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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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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I emerged from the police station, blinking, into the hot, bright, sunny streets of New York. People bustled through the city, trying to avoid getting run over by one of the numerous carriages that swept up and down the road, seemingly intent on not stopping for anyone.

“Fuck me, it’s warm,” I said, removing my coat and thrusting into Botter‘s outstretched arms.

“I know. Wonderful, isn’t it?” chirped Ludlow, who was leaning against a large, black carriage and smoking a cigarette.

“The only creatures that can possibly tolerate this kind of heat are lizards. You aren’t a lizard, are you Ludlow? Some sort of strange, freakish lizard-man?” I replied. “Our father didn’t impregnate a lizard on his travels, did he?”

“Oh, Lordy!” Ludlow beamed, tossing his dog-end onto the street. “You are so English! Here you are, in one of the most exciting and expansive cities on the globe, and you stand there complaining about the heat! You are so funny!”

As my brother broke into a rather raucous fit of laughter, I found myself wondering exactly how much Likely stock was actually in the man. I called him brother, but he was in fact really only my half-brother, as he was born as a result of our father’s brief fling with an American woman in New York, some forty years ago. While Ludlow had thus been blessed with the devastatingly handsome good-looks of the Likely family, he also seemed to have inherited a most irritatingly cheerful demeanour, no doubt inherited from his mother’s side. Still, blood is thicker than water, and has a lower viscosity than semen, so I felt obliged to be tolerant of Ludlow’s personality traits – even his annoying habit of calling me “Lordy”.

“So, Lordy, why doncha hop in the carriage, and we’ll go to my place,” Ludlow said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I’m throwing a bit of a shindig tonight, to celebrate my first book getting published! They’ll be quite a few movers and shakers from the city, and plenty of booze, so it should be right up your alley!” He slapped my back again, laughing out loud at his own joke.

I smiled back weakly, and boarded the carriage. As the carriage set off, and rattled along the busy roads, Ludlow filled me in on his life to date, at quite unnecessary length. He told me how he had become a journalist for the New-York Evening Post, how he had won many awards for his incisive articles, how he had settled down with his sweetheart Emily-Rose, how he had won more awards, how he had bought a large house in the suburbs, and how he hoped to one day sire a son, punctuating his biography with the occasional “wow!” and “gee!” that made almost want to hurl myself from the moving vehicle, and allow my head to get dashed to pieces on the road. Why did he have to be so damned jolly all the time, I mused.

As Ludlow went into detail about his forthcoming novel, a tawdry-sounding thriller entitled ‘The Nefarious Nut-Slasher of New York‘, I watched the city fly past my window.

“Why do you need a ‘New York’, anyway?” I thought out loud.

“Sorry?”

“Well, what’s wrong with old York, back in England? It’s a lovely city. It’s rather picturesque, with it’s beautiful rivers, cobbled streets, and that massive cathedral. Did you know that Guy Fawkes was born there? Admittedly, it smells a bit funny, and has it’s fair share of hooligans and roughs, but still – “

“Oh, Lordy!” Ludlow guffawed. “New York isn’t named after York. Well, not directly. It’s named after the Duke of York – you know, James II.”

“They should have called it ‘New James’, then,” I retorted.

Lordy let out another rumbling laugh, slapping his thighs with delight.

“Oh, you are too much, Lordy!” he grinned.

“I have heard that said. Listen, Ludlow, it is wonderful to see you again and all, but I feel we must press on with business. Exactly why am I here? What was your rather curt little note all about?”

Ludlow’s smile vanished, and his whole face seemed to darken somewhat.

“It’s terrible, Lordy!” he wailed. “Terrible!“

“What? What’s so ruddy terrible?” I snapped.

“It’s about our brother,” Ludlow said.

“Which one? Farquad, or Harold? If it’s Harold, I really do not care. He is an awful little shit, who smells like arse-hair.”

“No, the other one, of course,” Ludlow answered, seeming somewhat perplexed.

“Other…one?”

“Lance,” came the blunt reply.

“Who the bollocks is Lance?” I shouted, getting incredibly frustrated with Ludlow’s frustratingly slow delivery of the facts.

“Lordy! Surely you know Lance! Lance! Lance! Old Lancey!” he repeated, as if trying to coax the small kitten of recollection out from behind the wardrobe of my mind.

“Look, stop just saying ‘Lance’ and simply tell me who the fuck he is, before I finally snap and then snap your stupid neck right in half and wipe that gormless smile from your face once and for all.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, as Ludlow looked at me, aghast. Finally he smoothed back his hair, and pressed on.

“Alright, Lordy, alright. Well, okay, our father it seems, did not have a simple one-night stand while here in America. After he had left my mother, he hooked up with another gal in Boston, called Shirley Swallows. The result of their brief fling was Lance, another accidental shoot on the Likely family tree.”

“Jesus cocking Christ!” I exclaimed. “Our father was a sex-maniac, wasn’t he? Could he not have kept his todger in his trousers for one blasted minute?”

“I have thought the same thing many times,” Botter sighed.

“You,” I said, pointing to my man-servant, “you can shut up.”

“Very good milord.”

“So, this Lance fellow. What exactly has he done then, that’s so terrible?” I asked, rubbing my temples as I attempted to marshal all the facts into some sort of coherent order.

“Well, by all accounts he has always been a bit of a hell-raiser. Father refused to be associated with him, considered him to be the black sheep of the family.”

“He’s a negro?” I cried out.

“No, Lordy. Lance was constantly getting into trouble with the law – minor offences at first, y’know, stealing pies off of window sills, breaking lamps, throwing tomatoes at police-men, and so on. But his crimes grew worse, and he began setting people’s houses on fire, assaulted the clergy, raped livestock, robbed banks and generally made quite a nuisance of himself. He was a wanted man, for a while. A bit of an outlaw, you might say. ‘Lightnin” Lance Likely, they called him. But now, things have gotten a whole lot worse, Lordy. Now he is wanted for murder. Cold-blooded MURDER.”

There was a pause.

“He raped livestock?” I said.

- Lord Likely

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My eyes snapped open, and I sat bolt upright, sweat pouring off of my brow.

“Where in the name of cockery am I?” I yelled, leaping to my feet, letting a filthy cotton bed-sheet fall to the ground as I did. I attempted to survey my strange surroundings, but the room appeared to be spinning quite rapidly around me. I waited until the room had the damned decency to stop revolving, and then I dashed to a set of steel bars ahead of me, and began hollering for attention.

“Room service!” I snapped. “Room service! Hello? Excuse me? ROOM SERVICE?”

I felt an arm pull me gently away from the bars. It was Botter, my man-servant. I almost clouted him, but he raised his hands and stopped me.

“My lord,” he said softly, “you’re in prison. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember a thing?”

I racked my brains in an attempt to pluck any random memories that might hold some clue as to how I wound up incarcerated in such a manner. I drew a blank.

“I remember…leaving England,” I replied slowly.

“Is that all?” Botter asked, somewhat incredulously. “That was almost a month ago, milord.”

“Shit.” I said, blankly. “I think I left a gas-light on in the mansion.”

“We are in America, now, milord. We arrived yesterday, you see, but you were rather drunk and so we – “

“Drunk! Ah, that would explain it, then!” I exclaimed, somewhat relieved. “For a moment there I thought I was going senile. My great uncle, Hercules Likely, went quite mad at my age, you know. Have I ever told you about the time he single-handedly tried to invade Paris, with nothing but a bread stick?”

“No, milord.”

“Excellent. It is a terrible tale, and puts the Likely name in rather a bad light. Make sure I never tell it to anyone.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a jangling of keys, and we turned to face a police-man slowly opening the door to the cell. He motioned towards us.

“You two. C’mere.” He said, rather curtly, I felt.

“I beg your pardon?” I snapped. “Are you referring to us, or have two mongrel dogs strayed in here?”

“Yeah, you two. C’mere,” the man repeated.

“My good man, I am Lord Likely. You shall refer to me as ‘your lordship’, or ‘my lord’, or not at all.” I replied, stiffly. I picked my hat up off the floor where it lay, dusted it off and put it back upon my head. Then I strode past the police-man, trying to exude an air of dignity, but noticed – rather too late – that the front of my shirt was plastered with caked-on vomit. I grimaced.

“I’m Captain Dick Jerker, of the New York Police Department. Now, here’s the deal. Your man here,” he said, motioning to Botter, giving him rather too much credit, “has saved your ass.”

“I don’t own a donkey, do I?” I asked Botter, quietly.

“Mr. Botter gave us the name of an Inspector Albert Spunkleford, of Scotland Yard, who he said would vouch for the both of you and confirm your identities. We took the liberty of acting upon this information, and surely enough, this Spunkleford guy backed your story.”

“Jolly good. Then you should know who the Hell I am, and let us be on our way, lest I clobber you.”

“Listen, Lickley,” Jerker continued. “Your hifalutin title might impress folks back in England, but it doesn’t mean a shit to us, okay? If I had my way, I’d shut your ass away for years for assaulting my men and being drunk in charge of a pirate ship. But someone has stepped forward to take you into their care, and assures me you won’t be causing my ass any more problems in my city.”

“Oh! And who might this ‘someone’ be?” I asked. “And why are you so obsessed with asses? Are you rather partial to a bit of bestiality, or something?”

Captain Jerker’s face tensed up with rage, but he was stopped from throwing a punch by a voice cutting through the air, coming from the end of the corridor.

“I’ll take over from here, Officer,” the voice said. I turned to face the speaker, but his face was obscured by shadows. However, as he stepped forward, and his waxed black hair, chiselled jawline, proud features and sparkling eyes came into view, I had no doubts as to who my saviour was.

“Ludlow!” I cheered, rushing over and shaking my brother’s hand vigourously.

“Hello, old boy!” Ludlow beamed. “You know, when I heard a drunken lunatic had steered a pirate ship right into the docks of New York City, I knew it had to be you! How the devil are you?”

“I’d be rather better if I was in a considerably classier environment, with fresh clothes and a glass of whisky in my hand!” I replied.

“Ha!” Ludlow cheered, clapping his hands together. “Same old Lordy. Well, let’s get you over to my house and see if we can’t sort you out, eh?

“Marvelous!” I exclaimed. “I don’t suppose you would happen to have a kennel for my man-servant too, would you?”

Ludlow and I roared, and slapped each other’s backs heartily. As we laughed, Jerker coughed and waved some papers in Ludlow’s direction.

“Now, sir, you just have to sign these papers and then…” he began.

“I don’t have to do anything, Jerk-Off!” Ludlow shouted, then he burst into uproarious laughter once more. I joined in, although I did not fully understand the bizarre American colloquialisms being bandied about by my brother.

“Quite. So… stick that up your donkey’s arse!” I adjoined, jabbing at Jerker’s chest with my finger. “You cock-face.”

Ludlow let forth with another gale of laughter, and delivered another slap upon my back. I smiled, and responded in kind, albeit a little bit harder, for Ludlow had slightly creased my coat with his back-slapping. Jerker, meanwhile, growled at me, causing me to recoil slightly.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Ludlow said, reassuringly. “I am quite pally with the Mayor of New York, doncha know? I sometimes lease him my summer-house, and on the odd occasion, my wife. Anyway, I shall go and get the carriage ready for you, Lordy. I will see you out front!” Ludlow disappeared through a pair of double-doors, leaving me alone with Jerker.

“Your little brother can’t watch you twenty-four-seven, y’know.” The police-man snarled. “And when you put a foot wrong, I’ll be there to put my foot up your ass. I’m warning you, Likely, your ass is mine. MINE.”

I smiled, and tipped my hat politely.

“You shall have to buy me dinner first,” I said, then departed, with Botter following on.

I had only been in America for less than a day, now, but already I had made one mortal enemy. And, sadly, he was not to be the only one.

- Lord Likely.

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From the report of Captain Dick Jerker, of the New York City Police Department:

I ordered my men to continue firing upon the pirate ship ‘The Hairy Clam‘ that was advancing onto US shores, until I saw the vessel rocked with explosions and saw it sink beneath the waves, no doubt taking it’s criminal pirate crew with it.

As we celebrated a job well done, I suddenly noticed two figures appearing from the smoking wreckage, astride two large wooden barrels. One was a tall man, sporting a top hat and who seemed to be contentedly sipping on a glass of alcohol, stopping every so often to refill his glass from a tap on the barrel he was sat upon. The other, smaller man, meanwhile, was frantically paddling trying to keep himself afloat. Naturally, we were rather taken aback by this sight, and I ordered my men to stand down as the two men approached dry land, as I was eager to question them.

Once they came into shallow waters, I sent two men to escort them up to me. I introduced myself, and asked what business they had on United States waters. The taller man declared that he was in fact an aristocrat from England, and called himself ‘Lord Likely‘. While he did indeed sport a top hat and a striking moustache, his clothes were so tattered and he was so clearly drunk that I doubted the legitimacy of his claims, and accused him of being nothing more than villainous, pirate scum, here to steal from our fine city. At this, Mr. Likely became furiously angry, yelling at me and screaming, “don’t you know who I am?!” before attempting to take a swing at me, but only succeeding in falling flat on his face. His associate, a Mr. Botter, rolled his eyes and remained silent.

We searched both men, and removed a fencing sword, a pistol, a hip-flask of whiskey and a bottle of perfume from Mr. Likely. It was thought he was concealing another weapon in his trousers, but it transpired that it was not a weapon, but his fully erect penis instead. I then arrested the pair on suspicion of piracy, and also charged the so-called lord with attacking a police officer. I ordered they be handcuffed and taken to the nearest jail, but as they were loaded up into the police wagon, Likely was violently sick upon two of my men, so I added ‘vomiting upon the police in the course of their duty’ to his list of charges. Mr. Likely mumbled something about ‘removing my testicles with a rusty blade’, then passed out.

The two men were dispatched to the county jail, where they are currently being kept in a cell awaiting further action. Mr. Botter has been highly co-operative with our inquiries, while Mr. Likely has done nothing but complain, and has continually made outrageous demands, such as silk sheets for his bed, a freshly-pressed suit, meals of swan-meat and caviar, and the finest wines we have to offer. He also asked that the cell be re-designed with gold trimmings, a chandelier and classical artwork. Unable to meet his ludicrous demands, we gave him a few scraps of beef and a cotton bed-sheet, which incensed him further.

Proceedings against the pair will resume tomorrow morning, when Mr. Likely has had ample time to compose himself and sober up.

Report filed by Cpt. Dick Jerker, July 2nd 1856, 19.36pm.

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