Moustache No.5: ‘The Tit-Tickler’
Taken from ‘Lord Likely’s Extra-Ordinary Inter-Active Moustache-O-Rama‘.

AS THE weekend is nearly ‘pon us, I thought that today’s ‘tash for my ‘Moustache-A-Day Movember Marathon‘ should be a fun one,  suited to all the weekend revellers among you!

And so I give you ‘The Tit-Tickler‘, ladies and gentle-men! This fun little number is obviously a rather more light-hearted and faintly ludicrous style, but nonetheless it is still guaranteed to bring a smile to many a party-goer’s face due to it’s overwhelmingly amusing appearance! Ho-ho!

And, of course, it can also bring a smile to any lady’s face too, as it is perfectly designed to tickle the busty substances of any woman, giving her a little laugh and thus acting as the perfect ice-breaker, after which you can then seduce her and charm her into bed wherein you grab her firmly with both hands and force your tumescent tally-whacker roughly into her and thrust deeply and fiercely and…

Ahem. Apologies. I got rather carried away, there.

The Tit-Tickler, ladies and gentle-men! Ahem.

- Lord Likely.

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The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle:

Chapter Three.

AND SO the party finally got into full swing -  indeed, it would not be an understatement to say that the party swung so much, it positively rotated.

The Duke and Duchess of Fircombe proved to be excellent hosts; the food was plentiful and delicious, the drink flowed freely and there were enough beautiful women in attendance to maintain my interest, and my increasingly noticeable erection.

With the booze so readily forthcoming, it did not take me at all long to become completely and utterly sloshed, which in turn led to me staggering around the ballroom, making slurred, sexual advances towards all of the female guests. Some of the ladies found my propositions entirely enticing, and laughed coquettishly, whilst furiously fanning their flushed faces. Others took great offence and slapped me heartily around my cheek, an act which, frankly, only made me more aroused, and more determined than ever to bed them.

More time passed, more drink was drunk, and after a quickie in the bathroom with the delightful Jennifer Eels (during which I unleashed my own mighty eel, which she gobbled at greedily), I found that I was so thoroughly pissed that I was able to withstand the dreary banter of the far less interesting (and much less vaginal) guests. For example, I spent thirty minutes happily listening to Major Thrashing waffling on about his time in the army, and his natural distrust of foreigners. When I asked him if he was a racist, he snorted and said, “No, sir! Not in the least! Why, I’ve shot men of every colour – black, red and yellow!”

Next I found myself in the company of the poet Winsome Pine, a terrible sap of a man who spent a lot of time sighing and whining on about the mysteries of love.

“Have you ever love and lost, your lordship?” he asked.

“No, no. I always win,” I beamed, while knocking back another whisky.

“You are very lucky sir,” Pine continued. “I lost my love very recently. It is a pain quite unlike any other, a pain that may dull over time, but never truly fades.”

“Much like trapping one’s scrotum in a door, then?” I suggested, but Pine seemed to not hear me, and carried on regardless.

“I have written a poem about this very subject. Perhaps you would care to hear it?”

“Perhaps not,” I replied.

“It is called, ‘Hole, Not Whole‘,” Pine said, ignoring me once more, and then he cleared his throat and ploughed on with his tiresome verse.

“In my universe, there is a hole shaped like you,
Which nothing can fill, whatever I do.
You made me feel wanted, loved and adored
Now words have no meaning, and I am abhorred.
My heart still beats but each thump brings fresh pain,
I know not if it will ever feel true love again.
I miss your good night, I miss your good morning,
You may not have passed, but yet I ‘m still mourning.
I reach for hands that are no longer there,
Seeking some comfort in naught but thin air.
I would give everything, without any qualms,
To spend but one night, held in your arms.
There is a hole in my universe, into which I do tumble – “

“Now how about you drop your knickers, and let’s have a fumble?” I grinned, finishing the poem as I saw fit.

“How dare you, sir!” Pine snapped, shaking with anger, clearly not taking the time to fully appreciate my mastery of the poetic voice. “Do not make light of my anguish and woe! Terrence was my everything, my all and you – ”

“Terrence?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought as much! I knew you were a plumber of the dirty sink.”

“And what of it?” Pine snapped. “Do you fear homosexuals, Lord Likely?”

“Oh, no, no,” I answered. “Unless they’re charging at me with an axe or something. Still, it is no wonder the poor bastard left you – you strike me as a terribly tedious and whiny little runt.”

“You…you BEAST, sir!” cried Pine, to which I responded by roaring with laughter, and then I trotted off to find something to mount.

That something turned out to be the gorgeous Dorothy Mount-Worthy, and the equally-ravishing Maud Dreadful, two of my closest companions. In fact, so close had we become that more often than not we were actually entwined.

As I approached the highly dickable duo, the orchestra Fircombe had hired for the evening suddenly struck up, and so, being the gentleman I am, I swept Maud off of her feet, and led her to the dance-floor.

As the orchestra played on, Maud and I spun and swirled around the room with incredible grace, our every move so very synchronised that to the onlookers it must have looked like we had been practising for an entire age. We danced like we had been born to dance, and as we danced Maud smiled a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire hall, her blonde hair trailing behind her head, like the tail of a particularly beautiful comet.

Truly, it was a wonderful and magical moment. Well, in my head, at least.

In reality, it was more like drunken groping set to music, which was still great fun, none the less.

After a while the music died down as the Duke of Fircombe took to the floor and beckoned us to all fall silent, as he had something to say. I sighed very loudly to express my dissatisfaction, but then Maud and I dutifully returned to our spot alongside Dorothy.

Fircombe started blathering on about how he had recently returned from a trip to Japan, where he had met Emperor Gojira or some such twaddle. I wasn’t really paying attention, as I was distracted by the sight of dear Dorothy playfully toying with an olive on a stick, which had been served in a glass of gin she had been drinking. I watched, positively agog, as she suggestively rolled the olive across her soft lips, and then slowly started sucking upon it, thereby making that olive the luckiest damned olive on the planet. It took an immense amount of willpower on my part not to ravage Dorothy right there and then, so I tried to refocus my attention on the Duke’s dull speech.

“…and so, after meeting with the Emperor, he bestowed upon me a great gift,” the Duke droned on. “A gift which I would now like to present to my darling lady wife, Esmerelda. Esme?”

With a delighted squeal, the Duchess of Fircombe waddled up to the Duke’s side, still clutching a a plate of canapés in her her hands. The Duke smiled at her, and then presented her with a thin, oblong box. For a moment the Duchess looked torn between her food and the box, but finally she put down her plate and tore open the box, revealing an admittedly spectacular peal necklace. It was a dazzling piece of jewellery and as such drew admiring gasps from the crowd – most notably from Pilferton Swypes, the reformed jewel thief, who not only gasped but went on to exclaim, “Fuckin’ hell!” at the top of his voice.

As the Duke put the necklace around his wife’s neck (which seemed to be rather a struggle), the Duchess went on and on about how overjoyed she was, and how she hoped to find an occasion special enough to allow her to wear the necklace.

“I think she should wait until a time when the ruddy thing will fit around her neck,” I whispered to Dorothy, which caused her to spit out the olive she was still slurping upon, sending it tumbling into her cleavage.

“Allow me!” I volunteered helpfully, and then I plunged my hand between those bountiful breasts, in search of the elusive fruit.

Meanwhile, with the necklace now around her neck, the Duchess had decided that she was so happy that she was going to sing, so that she might fully express the joy she was feeling. The Duke looked faintly embarrassed, but instructed the orchestra to start playing.

The first note was struck,  and the Duchess opened her mouth…

…at which point I successfully retrieved the olive from betwixt Dorothy’s fun-bags, with a triumphant cry of, “Huzzah!”

But, dear readers, my hand had become rather sweaty in the pursuit of the olive, and I could only watch helplessly as the fruit flew out of my grip and sailed across the room…

…and straight into the Duchess’ open mouth. The Duchess seemed to freeze for a moment in shock, then her hands went up to her throat as she started coughing and spluttering, the olive clearly having come to a rest somewhere in her larynx.

“Well thank heavens for that,” I said, as the rest of the guests swarmed to the frantic Duchess’ aid. “At least she shan’t be able to ruddy well sing now.”

- Lord Likely.

Today’s chapter is dedicated to dear Sarah, who has just become an auntie. Congratulations, m’dear!

Also, many thanks to Mr. Scott Pack for singling out my astonishing adventures within the pages of his own web-log. Mr. Pack is a publisher, so clearly knows good words when he sees them! Hoorah!

*****

The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle is a Which Ruddy Bastard Did It? mystery, meaning that YOU can also partake in the mystery! Read carefully, dear readers, for their shall be clues and hints aplenty, and when the time comes to reveal the bounder responsible for the crime, YOU will be able to thrust forward your own suggestions as to the identity of the culprit, and see if you have what it takes to be an astonishing adventurer!

Please, keep your eyes peeled and your genitals scrubbed…

“What in the name of all that is sacred and holy do you think you are doing?” bellowed Professor Ventricle, after I had punched him squarely in the face, strongly suspecting that he was none other than my arch-nemesis, Harold Loathsome, in some sort of shoddy disguise.

“Give it up, Loathsome! Your terrible charade is over!” I cried triumphantly.

“You have gone stark, raving bonkers, Likely! How on earth could I possibly be that Loathsome fellow? I’m considerably taller and older, for starters. And look!” protested Ventricle, tugging firmly on his long, grey beard. “It is all my own hair! Are you quite satisfied now?”

I grudgingly conceded that I was indeed satisfied that he was not Loathsome after all. It seemed that my usually faultless deductive powers were somewhat failing me, with this episode following on so closely from my earlier misapprehension about the caretaker being Loathsome.

“I say,” said Mr. Bertrum Gumbumble, my old head-master. “Is this how you conduct all your investigations, Likely? By punching people in the face until you find the felon? For if it is, then I rather feel you had better leave before you incapacitate all my staff…”

“Yes, I suppose you would be happy to get me out of the way, wouldn’t you?” I mused. “Having me completely and utterly out of your hair would suit you rather well, would it not…HAROLD LOATHSOME?“

With that, I delivered a fine upper cut to Gumbumble’s chin, which sent the old fool tumbling backwards onto the ground.

“Egads!” cried Inspector Spunkleford, who was watching the events unfolding before him with a mixture of shock, horror and outright disgust. Meanwhile, I had set about Gumbubmle, and was trying in vain to prove that his balding pate was nothing more than a skin-coloured skullcap, worn to disguise his true identity.

“Bugger,” I said, as I was once again proven to be incorrect in my assumptions.

“Get off me, you blithering idiot!” spat Gumbumble.

“Hmm,” I pondered, as I disentangled myself from the exasperated educator. “I was certain you were Loathsome…damnation, what the devil is wrong with me today? Maybe I am over-thinking this whole dilemma…maybe the answer is staring me right in the face.” At which point my eyes fell upon the glorious cleavage of a delectable female standing among the crowd of onlookers who had assembled at the crime-scene like vultures assembling at…well, a crime-scene.

I knew precisely what had to be done.

“You!” I said pointing to the pretty creature, a curvaceous brunette who filled her dress in a most pleasing manner indeed. “You aren’t Harold Loathsome, are you?”

“N-no sir,” the woman said nervously.

“Well, if you do not mind, I should just like to make certain of the fact,” I said, taking her hand in mine and drawing her out from the crowd.

“Certainly, my lord,” the cock-worthy creature replied. “Do whatever you have to in order to clear my name!”

“I appreciate your compliance in this matter, m’dear,” I smiled, and then I quickly put my hands upon her breasts, to verify their authenticity. “Well, yes. These certainly do feel genuine…do you mind awfully if I just?…”

“No, no! Not at all!” answered the girl, rather excitably.

“Marvellous!” I cheered, and then I swiftly set about freeing the lady’s filthy fun-bags. Happily, they were most assuredly real, and were a pleasingly firm and fulsome pair, to boot.

“Happy, my lord?” asked the woman, a coquettish smile forming upon her lips.

“Extremely,” I beamed. “But I must just check one last thing…”

“Of course,” the minx smiled back, lifting up her dress.

I tipped my hat in thanks, and then knelt down to examine the lady’s lady-parts. I was gladdened to find myself looking at a beautiful bush underneath that dress, and not the horrid flaccid flesh-stick of my arch-enemy.

“Well, this certainly looks real,” I said. “I wonder, however, does it taste real?…”

“Really, Likely!” Spunkleford objected. “I think that is quite enough!”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you…HAROLD LOATHSOME?” I yelled, before leaping up and flooring the fellow in an inevitably spectacular fashion.

“Jesus Christ, Likely!” Spunkleford yelped, as he reeled back. “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing? This is getting ruddy ridiculous! You can’t seriously suspect me, you fool!”

“No, I do not suspect you at all, Spunkleford,” I responded. “I just wanted to clout you for disturbing me in the course of my… cross-examination.“

“You bugger, Likely,” Spunkleford cursed as he tended to his bloodied nose.

“I apologise, Spunkleford. It is just that I am rather on edge…I am not used to being wrong, and yet I have been wrong on no less than three separate occasions now. Furthermore, I am still not absolutely certain that this poor, dead fellow lying before us is not my man-servant, Botter. The only certainty I do have right now is that I would very much like to give this delectable strumpet a jolly good shafting,” I added, indicating to the pretty thing I had just given a good going-over.

“Well, quite,” said Spunkleford. “So we are right back to square one, then. We still have absolutely no clue as to where Loathsome may be”

“Indeed,” I answered, stroking my magnificent moustache in deep contemplation. “Damnation, I know he is here somewhere, gloating…”

“Probably, old boy,” Spunkleford agreed, holding his head back to curb the bleeding from his nose.

“I dare say that the cad is probably watching me right now, laughing at me…mocking me….”

“Oh! Wait a moment! Isn’t that him up there?” Spunkleford exclaimed, pointing up to the school’s bell-tower. I followed the direction of his finger, and saw a thin figure clad in a black suit standing atop the building.

“Oh yes. So it is. Well, that was considerably easier than I had imagined,” I remarked.

And with that, I set off to go and pummel the bastard.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Likely vs Loathsome!

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1st of May, 1851.

As Mr. Harry Flashman and I dashed off to find my missing man-servant, I took the time to explain precisely how my stinking servant had become an integral part of our latest mystery, the disappearance of the Koh-i-Noor Diamond.

“Here is what I believe occurred,” I said as we pelted along the corridors of the Crystal Palace, doing our best to make our way through the teeming masses who had come to witness the Great Exhibition. “This fellow – the Queen’s aide – was placed in charge of the Koh-i-Noor Diamond, and its display here at the exhibition. This was to prove to be a terrible mistake on behalf of Her Majesty, for this wretch had desires upon the diamond. He wanted it badly for himself, and would do anything to get it. Oh, how he must have counted his lucky stars when the gem was placed in his care. He was in the perfect position to – GET OUT OF THE WAY, YOU FAT SOW,” I roared as a portly woman made herself an unwitting obstacle in our path. “He was in the perfect position to swipe the diamond. However he needed a plan, for he could not just take the diamond and run, that would be too obvious.”

“Aye, he’d be the prime suspect if that stone disappeared,” concurred Mr. Flashman.

“Correct. So he took the diamond away, claiming he was going to get it cleaned up for the exhibition,” I continued.

“Like that lady with the lovely tits told us!” Mr. Flashman cried.

“Indeed. However, this rogue did not take the Koh-i-Noor Diamond to be cleaned. He took it and – WIIL YOU GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!” I yelled to a dopey chap who was standing in our way. “No, this fellow took the gem to one of the stands selling various cheap nick-nacks, and switched it with a large crystal, taken from the body of one of those awful crystal pigs, while manipulating the diamond to make it resemble one of those porcine trinkets. I suspect the Queen’s aide had planned to return to the same stand later that day, purchase the pig which now had the diamond as its body, and make his exit. It was a cunning and ingenious plan, but with one fatal flaw.”

“Your man Botter bought the pig with the diamond in it!” exclaimed Flashman.

“Spot on, my fellow. That is why this awful arse-nugget of a man has been pursuing us. He aims to retrieve the diamond pig from my man-servant, and I fear he will not stop at anything to do so. WILL YOU MOVE YOUR STINKING CARCASS, YOU TEDIOUS LITTLE PRICK!” I bellowed as another idiotic prole blocked our path.

We continued on in silence, weaving our way through the buzzing crowds, until I stopped abruptly almost causing Mr. Flashman to become rather intimate with my posterior. I sniffed the air.

“What is it?” said Flashman, as I continued to sniff loudly.

“Do you smell that, sir? That smell of faeces and god-awful body-odour?”

“Eurgh,” Flashman recoiled. “Aye, I do. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

“That’s Botter. He’s near.” I sniffed some more. “I think he is down this way,” I said, indicating to a small door to the right of us. “Come, let us hurry!”

We burst through the door and found ourselves in a dimly-lit store-room, where various artifacts due for display were being kept. And there, sat on a chair in the centre of this room, was Botter, forlornly stroking his wretched crystal pig.

“Botter, you cretinous cock-shaft!” I barked. “Why must you insist on running off like this? I swear, I shall have to put a ruddy great bell around your neck in the future…”

“Um, your lordship,” said Flashman, tapping me on the shoulder.

“What? Can’t you see I admonishing my man-servant? I do so hate…oh. Shit.”

There, lurking in the shadows behind us, was the Queen’s aide, pointing a pistol right at us.

“Welcome, gentlemen. You are…” the cad consulted his pocket-watch. “Yes, you are right on time for having your brains shot out of the back of your head.”

“How very fortuitous,” I muttered. “Truly, we are blessed, Mr?…”

“Mr. Reginald Spankswood, at your service. But you probably know me better as…The Brown Mist!”

Flashman and I exchanged puzzled looks, then collapsed into fits of laughter.

“SILENCE!” screamed the fellon. “Show some respect for The Brown Mist!”

“I…I cannot say I am familiar with the name, Mr. Mist,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “But you may want to consider changing it, for it is quite blatantly ridiculous, and quite shit-awful.”

“Shut up. SHUT UP!” screamed The Brown Mist, waving his pistol about frantically. “Soon, you shall all tremble before the fearsome might of The Brown Mist!”

More helpless laughter erupted from Flashman and I, as The Brown Mist became more and more frustrated.

“SILENCE! I am a notorious diamond thief, you know! You are in the presence of criminal nobility!”

“Oh really?” said Flashman, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “And how many diamonds have you stolen, Mr. Brown Mist?”

“Well,” said The Brown Mist, scuffing his shoes against the ground. “The Koh-i-Noor Diamond will be my first, admittedly…but oh!” he suddenly brightened, a mad glint in his eye. “Oh! What a first! Taking this valuable gem from right under the Queen’s nose! I shall become a legend in my own lifetime! Soon, The Brown Mist will be on everybody’s lips!“

Upon hearing that ludicrous statement, Mr. Flashman and I burst into further uncontrollable gales of laughter.

“Shut up! Both of you! SHUT UP!” screeched The Brown Mist. “I will shoot you both, you know! With my gun! So shut the HELL up, and drop your weapons!”

Flashman quickly tossed his own pistol over to the Mist, and then thrust his hands in the air.

“What in the name of the Sodomites are you doing?” I hissed. “This man is clearly a buffoon, and probably does not even know how to handle a ruddy gun!”

The subsequent shot from The Brown Mist’s pistol, and the bullet hitting my right arm, soon put paid to that theory, however.

“YOU BASTARD!” I roared as my arm began to seep my noble claret. “You absolute dick-rag! Christ! That is my masturbating arm, as well. Fuck it!“

“Now maybe you shall take me more seriously,” The Brown Mist said, training his pistol on me. “I will have this diamond, and you will not stop me. You!” He nodded towards Mr. Flashman. “Get the diamond off of that filthy creature.”

“Certainly,” said Flashman, strolling over to Botter and wrenching the diamond pig from my man-servant’s firm grasp.

“Glyn!” cried Botter, reaching out for his pretend pet.

“You know, you would not believe the trouble the Koh-i-Noor Diamond has caused me.” Flashman continued, ignoring my man-servant’s pathetic pleadings. “You would not believe what I had to go through just to get it here in the first place¹. But if you want it, Mr. Mist, then I suppose I have no option to give it to you.”

With that, Flashman spun round and launched the diamond with tremendous ferocity at The Brown Mist. Before he could react, the Mist found the gem embedded firmly in his forehead.

“Oh. Oh bollocks.” said The Mist. ” The Brown Mist…is…defeated!” Then the rapscallion fell to the floor, utterly dead.

“Marvellous work, Mr. Flashman!” I said as I attempted to staunch the flow of blood from my arm. “For a moment there, I was worried that my assessment of you as a no-good coward was spot-on.”

“Never!” beamed Flashman.

His lordship may be seen to the right of this picture, waving his hat in the air. Mr. Harry Flashman is stood behind him.

“You two have done me a great service to-day,” said Queen Victoria, as Mr. Flashman and I were presented to her in the main hall of the Crystal Palace. “You have spared me a great deal of embarrassment, and guaranteed that the Koh-i-Noor Diamond shall forever more be in my collection. I shall see to it that you are both amply rewarded. Anything you desire, speak of it now, and I shall see to it that it is bestowed upon you.”

I desperately wanted to say that I would very much like to ejaculate upon her heaving breasts, but I somehow managed to restrain myself, and instead I said: “Not at all, Your Majesty. The greatest reward is the appreciation of a grateful Monarch, and her glorious Empire.”

The Queen smiled. “Very good, Lord Likely. You are a true gentle-man, and a true hero of the Empire. Thank you both for your fearless dedication to your sovereign, and long may you continue.”

Her Majesty turned to Prince Albert, who had also arrived upon the scene, and together they made their way out from the exhibition, to hearty cheers from the assembled crowd.

“God Save the Queen!” I roared, joining in the chorused cries of celebration. “And God Save Her Magnificent Knockers!”

“Why did you have to go and say all that rot about not needing a reward, you old coot?” hissed Flashman, angrily elbowing me in the ribs. “We could have been set up for life!”

“Well, I did get to catch the briefest of glimpses at her considerable cleavage,” I replied as I watched the royal couple depart from the hall. “And that is an image I shall carry with me always, and which I shall contemplate at great length later on. Just as soon as my arm as healed.”

Flashman grinned and slapped me on the back heartily.

“What say we go for a drink?” he said. “I’m sure you would appreciate a stiff one.”

“You know me too well,” I nodded.

So, there you have it, dear reader. A tale of daring-do, diamonds and desire. I cannot quite recall what happened after we went to the local ale-house, as we both got completely and utterly pissed-up. I recall learning that Mr. Flashman was arrested later that night for drunk and disorderly conduct, while I wound up being fellated by the three ravishing Indian beauties I had met earlier that day.

I never saw Mr. Flashman again, but I hear talk that he is currently back in India himself, getting embroiled in the mutiny in that country². I am sure it will all blow over soon, however.

Botter, meanwhile, is still mourning the loss of his beloved crystal pig. I try to keep his mind of it by keeping him busy about the mansion, and by thrashing him once every hour.

The Koh-i-Noor Diamond remained one of the highlights of the Great Exhibition, and afterwards Prince Albert ordered that the gem be recut. Probably to get rid of some of the dried blood from its time spent crammed in The Brown Mist’s forehead.

Speaking of the brown mist, I must excuse myself now. I really do need a shit something chronic.

- Lord Likely.

Those of you who have not masturbated so regularly so as to diminish your eye-sight completely, will have noticed that there have been a few aesthetic changes around here, as well as the introduction of an astonishing new About Page. Please do take a moment to admire the fresh decor, and do let us know what you think. As long as your thoughts are firmly in the positive, that is.

The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely has been the recipient of a rather nice review from Manic’s Tasty Bites of the Day. Despite not awarding his lordship the perfect ten he so richly deserves, it is nonetheless a fair and honest review. Many thanks indeed!