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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Preparing myself for the worst, I armed myself with the pistol Ludlow had given me, and edged towards the door of my carriage. These red-skinned savages had already killed two men, and I would be buggered if I would let myself become their third victim.

I pulled back the hammer on the pistol, took two deep breaths, then threw the carriage door open. I hit the ground hard, performed a rather spectacular forward roll and came up with my pistol pointed in the direction of our attackers.

“Nobody move, or I swear to cockery I will fill you so full of ruddy lead that you will be able to use your penis as a pencil,” I yelled, trying to make out the assailants through the cloud of dust thrown up by my exertions.

There was silence.

“Well, hark at HIM,” came a rather fey voice, and then the speaker stepped through the dust cloud.

Now, I may not have actually met a Red Indian face-to-face, but from the images I have seen I know what one should look like; they should look lean and mean, wearing simple clothing made from animal hide, their faces adorned with face-paint, that sort of thing.

The fellow I found myself confronted with did not fit the mental picture I had created in my mind. He was supremely over dressed, in bright, vivid colours, with a head-dress so full of feathers that it looked like he had an entire company of parrots nesting on his head. And his face-paint was also similarly extravagant, and seemed to have been applied with far too much care and attention. In short, he looked like he was better suited to the chorus-line of a theatrical musical production, rather than life on the open range.

“Well, hello there!” the man squealed. “How delightful to meet you!”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” I said, rising to my feet.

“Oh, don’t get up! You were quite alright where you were, if you know what I mean!” the man giggled.

“Oh, you didn’t!” cried another, equally garishly-garbed man, joining his accomplice. “I swear, you are the living end!”

“I couldn’t help myself, really I couldn’t!” simpered the first man.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend, here,” the second man said to me. “He’s a randy little bugger at times. Usually between dawn and dusk!”

There was more raucous laughter from the two men.

“Oh, but how rude are we?” the first chap exclaimed. “We haven’t introduced ourselves! I am Chief Spurting Cock, and this handsome devil here is Fulsome Buttocks. We’re from the Red Rump tribe…I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how we got that name!” The pair collapsed into paroxysms of laughter once more.

“I see. Gay Red Indians, is it?” I said. The pair immediately stopped giggling , their faces turning deadly serious.

“We prefer to think of ourselves as homosexual Native Americans, if it is all the same to you,” sniffed Spurting Cock.

“What a savage!” added Fulsome Buttocks, nodding his head sadly.

“Well, whatever you prefer to call yourselves, I call you cold-blooded killers and my previous threat remains. If any of you so much as lay one finger upon my lordly frame, I will shoot you a new arsehole.”

“Oooh. A new arsehole? Sounds like fun!” squealed Fulsome Buttocks.

“We are not cold-blooded killers, sir!” snapped Chief Spurting Cock. We are a peaceful tribe, who want nothing more than to spend our days balls-deep in anus, thank you very much!”

“Peaceful? Try telling that to the two poor men you killed!” I shouted, pointing at the bodies of the two train-drivers lying dead on the ground.

“Ah, yes. That was terrible. It’s Sucking Pole, I’m afraid. He insists on bringing a bow and arrow with him when we go out, says it makes him look more butch. I say it makes him look like a queen with a quiver, but he won’t listen. You don’t listen, do you Sucking Pole?” said Spurting Cock, addressing the small group of gaily-coloured men behind him.

“Sorry. Dreadfully sorry. It went off by accident,” Sucking Pole said, looking at the floor forlornly.

“Oooh, I bet he says that to all the boys!” cried Spurting Cock, and everyone collapsed into helpless laughter again.

“He means well, bless him,” said Fulsome Buttocks, his make-up streaming from his tears of laughter. “Well, that’s enough about us. Who are you, tall, dark and handsome?”

“I am Lord Likely, aristocratic adventurer and gentle-man of -”

“Likely?” asked Spurting Cock. “Did you say your name was Lord Likely?”

“I did, for it is,” I replied. The two Natives exchanged knowing glances.

“I think we have someone you may know back at our camp,” said Spurting Cock. “He calls himself Lightnin’ Lance Likely…”

“Lance?” I cried. “You have met Lance?”

“Oh, yes,” said Spurting Cock. “And he lives up to his name, let me tell you. Well, I don’t know about the ‘Lightnin”, but I can safely vouch for the lance! I swear, he could be the world’s first nude jousting champion!”

More laughter.

“You have to take me to see him at once!” I declared, ignoring their tawdry innuendos.

“Oh, do we now? Hark at her,” sneered Spurting Cock. “It seems we have something you want, and you,” he leant in closer. “You have something we want, your loveliness.”

I felt a feeling of dread swell up inside of me, as I was fairly certain the man was not referring to a monetary reward, and I was not sure I wanted to indulge in another homosexual act so soon after I had bedded Mr. Abraham Lincoln. How on Earth could I escape a fate worse than buggery?

“Alright, milord?” came a voice behind me. It was Botter, arriving at precisely the right moment. “I heard gunshot, and I came as fast as I could, but that luggage compartment is awfully cramped and I kept tripping over suitcases and getting tangled in handles and straps but then I – “

“You may take your fee out of the backside of my man-servant, Botter, here,” I proclaimed, pushing Botter in front of me. “He is most obliging, and relatively hygienic.”

The Indians huddled together in frantic discussion, occasionally glancing our way as if they were sizing us up. Which is probably what they were doing, in fact.

“Erm, what’s going on milord?” asked a confused Botter.

“You are helping me to meet my half-brother Lance,” I said, putting a hand on Botter’s shoulder. “You are to be commended, dear Botter. I shall see you get a medal for this!”

“The VC?”

“The Victoria Cross? No, probably more like…like…the VD.”

“The VD? What’s that, milord?”

“It’s…it’s a special reward, Botter, it…um, ah! Here comes the Chief!” I cried, as Chief Spurting Cock broke away from the group and approached us.

“We agree to your terms, Lord Lovely. We have a deal. Let us shake on it,” said the Chief. I extended my hand to him, but the Chief just looked at it with puzzled amusement. “Who said anything about shaking hands?” cried Spurting Cock, causing his whole tribe to erupt with laughter.

I sighed. This was going to be a very long day.

- Lord Likely.

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