plan is possibly even more asinine than your first.”

“Ass-what?” said Lance.

“Never mind,” I sighed. “Now do be quiet, and let me think so that I may formulate a plan that is not completely and utterly bent.”

My silent ruminations were not to be forthcoming, however, as a loud voice broke into my thoughts from the valley below.

“LIKELY!” came the voice. “LIKELY!”

“Is he talking to you or me?” I said to Lance. Lance shrugged.

“LIKELY! I KNOW YOU’RE UP THERE! JUST COME ON DOWN, AND WE’LL HAVE A LITTLE TALK, MAN-TO-MAN!”

I froze. I recognised that voice from somewhere. The lilting, sing-song cadence and slight Welsh accent…

Then, I had a flashback.

I shan’t bore you with the details of my flashback, except to say it was in black and white, entirely in slow motion, and surprisingly dull. The upshot of it all was that I had indeed heard this voice from someone somewhere before, and that somewhere was aboard the HMS Bastard, where I had began my journey to America, and the someone was it’s captain – Huw Anchor.

What in the name of Thor’s mighty hammer was that swine doing here?

I crawled back to the precipice and peered over the top. Surely enough, there was the smartly-dressed form of the captain, flanked by two other familiar faces, Renchard Dirigible, his second-in-command and Jean des Lunettes, the awful Frenchman I had met while dining with the captain aboard the HMS Bastard.

“Well bugger me sideways,” I exclaimed quietly. “I have met these fiends before! What a small world it is, eh Lance?” There was no reply. “Lance?”

My finely-tuned sense of danger told me something was amiss, so I gently pulled out the antique pistol Ludlow had given me, and quickly spun round, holding the gun out on front of me. I saw Lance, on his knees, head bowed, in front of a burly figure who was pointing a rifle at the back of my poor brother’s head.

“Mr. Anchor wishes to see you both,” the figure growled. “Dead or alive, it makes no difference.”

“Tell him I shall see him…IN HELL!” I roared, squeezing the trigger of the pistol. Nothing happened, save for a dull thud as the hammer clicked into place. I silently cursed Ludlow for having lumbered me with a useless weapon, and gently rose to my feet, hands in the air.

“Or, we can see him now, I suppose,” I sighed.

“Oh! Your lordship! How lovely to see you again!” Anchor cried, as we entered the campsite. “It has been much too long. I do hope there are no hard feelings about the whole trying-to-kill-you-by-ploughing-our-ship-into-an-iceberg business?”

“Oh, not at all, Mr. Wanker. The sea-breeze did me the world of good, I shouldn’t wonder. Now if you do not mind, can you please tell me what in the name of Prince Albert’s golden cock-ring is going on here?”

“Certainly,” said Anchor, sitting himself down on one of the tribe’s comfortable sofas. “It is the least I can do, before I have you shot dead by my accomplice Herman, over there,” he indicated to the burly fellow behind me, who jabbed his rifle into my back on cue.

“Charmed,” I said.

“You are a well-travelled man, are you not, your lordship? I too travel a lot, but alas all I ever get to see of the various countries I encounter is the coast, before I am off again on another voyage. So, when my annual holiday came around this year, I decided to take in some of the sights of this great nation, and get to know it a little better. My holiday took me to some rather obscure, peculiar little places, such as a small town called Around Here, in Dinkle County. My! That was a rather colourful little township, I must say. Anyway, I was relaxing in a bar there, when I overheard two men engaged in a hushed discussion about the recent discovery of a large stash of gold, and what to do with it. One of these men was your brother, here, the other was an old fellow who seemed to be the one who had made the discovery.

“Now, an opportunity like this does not come along every day, your lordship, and I decided I wanted this gold for myself. So I assembled together this group of easily-bribed men from the town, and we paid this old man a visit, with a view to wringing the location of the gold from him. Unfortunately, he was not forthcoming with the information, so I…”

“You killed him, ya lily-livered piece o’ shit!” snapped Lance, angrily. Anchor motioned to Herman, who responded by smashing Lance in the back of the head with his rifle butt. Lance howled in pain.

“Please, do not interrupt me when I am telling my story. It is really very rude, you know,” Anchor droned. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes! So, I decided to terminate the discussion with the old man, and thought I might be able to learn the location of the gold from his partner, the incredibly rude Lance Likely, here. Unfortunately, tracking Lance down was rather tricky, and despite my best efforts he remained an elusive character. Eventually I had to give up and return to England, and back to work.

“But happily, Lady Luck seemed to smile down upon me, for when I returned to duty on the HMS Bastard I saw that one of my passengers was another Likely – your good self, Lord Likely. This could not be mere coincidence, I thought, and I reasoned that this man had to be connected with the other Likely in United States. So, I informed the most trusted members of my crew about the whole affair, offered them a share of the bounty and together we decided to ransack your cabin to glean further information. We abducted your man-servant so that you would think the sole purpose of the raid on your lodgings was for a kidnapping, and would not get suspicious of our real intentions, and then we turned the place over. There we found the letter of distress from yet anther Likely, your American half-brother Ludlow, so we made a note of his address and decided that when we got to America, we would pay him a visit.”

“Why didn’t you just follow me?” I asked.

“Mr. Dirigible here informed me that you were somewhat of an adventurer and detective, who had defeated countless criminals and miscreants over the years. We reasoned that only you could possibly scupper our plans, and we would fare better leaning on this Ludlow fellow instead. So, we agreed to sink the HMS Bastard with you on it, lest you interfere with our plans.”

“Of course, that was after your first attempt on my life failed, when I overcame your hired goon Doctor Corkscrews,” I remarked.

“Doctor who?” Anchor asked, genuinely surprised. “We did not hire anyone to kill you, your lordship. We already had our scheme all set out.”

I was confused. I had been sure Doctor Corkscrews was part of this terrible business, yet he was not. I was reminded of an earlier mystery, where my carriage had been shunted off the road by persons unknown, and where I had received a note threatening violence upon my lordly form, of which both instances had proved to be unrelated to the mystery at hand. Was someone else following me and trying to end my precious life? And if so, who? And why would anyone wish harm upon my wondrous self? This sort of thing was happening far too frequently for my liking, and further contemplation would be needed. However, for now I had to focus on my current predicament.

“Anyway, your lordship, thinking we had finally dispatched you, we headed off to see your brother Ludlow, hoping to persuade him to tell us how to find the ever-elusive Lance.”

“Ha! That is where you miscalculated, I fear. Ludlow would not give up such information freely. Blood is thicker than water, and – “

“Oh, you are quite right,” Anchor interrupted. “He did not give it up freely. But every man has his price, your lordship.”

“Not Ludlow,” I sneered. “He is a good, honest and decent man. If he told you anything, I will eat my hat.”

“Well, you shall dine well tonight then,” Anchor said dryly. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Likely?”

An all-too familiar figure stepped out from the shadows, his head lowered in shame. It was Ludlow. I felt my heart sink.

“I…I am sorry, Lordy,” Ludlow said, avoiding my furious gaze. “They offered me a lot of money, which helped me to get my book published…I just couldn’t refuse…please, forgive me.”

“Oh, Ludlow,” I shook my head sadly. “You utter, utter cunt.”

- Lord Likely.

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And so, with my birthday celebrations well and truly over, we must now return to the continued chronicles of my Astonishing American Adventure, an adventure so massive that it has so far taken some four months to transcribe. But then, would have you expected anything less sizable from my good self?

Let us now rejoin our exciting exploits in the former colonies…

July, 1856.

So, Botter and I left the New York abode of my half-brother Ludlow Likely, and took a hansom cab to the nearest train station, ready to travel out to the American South in the hope of locating my other half-brother, the criminal gun-slinger and cattle rapist, Lightnin’ Lance Likely.

We arrived at the train station by lunch-time, and as we departed the carriage of our ride I made sure to tip the driver, my tip being, “Never stick your todger in a grinder”, sound advice for anyone. Anyone with a todger, of course. That done, Botter and I then strode up to the station’s ticket booth to purchase our tickets for the next leg of our journey.

“Two tickets to Around Here,” I said to the bored-looking elderly man in the booth.

“Around here?” Said the old fool. “But you’re already around here, sirs! Why on Earth would you want to buy tickets to get to a destination you are already at, I wonder?”

“Ah. I see what has happened here,” I replied. “There has been an almost comical mix-up. You see, I wish to go to Around Here, in Dinkle County, and not ‘around here’, as you have said.”

“Around Here? Dinkle County? Why, they sound like made-up names, dreamt up by a lunatic, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”

“Well, I do mind you saying so. In fact, so much do I mind you saying so, I may well clamber into that booth at any moment, and demonstrate how very much I mind you saying so by slamming your face into the window, if you don’t mind me saying so.” I snarled, causing the old man to become rather flustered.

“Okay, sir, okay. Let me just consult my map, here,” the old goon babbled, unfolding a large map and spreading it across his desk. He poured over it for a few minutes, before finally locating our desired destination. “Well, blow me!” He exclaimed. “Whaddya know! There IS an Around Here, in Dinkle County. Forgive me sir, it’s just that it sounded so ridiculous I thought you’d made it up! Heh-heh!”

“Yes, I suppose it does sound rather amusing,” I said, lighting a cigarette.

“I mean, who calls a place ‘Around Here’, anyways? That’s just plain crazy,” the old man continued. “Just crazy! Okay, what you need to do, sir, is to take the train to Disaster, in Spittlesburg, and from there you have to take a short carriage ride to Brown Hole Gorge, near Shit Creek. From there, you can take another train through Spermatozoa, up past Crusty Flaps Gulch, and into Hemorrhoid. From Hemorrhoid you have to get yourself another carriage, and ride down through Sodomite Valley, into West Vagina, pass on by the Pissypants River, up into the Hairy Minge Hills and finally down into Felch City, near Cockshaft Canyon. Up over the Canyon you’ll find Around Here.” The old man looked up from his map, beaming with pride.

“I…see,” I said, raising an eyebrow in quizzical surprise. “That was most…edifying. And when is the next train to Disaster, may I ask?”

“Well, let me see…oh! Oh dear! I am terribly sorry sirs, but it seems you have missed the last train to Disaster by a whole… five and a half hours,” the old man said, consulting a pocket-watch. “There won’t be another train passing through until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

“I beg your cocking pardon?” I snapped, simmering with barely-concealed rage.

“Ah! No, wait! You are actually early!” the old man corrected himself. “I was holding my watch upside-down. The last train to Disaster will be along in fifteen minutes. My mistake, sirs!”

“Marvelous.” I said, through gritted teeth. “We shall take two for that, then, if we may. First class, naturally.”

“There you go, sirs,” the old man grinned, pushing two tickets across the counter. “Have a nice day!”

“Well, I cannot see how it can get any worse,” I replied, scooping up the tickets and turning sharply on my heels.

Little did I know, as Botter and I boarded that last train to Disaster, that the rest of my day was going to get a lot worse. A lot bloody worse indeed.

- Lord Likely.

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After leaving my room, stopping off only to roger a young serving lady on the way (to assure myself that I had not gone completely homosexual after my night with Abraham Lincoln), I ventured downstairs where my brother Ludlow and Botter were waiting for me. Ludlow was incandescent with rage.

“What is all this I hear about you diddling Mr. Lincoln?” he yelled at me as I casually strode down the stairs.

“Diddling?” I snorted. “I fucked him, if that is what you mean.”

“Don’t you know who he is? He is a powerful figure in the Republican Party, you know! People say that one day, he’ll be President!”

“Well, he was rather eager to let me enter his ‘Oval Office’,” I joked, a joke that did not seem to sit well with my rather uptight half-brother.

“This is not a laughing matter, Lordy,” he snarled. “I want you out of my house. NOW.”

“Well fine,” I replied coolly. “But I should warn you, Ludlow, that if you persist in being as easily stressed as you are, you shall be dead by the time you are thirty.”

“I am already thirty-eight, Lordy!”

“Well, that would certainly explain why you are no longer living. Come, Botter, we have a proper Likely to find. He may be a criminal with a penchant for cow-buggery, but I daresay that Lance Likely is far more alive than you shall ever be, Ludlow.”

With that, I tipped my hat and strode out of the house, Botter following close by. I flagged down a Hansom cab, and clambered aboard, demanding that we were taken to the train station post haste. As we prepared to depart, Ludlow appeared at the side of the carriage. His mood seemed somewhat sombre.

“Where you are going is very dangerous, Lordy. It is a place with no rules and no mercy. I think you should take this with you.” Ludlow passed me an old pistol, which looked like it had seen better days. “It belonged to our great-grandfather. He used it to shoot Turks.”

“Ah, during the Russo-Turkish war, I presume?’

“No. He just really hated Turks.”

We laughed together, then Ludlow put a hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry I was a trifle brusque back there, Lordy. You are always welcome in my home. And good luck finding dear Lance. When you finally find our poor, errant half-brother,” Ludlow leaned closer. “Kick him right in the balls for me.”

I smiled. “I certainly shall, Ludlow.”

“Hey, are we actually going now, or are you two queers gonna start kissing?” the cab driver yelled.

“Shut the fuck up, you awful little prick,” Ludlow screamed back. “Or Christ help me, I shall cut off your balls, feed them to your fucking horses, wait until they shit them back out again then cram them down your fucking throat!” The cab driver looked suitably terrified, and resumed his place at the reins of the carriage. I patted Ludlow warmly on the shoulder.

“Ha! You clearly are still alive, dear Ludlow. Alive and kicking! Look after yourself, and I shall see you again soon.”

Ludlow grinned, and withdrew from the carriage. I gave the driver the order to proceed, and we finally moved off. I waved to my brother as we drew away, watching as he receded into the distance.

And so we headed off on the next leg of our Astonishing American Adventure….

- Lord Likely.

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Despite Ludlow’s rather vocal protests, I decided to go off and fraternize with the other guests at the party, in the vain hope that at least one of them might want to roger me senseless.

Alas, all I seemed to meet were uptight, prissy socialites who took offence at my usual party trick whereby I pull down my trousers, unleash my Lord Palmerston, and yell: “Look, ladies! Big Ben!” One particularly sniffy woman told me that my penis was not at all reliable as a timepiece, a statement with which I took great exception, arguing that when my todger was fully erect, I knew it was precisely time for humping. She snorted and turned away, the miserable, fat sow.

One rather delectable girl did seem to be gagging for a pounding from my Palmerston. She was a young, rich heiress called Barcelona Ritz, but while she let me grope her, I soon tired of her non-stop chattering, as she warbled on about her tedious, pointless existence, and I had to go off to get more booze to help block out her awful droning.

I approached a table laden with various drinks, and began mixing myself a cocktail, not really taking note of what was going into the beverage, as I was lost deep in thought.

“You look troubled, friend,” said a voice beside me. I looked up and beheld a tall, rather striking looking gentle-man, with strong cheek bones and a large, proud forehead. I smiled politely.

“I was just lamenting the lack of willing wenches at this function,” I said, as I stirred my drink, watching as the glass was filled with a curious, bright orange colour.

“That’s an interesting looking drink you’re making there, sir,” the man continued, helping himself to a glass of wine. “What do you call it?”

I took a sip, and grimaced.

“I think I’ll call it the ‘Filthy Arsehole’,” I answered. “On account of the fact it tastes like shit.”

This made the man roar with laughter, and he proffered forth his hand to shake mine.

“Abraham Lincoln,” he beamed, introducing himself. “I’m a Republican lawyer.”

“Lord Likely,” I shook Lincoln’s astonishingly large hand. “I’m an aristocrat from England.”

“Likely, huh?” mused Lincoln, stroking his chin. “You must be Ludlow’s brother, yes?”

“You are quite absolutely and unerringly correct,” I nodded, swigging from the ‘Filthy Arsehole’ again, momentarily forgetting it’s horrendous taste. “Do you know my brother then, Mr. Lincoln?”

“Not personally,” replied Lincoln. “I am here as a guest of his employer, Mr. William Cullen Bryant, the editor of the New-York Evening Post. He’s helping me to write a speech I am supposed to make in Kalamazoo, in Michigan, a month hence.”

“A speech, eh? What is it about, if you do not mind me asking?”

“I am campaigning to get slavery abolished in this country,” Lincoln said. “I feel very strongly that the United States of America should no longer be a home to slaves.”

“Oh, quite, quite,” I agreed. “It’s high time we drove those awful Negroes from the land, eh?”

“That…is not what I am trying to achieve,” Lincoln frowned. “I am arguing that every man in America should be a free man. God created us all equally, you know.”

“Some of us more equally than others,” I quipped, while pointing at my crotch.

“I wish for a day when the slaves are emancipated and the awful spectre of slavery that still haunts this continent is driven out,” Lincoln continued, ignoring my hilarious aside. “A spectre that your government left us with, I hasten to add.”

“Well, it’s not easy running a massive Empire, you know. Good help is so hard to find,” I replied. “Plus, we are notoriously lazy. Of course, we officially outlawed slavery in the British Empire some one score and two years ago.”

“Oh, ‘one score‘,” Lincoln muttered, producing a notebook and pencil from his pocket. “I like that.” He jotted something in the book, then snapped it shut.

“I think it is far more the measure of a man if he can keep a fellow man in his employ when the other man has free will.” I continued. “I myself have a servant who I have managed to keep hold of for some fifteen years now, which I like to think is because I am a fair and honest master, who treats his servants with respect.”

“Oh? And where is your servant now?” Lincoln asked.

“He is upstairs, scrubbing the semen stains from my underpants with a toothbrush,” I replied.

Lincoln smiled, and we continued to talk for many hours more, discussing politics, family, and the theatre. Mr. Lincoln repeatedly returned to the topic of slavery, telling me quite terrible stories about the horrifying acts performed upon slaves, stories that even one with such a cast-iron constitution as I, found utterly sickening. Lincoln spoke with great passion, clarity and dignity, and I found myself thinking that one day, he would make for a first-rate salesman.

“I must say,” I proclaimed, as Lincoln concluded his impassioned oration, “you have opened my eyes to a hitherto unknown world of horrors.”

“Dare I ask if it has also altered your opinion of the proud, Negro race?” Lincoln asked, warily.

“Oh, rather,” I exclaimed. “I feel a tremendous sense of guilt and pity for those poor, brown bastards.”

Lincoln smiled his great big beaming smile. “Well, it is a start,” he chortled.

I was aware that the party was winding down around us, and I could scarcely believe that I had managed to go through a whole social function without once vomiting on anyone, and without pissing in anyone’s hat. Mr. Lincoln was truly a magnificent and charismatic speaker.

“Hmmm,” Lincoln said, scanning the room as I did. “It seems like everyone is heading home. I think that even Mr. Bryant has left, which is rather annoying. I was counting on him for a lift to my hotel.”

“Well, never mind about that beardy old bastard!” I chimed, putting a reassuring arm around Lincoln’s shoulders. “You can retire here for the night!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t wish to intrude on Ludlow – ” began Lincoln.

“Ah, fuck him,” I yelled, “the man is quite a prick, anyhow. You can share my room, he cannot possibly argue with that.”

Lincoln’s eyes sparkled. “Well, that is a most generous offer,” he said. “Not since I was a young man have I shared a room with another man.”

I grinned, and gulped down a glass of whisky I had poured myself, to take away the taste of my God-awful cocktail.

“I would wager that the previous man you bedded down with did not have a cock the size of a child’s arm, ” I boasted, the various alcohols I had imbibed over the course of the night taking hold of both my mind and my senses. “Now, Mr. Lincoln, perhaps you would care to join me in my room, and help me emancipate my penis from my trousers?”

Lincoln flashed his winning smile, and we both headed upstairs to my room.

- Lord Likely.

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Ludlow led Botter and I into his considerably spacious abode on the outskirts of New York City, stubbornly refusing to impart more information about my father’s continued existence. “Oh, don’t let us worry about that now!” he kept saying absently, ignoring my desire to very much worry about it now. I could have throttled the blighter, but then I remembered that he was my half-brother, and more importantly that he would be hosting a large party in the evening. Strangling one’s host is right at the top of the list of things one should not do when attending a social function, just above the rule stating that one should not slip anything into the hostess’ vagina, or backside.

As I sent Botter upstairs to prepare my room and unpack what remained of my luggage, Ludlow introduced me to his wife, Emily-Rose, a rather chubby and busty young lady, with blonde curls and a radiant complexion. I wondered if Ludlow would let me pump her, as I was family after all, but thought better of asking there and then lest Ludlow took offence, and never spoke to me again. I would never find out anything more about my errant father should that happen.

After the introductions had been made, Ludlow and Emily-Rose scurried off to prepare for the evening’s celebrations, barking orders at various servants and maids who ferried large plates of food to the dining-room, and rather more interestingly, numerous bottles of alcohol. I stopped one striking looking maid, and relieved her of two bottles of wine, informing her that her master had asked that I test the piquancy of the two wines. She curtsied gracefully, then hurried on, leaving me with a desire to not only polish off the two bottles I now held, but also to polish off my Lord Palmerston all over the delightful backside of the young maid. Cheered by this thought, I cracked open one of the bottles of wine, took a few gulps, then hastened up to my room to prepare myself for the evening’s gathering.

By the time the first guests begun to flock into Ludlow’s house, I had worked my way through both bottles of wine, three glasses of whisky and several shots of vodka, thus I was really quite merry and more than ready to party. I left my room, telling Botter to stay put and guard my shoes, then took to the large, winding staircase that led down to the dining-room.

“Ah-ha! Here he is! My brother, ladies and gentlemen – Lord Likely!” cried Ludlow, who was entertaining some smartly dressed people in the dining-room. I smiled and waved, then lost my footing somewhat, and wound up tumbling down the remaining stairs and landed atop of some fellow I did not recognise.

“Pardon me,” I slurred. “I think my foot is on your balls.”

Ludlow dashed over, and lifted me up.

“Sorry, sir,” he said to the gentleman I had accidentally smothered. “Excuse my brother. He is an English aristocrat, and is therefore prone to excessive drunkenness. Many apologies.” Ludlow nodded to a nearby servant, who dashed over to the man’s aid. Meanwhile, my half-brother marched me over to the other side of the room.

“That was the deputy mayor you just fell upon,” Ludlow hissed, angrily. “Please, try and control yourself, man. All of these people are very important. Some are Very important, with a capital ‘v’, so it’s imperative you try and not act like a complete jackass.”

“What is it with you Americans and donkeys?” I asked, swaying gently.

I was to receive no answer, however, for our brotherly tete-a-tete was interrupted by two men joining us.

“Ludlow!” cried one, shaking my brother by his hand. “How goes it?”

“Freddie!” Ludlow replied, clearly pleased to see someone who wasn’t as pissed as a fart. “How are you? Good to see you, good to see you. Oh! Calvert! Good to see you, too, my friend!”

“Likewise, dear Ludlow, likewise. Always a pleasure!” the other man said, in an accent that made me snap to attention.

“Bugger me!” I roared, causing the three men to jump in shock. “You’re an Englishman, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes.” replied Calvert, regarding me with a degree of apprehension.

“Why do you suppose these Americans are so obsessed with donkeys?”

“I really don’t-”

“So, what brings you to this side of the pond, then?” I continued, not waiting for Calvert’s answer to my previous question.

“Well, I’m a landscape designer and architect,” he answered. “I’m working on some projects over here, with Frederick.”

“Oh, Ludlow!” Frederick interrupted. “That reminds me. We’ve got quite an exciting project on the go right now! Do you remember there was all that talk about setting up a park in the city?”

“Ah, yes. The park in the centre of the city. What was it called again?”

“Central Park.“

“Ah, yes, of course,” Ludlow said, propping me up against a large grandfather clock as I began to sway more dramatically.

“Well, the Central Park Committee are going to launch a landscape design contest, to determine how this park shall look. Calvert and I are going to submit our design, this one here, look – ” Frederick began to unroll a large sheet of paper.

“Park?” I cried. “I could design a park. I could design a park with my hands tied behind my back, and my back tied to a ruddy donkey. Give me that!” I snapped, snatching the paper from Frederick’s grasp. I tried to make sense of the squiggles on the page, snorted derisively, then flipped over the page and began sketching furiously on the back.

“Um…have you experience in landscape design, then?” Frederick asked, nervously.

“I once built a library that looked like a cock. And I have been in a park, before.” I continued drawing.

“Oh! Have you been to Birkenhead Park in Liverpool, England?” Frederick asked. “I have to admit, that in democratic America there is nothing to be thought of as comparable with that People’s Garden. It is magnificent.”

“I have been there, yes,” I said. “I believe I had intercourse with a schoolmistress in the bushes, there. My, she was quite a dirty bitch, as I recall. She tried to insert a pine cone into my anus. Oh! And on another occasion I shat in the pond.” Frederick turned to my brother for assistance, but all Ludlow could do was shrug his shoulders, and knock back a glass of champagne.

“There we are…just add a couple of bandstands and – voila! My design for your Middle Park, or whatever you call it.”

I held aloft my sketch, which cause my small audience’s jaws to drop in astonishment.

“Rather good, isn’t it?” I beamed proudly, noticing the group’s stunned expressions.

“That…that’s just a drawing of the female torso,” Calvert observed.

“Well, what is wrong with that?” I sniffed. “Unless, of course, you would rather it was in the shape of a male torso? Are you a homosexual man, Mr. Calvert? Do you prefer to garden uphill? Do you like to wheel the pink wheelbarrow up the back garden? Do you, Mr. Calvert, lust after the cock and the balls?”

“Of course not, it’s just – “

“Why, you should try getting some good, hard cock inside you. It should do you the world of good, I shouldn’t wonder. It might loosen you up a bit. In more than one sense.”

Calvert mouthed a silent curse, then turned on his heels, and strode off.

“I do quite like the small, bushy copse,” Frederick noted, then followed his associate. Ludlow, meanwhile, was rubbing the top of his nose, looking rather stressed.

“I cannot imagine this evening getting much worse,” he sighed.

“Well,” I said, taking a swig from Ludlow’s glass, “the night is still young.”

Ludlow’s shoulders sagged, and I wobbled out into the room to mingle some more.

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It is not often one learns that they have a hitherto unknown half-brother, who is on the run from the law and who is partial to wanton acts of bestiality. Indeed, many people may go through their entire life without learning such a fact. However, the Likely family tree is a tangled, over-grown mess, concealing many dark secrets in it’s twisted branches, so such revelations are more common place to me than I would care to admit. Ever since my late father regaled me with the story of my great aunt, Tabitha Likely, who hospitalised twenty-two men using nothing more than her ample breasts, I considered myself well-prepared for any further murky revelations about our family, but as Ludlow recited the list of Lance Likely‘s nefarious activities, I am not ashamed to admit that even I was a little shocked, a feeling that only grew as Ludlow unfurled a poster he retrieved from behind his seat in the carriage, and displayed it to me.

I felt a shiver creep down my lordly spine, as I recollected the instance when I had the misfortune of seeing my own (ridiculously handsome) face plastered all over such a poster. I felt a tinge of sympathy for my poor, persecuted half-brother.

“Shit,” was all I could muster, as the reality of the situation began to manifest itself.

“Shit indeed,” Ludlow concurred, rolling the poster back up. “Lance is in a whole heap of it, right up to his rather fetching stetson.”

“So what do you propose we do about this, then?” I asked, although I had a fair idea of what the answer would be.

“I thought we might go and find Lance, before the law does. If we can locate him, and bring him back here, then we could keep him from going to jail, or worse. Sheriff Lawman‘s jurisdiction only extends as far as Dinkle County, in the South, so if we succeeded in getting Lance away from there, he should be safe. I feel it’s only right that we protect our own, don’t you agree?”

Ludlow’s reply confirmed exactly what I had predicted. A rescue mission to the Deep South, to retrieve a murderous half-brother who’s idea of recreation was to insert his penis into the backsides of cattle. It sounded ludicrous, but with the memory of my own recent incarceration still fresh in my mind, I felt obliged to spare Lance the same indignity.

“You are quite right, of course,” I took a swig of whisky from my hip-flask. “We Likely’s must stick together. I shall assist you in any way I can, my dear boy.”

Ludlow brightened, and slapped me heartily on the back, causing me to spill my drink upon my trousers. Botter immediately scuttled over to me, and began dabbing at my groin with a handkerchief. I could not be readily sure as to whether he was merely performing his duties as my man-servant, or whether he was just eager to touch my crotch. Either way, I let him continue.

“I knew you’d come through, Lordy!” Ludlow exclaimed. “I have been following reports of your astonishing adventures for years, and I thought to myself, ‘Lordy won’t shy away from this particular adventure!’ And I was right. Hooray!”

For the first time since stepping onto American soil, I felt my mood lift, as the prospect of a full-blown adventure lifted my spirits considerably. I do so love a big, beautiful bastard of an adventure. Thus cheered, I could not help but echo Ludlow’s own cheery sentiments.

“I just hope America is big enough for three Likelys! I fear we may need to extend the continent, just to accommodate our collective manhoods! ” I beamed, pouring some whisky into a glass and offering it to Ludlow. “May I propose a toast, to our dear father Lord Eustace Likely - may he and his rampant todger rest in peace!”

I held my flask aloft, ready to receive the toast, but there was no chinking of glasses. I noticed Ludlow’s beaming countenance had transformed, and he now bore a look of puzzled confusion.

“Rest in peace?” Ludlow scratched his head. “Father is not dead, Lordy. He’s currently living with a tribe in South Africa, in a small village that he himself has mostly populated. That’s typical of father, isn’t it? Ha!”

I said nothing. I simply dropped my hip-flask in shock. I was not sure if I could take many more shocking familial revelations in one day.

“Ah, here we are!” Ludlow peered out of the carriage’s side window, treating his latest news as if he had merely informed me of the weather forecast. “Home sweet home! Come on, Lordy, let’s get you inside and ready for the party tonight! It shall be the biggest party New York has ever seen, I reckon!”

I continued to sit still, like a statue. An undeniably ravishing statue, at that. Botter edged towards me.

“Are you alright, milord?” He asked me.

I raised my eyes to his. “Botter, go inside and find me the biggest receptacle you can, such as a bucket or something of that nature.”

“Are you feeling travel sick, milord?”

“No. I want you to find the biggest receptacle you can, then fill it with booze. I propose that tonight, I shall get absolutely, one-hundred per-cent, truly and utterly shit-faced.”

- Lord Likely.

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