“Are you comfortable?” chortled Silas Surprise, as he double-checked the locks on the box inside of which my lordly form was now contained.

“I would be considerably more comfortable if I was not inside this box,” I ventured.

“Ha! A commendable try, your lordship! Most commendable indeed! Alas, I am afraid you are to remain exactly where you are! I mean, how else am I to saw a lord in half if I do not have a lord to saw in half?” Silas chimed, testing the blades of his saw with his finger.

“Good God, man!” I snapped, shaking violently inside the box. “You are truly, desperately insane! You would face me unchained, mano y mano, if you were any sort of man!”

“Oh, your lordship! After I have performed this dazzling trick…” Silas spun round, brandishing his saw, its blade glinting menacingly under the stage-lights. “…I shall be twice the man you shall be! Ha-ha!”

“I have to admit, that is rather clever. Well done!” I said.

“Thank you, your lordship. Now onto the main event! And do try not to thrash about too wildly when I begin sawing, for it will only make things more difficult for the both of us!”

And with that, Silas began sawing into the box.

I hurled loud obscenities at my captor, but still he continued his grim work, sawing onwards and downwards, ever nearer to my waist, and my impending demise. My brain churned over a hundred possible escape plans, but all were doomed to failure. I was trapped, in a box, with no way out. It would take something approaching a miracle to free me from being dissected here and now.

As the saw drew sickeningly nearer to my body, I began to feel rather nauseous and dizzy, my head spinning with alarming speed. At first I was certain it was the fear making me feel ill, but when I began to hallucinate again, I realised that the opium I had recently smoked was still kicking around in my system, playing merry havoc with my mind.

Random images floated before my eyes; I saw chorus girls dancing naked, Silas’ assistant rubbing my semen all over her face, the giant floating vagina swooping around the stage like some sort of fleshy eagle…and then Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, appeared beside me in an ethereal, ghost-like form. She turned to me and softly spoke.

“Arise, Lord Likely, arise!”

I smiled weakly at the apparition as she uttered the words over and over, and I felt my recumbent Lord Palmerston twitch with excitement. As Her Majesty floated beside me, I took the opportunity to behold her glorious globes, bouncing around freely beneath her dress. For a drug-induced spectre, she certainly had a most fantastic set of knockers.

“What the – ?” Silas yelled, snapping me out of my trance. I looked down to see the malevolent magician struggling with his saw, pulling and pushing at it with considerable might. “Why won’t this blasted saw…cut…through…this…blasted…box!”

Silas heaved with all of his might, but still the saw would not comply. I soon realised what was afoot, and began to laugh loudly.

“Ha-ha-ha!” I guffawed. “You may have a strong, searingly sharp saw there, Mr. Surprise, but I am afraid it is nothing compared to the power of my proud Lord Palmerston!”

“What? What are you babbling on about?” snapped Silas, glaring angrily at his saw, now nothing more than a tangled and twisted metallic mess.

“My Lord Palmerston – the world’s strongest penis! It seems that while I was entranced by some most erotic hallucinations, my titanic todger was roused to the point of full-on arousal, and has become so incredibly thickened and engorged that your simple saw cannot cut through it!”

“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, whoever heard of such a thing? A penis that can – “

Silas was stopped mid-sentence as a loud splintering sound filled the auditorium. His eyes flicked about nervously, trying to locate the source of the noise, his gaze finally falling back upon the box. He watched with stunned astonishment as the wood cracked and split apart before his very eyes, until finally the tip of my Palmerston broke through the box-lid in glorious, purple-hatted triumph.

“Ye Gods!” Silas gasped, as he beheld my herculean hammer-head. “What in the name of of all that is Holy?…”

My leviathan love-pump’s magnificent entrance had significantly weakened the box, enabling me to break myself free with considerable ease. Once liberated, I wasted no time in pouncing upon the suitably surprised Silas Surprise. I hauled the bounder towards me by his lapels, ensuring that I had his full, undivided attention.

“Now pay attention, Mr. Surprise, for now I shall demonstrate how one can magically turn a cowardly conjurer completely black and blue…” I smiled.

– Lord Likely.

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The first thing I noticed about Mr. Silas Surprise was the enormous size of his wand.

I could not help but notice it, really. As Archie, the doctor and I entered Mr. Surprise’s dressing-room to confront him over our recent tussle with an alarmingly un-dead gentleman, we found the conjurer standing proudly next to a mirror, holding his wand aloft with considerable pride.

“My word,” I said. “That is rather a large wand you have there, sir.”

“Why thank you,” replied Silas, a broad, beaming smile creeping across his face. “I do believe it is the largest wand in all of the Empire, you know.”

“That may be,” I concurred. “But then, you do know what they say about gentlemen with large wands, do you not?”

“No. Pray tell, my good sir, what is it they say?”

“They say that gentlemen with big wands have pitifully small penises.”

Silas’ face darkened. “Oh really. And who are ‘they’ who make such slanderous comments, if I may ask?”

“They are me and my proud Lord Palmerston,” I said, pointing to the significant bulge in my trousers. “My Palmerston is, without doubt, the largest wand in the Empire.”

“Hmph,” Silas snorted. “It certainly looks impressive, friend, but tell me – can it do magic?”

“But of course. I can make it disappear up a lady’s chuff in an instant, and I can also expel from it a powerful torrent of magical mucus upon her face, if she so desires.” I smiled, and winked at a rather gorgeous young lady stood nearby, who I took to be one of Silas’ assistants. She smiled back, and rolled her tongue suggestively across her lips. I tipped my hat politely in return, and felt my penis begin to thicken with excitement.

“Touché,” replied Silas. “But I do not imagine that you came here merely to discuss cock-sizes. Who are you, and how the devil did you get in here?”

“In answer to your first question,” I said, maintaining eye-contact with Silas’ beautiful assistant. “I am Lord Likely, and I am the new owner of this very theatre. And in answer to your second query, I am Lord Likely, and I am the new owner of this very theatre.”

“I see. And what business do you have with me, my lord?”

“Business, yes,” I said distractedly, as I watched the female assistant run her hands up and down her ample chest. “Business…“

“Ah, yes,” said Archie, realising that I was going to prove of no particular use to the investigation at this point. “My friends and I have just been assaulted by a dead man, Mr. Surprise.”

“I had heard, yes. Terrible state of affairs,” Silas nodded, sadly. “But what does this have to do with me?”

“Ah-ha!” exclaimed Archie, before pausing, a confused look upon his face. “I…I am sure I do not have the faintest idea…Likely?”

By this time, I was locked in an embrace with Silas’ assistant, kissing her upon the mouth with such fevered passion that even a Frenchman would have been embarrassed.

“Ahem…Likely,” Archie coughed.

“Oh yes, the case,” I said, disentangling myself from the buxom filly. “Mr. Surprise, I wonder if you could tell me what this is,” I produced the King of Spades from my pocket and passed it on to the magician. He flipped it over in his hands.

“It is a playing card, your lordship,” he smirked. “I would have thought that was blatantly obvious.”

“Indeed it is, and it is. But it is no ordinary playing card, sir. You will notice it is razor tipped, and JESUS CHRIST!” I exclaimed, as the lovely lady withdrew my Palmerston from my trousers and began to wrap her lips around his engorged end. “Excuse me. Ahem. It is a razor-tipped card, but it is carefully weighted in such a manner that – FUCK YES, THAT’S THE TICKET – uh, it is weighted such that it will always fly in an upward path, away from any person Archie here has enlisted in his act.”

“It is true,” Archie agreed. “The ‘Card of Death‘ trick is just a trick, after all. No-one is ever in any real danger.”

“Precisely. Tonight, however, one unfortunate fellow died during this trick, and all because – OH YES! SUCK MY BALLS!” I yelled, as the female assistant continued to slurp away noisily on my todger. “Pardon me. As I was saying, someone died to-night because the cards have been tampered with. They no longer fly upwards when thrown – SHITTING CRIKEY, THAT FEELS SO GOOD – instead, they fly straight. They have been weighted differently, without Archie’s knowledge, and so the trick went terribly awry.”

“And what? You suspect me of tampering with the cards? Is that why you are here?”

“Well, sir, you are…sorry, you shall have to excuse me for a moment,” I said, as I took the assistant and sat her upon a dressing-table in the room. I lifted her dress up and pulled her underwear down in a trice, and then I carefully slid my pulsating Palmerston into her sopping wet mimsy, and began thrusting away like a piston. “There. Now, where was I?”

“You were about to accuse me of murder, I believe,” Silas replied, regarding my actions with a quizzical expression.

“Ooooh, yes. You find this to be most favourable, do you not?” I whispered to the woman as I pumped away merrily. “Ah, yes, murder!” I added, trying to focus my mind back upon the investigation. “You are the only other magician on to-night’s bill, are you not, Mr. Surprise? I think that only you would – oh yes, this is most agreeable – I think that only you would have the expertise required to successfully meddle with these playing cards.”

“Pah!” cried Silas. “And why should I do such a thing? I am the head-liner, lest you forget. Why would I be at all interested in ruining Argle’s act?”

“That’s Archie,” Archie interjected, slightly hurt.

“Yes, I have not quite figured that part out yet. Nor have I yet managed to – Good Heavens, my dear, did you really just slip a finger into my anus? Bravo! Bravo indeed!” I exclaimed, as I continued to hump the magician’s assistant. “Sorry, Mr. Surprise. As I was saying, I have not yet managed to fathom out how the dead man came back to life, or how you managed to pull off such a convincing illusion, but – oh God, your fanny is so divine! – but do not fear, Mr. Surprise, I shall figure it all out eventually.”

“Well, feel free to poke around all you like, milord,” Silas smiled, his mood suddenly brightening.

“I already am,” I replied casually.

“You may snoop and sneak about, but I assure you, you shan’t find anything to link me to this…terrible event.”

“Pardon?” I yelled, as my erotic exertions became more enthusiastic, causing the dressing-table to bang loudly against the wall, sending various make-up bottles crashing noisily to the floor. “You shall have to speak up!”

“I said, you shall not find…”

“Hold that thought, sir,” I said, turning my attention back to the ravishing young woman with whom I was making love. “My dear, I do believe I am about to ejaculate quite forcibly. If you do not mind, I should like to expel my juices upon your face now.”

The girl clambered off of the dresser, and dropped to her knees in front of me, as I began to issue forth thick streams of love-batter all over her countenance, while she lapped hungily at my excretions like some kind of cat. A cat with fabulous tits.

“By Queen Victoria’s quivering quim! You do like that, do you not? That’s it! Swallow it up! All of it! Every last drop! Oh, God yes…jolly good show, you dirty little vixen…jolly good show!”

Finally, I finished unloading my noble secretions and was ready to continue the investigation.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Surprise…now, where were we?”

The other men looked on, gobs considerably smacked.

– Lord Likely.

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When one dies, I firmly believe that one should stay dead. It is rather bad form to suddenly spring back to life, and considerably worse form still to then attempt to eat the brains of anyone else in the vicinity. People tend to frown upon such cannibalistic actions in polite society.

Yet it was precisely this predicament with which I was faced on this November evening, as a rather obnoxious gentleman whom I had witnessed expiring mere moments earlier, was now very much not-dead and eager to tuck into my lordly grey-matter. Some people can be frightfully rude, sometimes.

“Bugger off!” I yelled out, as the recently-deceased ragamuffin clawed at me. “Just bugger off to buggery, you foul fucking fiend!” My words seemed to have no discernible effect upon the being, so I decided to reiterate my demands by thwacking the creature around the head with my cane. The wretch staggered back, and then tripped over his own feet, landing in a rather comical bundle upon the floor.

Meanwhile, the surprise return of the dead man had triggered yet another outbreak of panic among the assembled theatre-goers, who were frantically taking to their collective heels and heading for the nearest exit.

“Please, ladies and gentle-men,” I said, my voice disappearing amongst the hubbub of the crowd. “Do not be panicked! Everything is entirely under control!”

“He’s behind you!” cried out a voice from the audience. It was Botter, trying his best not to get swept away in the stream of terrified people, but failing rather spectacularly.

“Please, Botter, this is not a pantomime,” I explained patiently.

“No, really – he’s behind you!” Botter repeated as he was carried out of the auditorium, forcing me to swing around to look behind me. Surely enough, the blaggard was there, arms stretched out, moving towards me with slow, shuffling steps.

“Please,” croaked the fellow. “I just wish to masticate upon your mind!”

“My word, you are rather persistent for a dead blighter, aren’t you?” I sighed.

“Maybe he’s not dead!” cried out the doctor who, just moments ago, had pronounced this gentleman well and truly finished.

“I would gladly welcome a second opinion!” I shouted back, doing my best to fend off the hungry apparition with my cane. The monster still came at me, and with surprising strength, snapped my cane clean in half, as if it was a twig or a sparrow’s neck.

“I…I think I shall leave a re-examination until later,” whined the doctor, as the creature stumbled towards me.

“I would be much obliged if you would just permit me to have a quick nibble upon your brain,” the dead man implored, in a manner so polite I almost relented, before I came to my senses and remembered how attached I had gotten to my brain over the years.

“Never, you foul entity!” I roared, pushing the creature back with all my strength. Then, I removed my trusted pistol from within my coat, and fired off a few shots towards the demon. As befitting such a fine marksman as myself, all the bullets I fired found a home within the carnivorous cadaver’s corpse, yet the effect was distinctly underwhelming.

“Please, I would rather you refrain from doing that,” the former gentleman complained, continuing to advance upon me. I cursed a thousand Gods under my breath, then took steady aim and squeezed off another shot, right between the beastly bounder’s eyes.

At first, it seemed my latest attempt to put this wretched mockery of humanity out of its misery had also failed, as the undead swine continued his advance unabated. However, after a couple of faltering steps towards me, the monstrosity stopped, lifted a hand slowly up to the new wound, then withdrew it, his fingers covered in his own blood.

“Oh, I say,” the creature remarked. “That is dashed unsporting, you know.” Then, he fell loudly to the floor, seemingly finally fully-dead.

“Well, thank you for all rushing to my aid so quickly,” I snapped, addressing the pitiful figures of the doctor and Archie, the latter of whom still seemed to be catatonic with shock. “Of course, this was always well within my control, but still, it would have been nice if one of you had offered to lend me a hand.”

“I…I killed him,” mumbled Archie, staring at the doubly-deceased body on the ground.

“Only the first time,” I said, reassuringly. “I take full credit for the second time.”

“But…but I killed him…” Archie repeated.

“Hmmmm,” I mused, as I bent over the body to examine it in closer detail, at which point a fetid hand reached up and made a final, futile swipe for me, causing my accomplices to leap in fright, while I, naturally, did not flinch at all. Instead, I simply brought the heel of my boot down firmly upon the abomination’s face, causing it to crack noisily underfoot, like a walnut.

“He’s a scoundrel, isn’t he?” I smiled. My companions looked on with shock and terror written clearly upon their faces. “Please yourselves,” I said, bending back over the corpse. I reached down to the playing-card still firmly embedded in the man’s head, and swiftly pulled it from its resting place. It came away easily, albeit with a rather sickening squelching sound. I held the card up to the light, and turned it over and over, deep in concentration. Finally, I turned to face my two associates.

“I think, Archie, that you are not to be blamed for this unfortunate incident,” I said in a slow and steady voice.

“What?” Archie replied, agog with astonishment. “But…then…but then who is responsible?”

“The King of Spades!” I beamed, triumphantly holding the card aloft.

“Of course!” the doctor chimed in. “I always said those Negroes could not be trusted!”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Thank you for your invaluable insight,” I sarcastically remarked, “No, gentlemen, I refer, in fact, to this playing card, here. I do believe it has been tampered with!”

“What? How? Who? Why?” Archie gabbled.

“I think there is only one man who can answer those questions,” I said mysteriously.

“The King of Spades?” ventured the doctor.

“Do shut up, you idiotic arse-crack,” I said sternly. “Gentlemen, I think we shall have to have a word with the only other magician on the bill to-night – Mr. Silas Surprise.”

“That is surprising,” agreed Archie.

– Lord Likely.

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“He…he’s DEAD!” she screamed, before swooning into a dead faint.

“Oh butter my balls,” I sighed, as the theatre erupted into a cacophony of cries and gasps, with people running to and fro in a delirious panic, falling over one another in a vain attempt to escape the horror that lay before them. I patiently watched this farce unfold before my eyes, until I decided I’d had quite enough, and attempted to take control of the situation.

“FOR THE LOVE OF COCK,” I bellowed. “WILL YOU ALL PLEASE CALM YOURSELVES DOWN, AND CEASE YOUR BLOODY WAILINGS FOR ONE BASTARD MINUTE, YOU LILY-LIVERED BUNCH OF USELESS TWAT-HOLES!”

There was a shocked silence as everyone froze in mid-panic.

“He can’t talk to us like that, can he?” a solitary voice asked.

“I can, and I shall and I can,” I said. “I am glad I finally have your full and absolute attention. Now, I shall ask again – is there a doctor in the house?” I then noticed a gentleman sporting a stethoscope sitting in the front row, seeminly oblivious to the pandemonium that had erupted around him.

“Excuse me, sir – are you a doctor, by any chance?” I asked. Still he did not respond, until he was gently nudged in the ribs by a lady sat next to him, at which point he seemed to finally realise something was afoot, and removed the stethoscope from his ears.

“Sorry about that,” he apologised. “I was listening to my heartbeat. I’m still very much alive, don’t you know. Wonderful news!”

I began to have serious doubts about this fellow’s medical credentials, but he was all we had, and so I grudgingly beckoned him up to the stage to examine the unfortunate victim of Archie’s brutal card-trick. The doctor clambered onto the stage, checked for a heartbeat using his precious stethoscope, felt the gentleman’s pulse and held a small mirror up to the man’s mouth, tutting and sighing as he did so.

“This man is not at all well,” the doctor said finally. “In fact, I would say he is suffering from a most acute case of not living anymore, or what we doctors like to call ‘being dead’. In short, sir – yes, this man is dead.”

“Speak up!” yelled a voice from the back of the auditorium.

“THIS MAN IS DEAD!” the doctor shouted back, before I could silence him.

“He…he’s dead!” repeated the rotund lady from earlier, having just recovered from her last faint, before swooning back down again seconds later. And so, with crushing, awful inevitability, the whole room exploded into terror-stricken chaos once more. I sighed.

“SILENCE, YOU BLOATED TUBES OF EFFLUENCE! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!!”

The room fell silent again, indeed, so silent was the silence now silently shrouding the theatre, one could have heard a pin drop.

“Sorry,” mumbled one theatre-goer embarrassedly. “I dropped my pin.”

“Thank you. Now, listen carefully, ladies and gentlemen. There really is no need for alarm, we are – “

“No need for alarm?” cried a gentleman in the front row. “No need for alarm? That chap there is dead!”

“Yes. Yes he is. Thus, you have nothing to fear from him. It is not as if he is going to rise from the dead and feast upon you all now, is it?”

“He…He’s NOT dead!” screamed the fainting woman, pointing frantically behind me.

“Oh, what is it now, you stupid fat sow?” I sighed, exasperated with her continued outbursts. “If you are going to heckle me, you could at least have the decency to be consistent, I mean it is not – “

I was cut-off in the midst of my most excellent rant by someone pawing at my arm like an over-affectionate dog. Half-expecting it to be my useless man-servant, Botter, I swung around, fist clenched, ready to sock the little bastard right in his stupid face.

Imagine my surprise when I turned around to be confronted with none other than the recently late gentleman, looking rather the worse for wear, the playing card still held firm in his skull.

“Frightfully sorry,” said the man. “But I simply must dine on your brains now.”

“Shit-cakes,” I exclaimed.

– Lord Likely

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As I finally took my seat in the theatre’s auditorium, next to my man-servant Botter, the curtains rose on what was going to prove to be an unforgettable show – for all the wrong reasons.

First on were the chorus girls, with whom I had already had the pleasure of acquainting myself with earlier. It was something approaching a miracle that they were still able to dance with such vigour and energy, following the rigourous pumping I had bestowed upon their collective fundaments mere moments ago.

While the ladies high-kicked their way across the stage, I found myself growing increasingly irritated by a gentleman sat in front of me, who was wearing a top hat of such ridiculous height that it was marring my view of the scantily-clad strumpets. I tried my best to angle myself so I could better enjoy the ladies’ rather raunchy act, but it was to no avail.

“Sir!” I hissed, tapping the fellow on the shoulder. “Sir, may I just politely ask that you remove your hat, please. It is rather obscuring my vision, and I do so wish to enjoy the show in full.”

“Bah!” scoffed the man. “I shall do no such thing sir. And if that displeases you, I suggest you go and boil your head.”

I looked at Botter, who silently implored me to refrain from carrying out any further action that may disrupt the evening, but my mind was made up. I was not going to let this fat-headed buffoon get away with speaking to me in such a manner.

“Sir,” I said, leaning forward, “I shall ask you again. Remove the hat, or I shall remove it for you.”

“Pah! I should like to see you attempt such a feat, sir!” the odious chap blustered.

I leant back, smiled at Botter, then in a flash I grabbed my trusty cane and thrust it with great force into the man’s hat. The stick easily penetrated the headwear, and with the hat thus skewered, I lifted it off the brute’s head and then flung the offending article behind me, into the recesses of the auditorium. The gentleman was less than pleased with my actions, but was quickly silenced when gently I informed him that next time, I would aim for his stupid, fat head.

Next up on the bill was Madam Norksag and her Musical Stoat Chorus. This was a most unusual act, wherein Madam Norksag arranged stoats of varying size upon a table, and then yanked upon their tails with considerable force, resulting in a differently-pitched squeak emitting from the creature, depending on its size. Madam Norksag led her stricken stoats through some frankly awful renditions of popular music, including a terrible version of ‘Rule Britannia‘ that was so awful it made me wonder whether Norksag was attempting some kind of stoat-based treachery upon our glorious nation.

Finally, the squeaking subsided and Archibald the Entirely Adequate strolled onto the stage, dressed smartly in a tuxedo, a top hat perched at a rather rakish angle atop his head.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” he crooned. “Prepare yourself now for some high-class conjury, guaranteed to leave you awe-struck and amazed! And if you are not sufficiently awed, I will personally give you your money back!” He grinned, and thrust his hand into the air and then, to hushed gasps from the audience, plucked a pound note out of the air.

“What manner of devilry is this?!” the troublesome gentleman in front of me cried out. “It is the work of Beezlebub, I tell you!”

“Do shut up, you tiresome old vagina,” I whispered in his ear. “Or else I shall make your balls vanish.”

The man harrumphed and spluttered, and sat back down. Archie continued on with his set unperturbed, trotting out an array of tricks and deceits, from vanishing cards to producing doves out of nowhere, all of which were unequivocally entirely adequate. Finally, Archie approached the front of the stage, and addressed us all as one.

“Ladies and gentleman, I shall now need a volunteer from the audience, to partake in my latest and greatest magic trick – the Card of Death!”

The irksome fellow in front of me scoffed once more, then turned to his companion and in a hushed tone said, “Hmph! Whichever fool dares go up there and dabble in the Dark Arts, it shall not be me!”

Upon hearing this, I could not resist but ramming my cane firmly into the back of the miser’s chair, causing him to leap up with alarm. Before he knew what was happening, Archie had spotted the man and singled him out as his makeshift assistant. Despite his vocal protestations, the man was led to the stage by one of the ushers, and led up to Archie’s side. I allowed myself a small smile of sweet satisfaction.

“Now, sir, we have not met before, have we?” Archie purred, clearly in his element.

“I should bally well say not,” the man grumbled, clearly out of his.

“Very well, than we may proceed. Sir, behold these playing cards,” Archie continued, smoothly fanning out a deck of cards in front of the man’s face. “Are they, or are they not, a perfectly ordinary pack of playing cards?”

“Hm,” the man huffed, closely inspecting the cards. “Egads! No! They are razor sharp!”

“Exactly, precisely and absolutely correct!” Archie beamed. “They are razor sharp, ladies and gentlemen…razor sharp!”

To further demonstrate his point, Archie then hurled a card at a nearby board. The card whizzed through the air, then came to a sudden stop, one corner fully embedded in the wooden surface. The audience murmured their approval.

“Now, sir, if I may ask you to pick a card…any card!” Archie instructed the man, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable with each passing moment. The man hesitated and deliberated, then drew a card out from the pack. “Now don’t show it to me!” Archie exclaimed. “Just make a note of which card it is, and hold it up so that some of the audience may verify your selection!”

The man held up the card towards the audience, some of whom craned their necks to try and determine which card it was. It was the King of Spades.

“Marvelous!” said Archie, happily. “Now slip it back in the pack there – no, don’t let me see it! – that’s it, very good. Now, sir, I must ask you to stand over there, by the big board. That’s right, over there…”

The man walked over and stood in front of a large board, which had a large target painted on its surface. The fellow regarded the board quizzically, then turned to face Archie.

“I say what the devil is – ” he began, but was interrupted by Archie.

“IS THIS YOUR CARD?” Archie boomed, hurling one of the cards with full force at the gent. Before the wretched chap could answer, the card had found its home. Unfortunately for the unwitting accomplice, that home was in his forehead. The man looked up, and regarded the King of Spades now resting firmly in his skull with a mixture of shock and awe.

“It…it is my card,” the man croaked, as blood began to trickle down his face. Then he fell to the floor, lifeless.

A hushed silence filled the auditorium, until one man stood up, applauding loudly.

“Bravo!” he cheered. “BRAVO!” He continued to clap furiously, until he realised he was applauding all by himself, at which point he sat down again pretty sharpish. Archie, meanwhile, was frozen, his eyes not straying from the bloodied body of his volunteer.

“Where in buggeration are the management?” I whispered to Botter. “They ought to be doing something about this!”

“Um, milord,” Botter said. “You are the management, remember? You bought this whole, entire theatre earlier!“

“Oh yes,” I replied. “Bollocks.”

I rose up out of my seat, and then groggily staggered down the stairs towards the scene of the crime. Once there, I struggled onto the stage, and faced the still-stricken audience. I coughed loudly, and smiled.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I began. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

– Lord Likely.

Now Open: We are very pleased to announce the unveiling of The Upper Crust, a very special web-based community for all those loyal to his lordship to engage in friendly discussion, befriend one another, share items of interest and to get blind, roaring drunk. It is absolutely free to join, and his lordship hopes to see you there. Please bring a bottle.

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Needless to say, after being caught with his trousers around his ankles with a solitary playing card sticking out of his arse-crack, Archibald the Entirely Adequate looked more than slightly embarrassed, and less than entirely adequate.

“And what is going on here?” I asked, with mock outrage in my voice.

“Good heavens! Likely!” my old school-chum gasped, recognising my handsome features in a flash. “Um…this? This…well, this… is a new trick I’m…um…practicing,” Archie stuttered.

“Really?” I sniffed. “Or is it merely a rather feeble attempt to get a lady to touch your buttocks?”

“Uh…” Archie dithered, his brain resolutely failing to proffer forth anything even vaguely approaching a witty retort.

“Same old Archie,” I mused, snatching the playing card from the conjurer’s crevice and presenting it to Archie’s bemused-looking female assistant. “Was this your card, my dear?” I asked.

“Well, um, to be truthful, sir, no. No it was not.” The scantily-clad siren replied.

“Just as I thought. Well this,” I said, producing a smaller card from thin air. “This is my card. Do get in touch, my dear, and maybe I could show you a disappearing act that shall make your eyes water.”

The woman blushed a bright shade of crimson, took the card and then scurried out of the room, pausing only to glance back at my resplendent glory before she departed. I allowed myself a satisfied smile.

“Gosh, Likely!” Exclaimed Archie, hurriedly hoisting his trousers back up. “You always were quite a winner with the ladies. I see you still have that legendary charm.”

“It is a blessing, and a curse, I fear,” I replied.

“Gosh. Really?”

“No, not really. It is entirely a blessing. But enough about that! How are you, Archibald? Long time no see, and all that!”

“Crikey, I’ll say! It’s been….what? Nineteen? Twenty years?”

“Indeed, indeed. I see you are now in the business of show, Archie! How is that working out for you?”

“Oh, well enough, I suppose,” Archie said, rifling through a nearby drinks cabinet. “I am earning a fair enough wage, and I get to travel the country a lot. I have yet to top the bill, but I have a new trick that I have been working on that I think will finally make me rich and famous, by George!”

“If it’s the card-in-the-bum trick, Archie, I would consider ditching it.”

“Oh, no. This one is much more spectacular! I’m unveiling it in the show tonight, as a matter of fact. Drink?”

“Whisky, thank you. Well, that all sounds… nice. Of course, you will no doubt be familiar with my recent activities.”

“I’ll say! I was reading about your recent travels to America just the other day! Why, you must be almost as famous as Silas Surprise, I’ll bet!”

“Hmph.” I bristled, my pride battered. “I believe I am considerably more famous than that fellow. And richer. And in possession of a far larger todger.”

“I still cannot quite believe you are here, Likely! Gosh, I was just thinking – do you remember that awful boy at school…what was his name? Hateful?”

“Loathsome.” I corrected. “Harold Loathsome. Curiously enough, I did find myself recalling that wretched swine just the other week, in fact. He was an utter cock-rash, and no mistake.”

“Do you recall that time when he dobbed you into the House Master about you slipping out of school to visit a local prostitute? The House Master was furious, and when you returned he dragged you up in front of the class and gave you a sound caning in front of everyone.”

“Ah, yes. Fortunately for myself, I had just paid that self-same prostitute a most handsome sum of money to exact a similar thrashing upon my buttocks, mere moments beforehand. Hence, my arse was entirely numb already, thus I was left immune to the Master’s punitive beatings. Needless to say, I had the last laugh that day.” I knocked back the rest of the whisky. “That is, until two days later, when I found I had contracted gonorrhea…”

“What about that time Loathsome started that rumour that you had no penis? And then you challenged him to a duel?…”

“A cock duel!” I laughed, as Archie topped up my glass. “Suffice to say, my proud Lord Palmerston made short work of his minuscule member!”

“I wonder what became of Loathsome?” Archie asked.

“The last I heard, he had been exiled to Africa. With any luck, he would have been either raped by savages, or torn apart by tigers.” I paused. “Or vice versa.”

We roared with laughter in unison.

“What about that odd little fellow…Ginger Harrison, I think his name was?” said Archie.

“Ha! Ginger! I do remember him! I could never quite fathom out why he was called Ginger. He had black hair, as I recall.”

“Ah! Therein lies another funny tale!” Archie beamed, pouring more whisky into my glass. “I think it was in the second year of school – possibly the third – when Harrison was caught in flagrante delicto with the school cat…”

“…Ginger!” I bellowed. “Yes, I do recall that particular pussy. Poor creature. Curiosity very nearly killed the cat on that day.”

We laughed uproariously once more, the years melting away as we reminisced about our terribly sordid school days.

By the time I left Archie’s dressing room, I was rather drunk, and it took me a terribly long time to make my way back to the theatre in my inebriated state. My progress was further hindered when I drunkenly stumbled into the chorus-girls’ room again, entirely accidentally.

Well, I say ‘accidentally‘. I of course mean, ‘entirely on purpose, with a view to ploughing as many of the girls as I could mange before curtain up.‘

I exited the girls’ dressing-room a further thirty minutes later, feeling rather pleased with myself. I staggered back to the auditorium, which was enveloped in near-darkness now, a fact which only helped to compound my disoriented state. I stumbled over several of the theatre’s patrons in an effort to locate my seat, vomiting in the lap of one particularly unfortunate chap as I went, until I finally sat down heavily next to my man-servant, Botter.

“Bugger me!” I exclaimed. “My scrotum does not half ache after being ball-deep in all that fanny, let me tell you.” I groaned, turning to Botter. It was then that I discovered that far from being seated next to my man-servant, I was in fact sat next to a distinctly unimpressed-looking nun. I smiled apologetically, doffed my hat politely, and then made my excuses and left.

By the time I managed to locate my correct seat, the curtain had been raised and the night’s entertainments had begun in earnest. And what an unforgettable show it would prove to be…

– Lord Likely.

Now Open: We are very pleased to announce the unveiling of The Upper Crust, a very special web-based community for all those loyal to his lordship to engage in friendly discussion, befriend one another, share items of interest and to get blind, roaring drunk. It is absolutely free to join, and his lordship hopes to see you there. Please bring a bottle.

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“Good evening, sirs,” the fellow croaked. “Could I just see your tickets, please?”

“Tickets?” I snorted. “Tickets? What is all this about?”

“I just need to check your tickets for the show, sirs,” the old wretch continued.

“My good man,” I said, resting a hand upon the fellow’s shoulder. “I am Lord Likely, aristocratic adventurer and peer to the realm. As such, I do not make a habit of paying for things, and that is a habit I do not intend to break now.”

“I’m afraid I must see your tickets, sir,” the buffoon went on. “We are getting close to capacity tonight, and I’m afraid we do not have any gratuities left to hand out. You…you’ll have to purchase tickets from the box-office if you wish to get in. I’m very sorry, sir, but that is the theatre’s policy.”

“I would advise you to change that policy pretty sharpish, then.” I said.

“I…I do not have that power, sir.” the man smiled weakly. “Um…I could get the manager for you, if you like…”

“Yes! Bring me this ‘manager‘,” I demanded, loftily.

The old man shuffled off and returned moments later, accompanied by a rather smarmy-looking fellow with slicked-back hair, and the sorriest excuse for a moustache I have ever seen. It looked rather like this blaggard had been vigourously exploring his own back-passage with his finger, and then accidentally smeared it on his top lip. Which he may well have done, I could not really tell for certain.

“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I am Mr. Helix Thrunt, and I am the manager. And what seems to be the problem here?”

“The problem, Mr. Thrunt, is that I cannot get into see this show for free, despite my extremely important status and high-standing in society, a situation which I find to be outrageous and unfathomable, and unfathomably outrageous all at once.”

“Well, I am sorry to hear that,” Mr. Thrunt replied, unconvincingly. “Unfortunately our policy states that…”

“Gah! There’s that accursed policy again! This is intolerable!” I snapped, reaching into my coat pocket, and pulling out my wallet. “Here!” I said, thrusting a large wad of money into Mr. Thrunt’s hands. “That is several hundred pounds, there. I am buying this theatre.”

Mr. Thrunt looked at me agog. Even Botter seemed to be surprised at my impulsive gesture.

“Now, as the owner of this establishment I am going to change this ridiculous policy of yours. So, from now, on aristocrats get free entrance, no matter what. Understood?” I asked.

The man nodded in stunned silence.

“Good show. The second change I shall enforce, as the sole proprietor of this theatre, is to demote you to the position of toilet-scrubber, effective immediately.”

Mr. Thrunt nodded again, more glumly this time.

“Well, don’t just stand there – get to it, man! Those shit-stains won’t remove themselves, you know!” I yelled.

Mr. Helix Thrunt skulked off, muttering to himself and shaking his head sadly.

“Far be it for me to question your actions, milord,” Botter piped up. “But you do realise that it would have been much cheaper just to buy the tickets, don’t you?”

“Pah!” I exclaimed. “It is not the money, Botter. It is the principle of the thing! All I ask is that I am shown the reverence and respect that I deserve. Is that really too much to ask, Botter?”

“No, milord.”

“Correct. Right, you go on in and find us the best seats in the house. And if someone is already occupying the best seats in the house, inform them that the new management will deliver a sound drubbing upon their livers if they do not vacate.”

“Very good milord. Where are you going, if I may ask?”

“You may not, Botter. But I shall tell you anyway – I am going to go and catch up with my old mucker Archibald. And maybe I shall take a quick tour of this damned building I have just purchased.”

And with that I strode off, whistling merrily.

It took me a fair old while to locate Archibald’s dressing-room, as he seemed to have been deemed unworthy of having his name clearly written upon his dressing-room door, unlike Silas Surprise, who’s door sported an overly-large star bearing his name in bold, cursive letters. Even Madam Norksag‘s musical stoats had their names proudly emblazoned upon their door, which was not quite as bewildering as the fact that they had their own room at all.

Thus, I spent my time wandering from room to room, trying to locate my old chum Archie. At one point, I accidentally strolled into a room full of semi-naked chorus girls, which was an accident I would happily endure more often, given the chance.

Finally, having managed to tear myself away from the lust-crazed chorus girls, I chanced upon a final door, which I presumed to be the door to Archie’s dressing-room. I was about to knock, but then I decided just to burst in on my old school-friend, and give him the surprise of his life.

As I flung open the door to his room, it was I who received the surprise of my life. And it was not a pleasant surprise, either.

For there, standing in the centre of the room, was a man with a playing card sticking out of his arse.

I recognised old Archie alright, but that card-trick was definitely new to me, and I hoped dearly that he did not also have a rabbit secreted up there as well.

– Lord Likely.

Now Open: We are very pleased to announce the unveiling of The Upper Crust, a very special web-based community for all those loyal to his lordship to engage in friendly discussion, befriend one another, share items of interest and to get blind, roaring drunk. It is absolutely free to join, and his lordship hopes to see you there. Please bring a bottle.

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It was a freezing cold, damp and drizzly November evening, and rather than being snugly ensconced in the warmth of my luxurious mansion, I was outside, standing in the rain, getting wetter and more irate with each passing second.

“What in the name of blue-arsed buggery am I doing here?” I snapped angrily.

“Um…it was your idea, milord,” replied my equally sodden man-servant, Botter.

“My idea?!” I snorted. “It was my idea to come and stand in the pouring rain, freezing my balls off, with only you for company? I find that very hard to believe.”

“Well, milord, you did say that…”

“Botter, please, do not tell me my own mind. That will only enrage me, and then you shall be beaten about the head. Do you understand?”

“But I – “

And so, rather inevitably, I clouted Botter around the head with my cane. He yelped in pain.

“Now let that be a lesson to you, Botter, I do not want to…what-ho!” I said, suddenly espying a poster upon the wall nearby. “Look, Botter, there’s that show I wanted to see!”

“Milord, that is what I was trying to tell you – we ARE going to see that show! You read an advertisement in the news-paper for this production, and then you got so excited that you demanded we head to London immediately. Along the way, you drank an enormous amount of whisky, and when you ran out of whisky you started on the brandy. After that, you went on to the gas from the carriage’s gas-lamps, and then fell asleep. And now, we’re here – standin’ out in the rain, waitin’ to get into this here theatre!”

“Well, what a pleasant surprise!” I beamed. “I really should get blind, steaming drunk more often, you know. Every day is a fresh barrage of unexpected delights when one is in a semi-permanent state of alcohol-induced amnesia, I must say.”

“Still…an apology would be nice,” muttered Botter, rubbing the back of his head rather over-theatrically.

“Botter, Botter, Botter. Being a member of the upper class means I never need apologise, you know that!” I said, as I inspected the theatrical poster more closely. “Good heavens! I went to school with this fellow!”

“You went to school with Silas Surprise?” asked Botter, somewhat awe-struck.

“Hmmm? Oh, no, not him. This chap, here,” I said, indicating to the far smaller print at the bottom of the page. “‘Archibald the Entirely-Adequate‘. That’s the one! Funnily enough, he had exactly the same nickname at school. Ha! Poor old Archibald.” I paused a moment. “Hold on! Do you suppose that this is the reason why I wanted to come here? To catch up with my old chum Archie?”

“No, you just said you wanted to see a woman getting viciously penetrated by a wild lion.”

“Well, quite,” I mused. “It is not every day you get to see such a spectacle. Still, maybe I shall drop in on Archie whilst I am here. It should be nice to see the old boy again, and besides which it is always infinitely entertaining to meet up with past classmates, if only to rub my enormous success and considerable wealth in their wretchedly unfulfilled faces!”

“Very good, milord.”

“Egads! This queue is moving damnably slow, is it not?” I griped, as the line shuffled slowly forwards towards the theatre. “Damn it all to Hades! I should not have to suffer the inconvenience of queuing with the rest of the proletariat now, should I? I am a ruddy aristocrat, after all! I shall go and have a word with the doorman, and see if I cannot use my high-standing and VIP status to get us in quicker.”

Botter sighed as I broke free from the queue, and strode purposefully down to the front of the line. Without breaking my pace, I walked up the steps and toward the open doors.

“Excuse me, sir, where do you think you are going?” the doorman enquired, blocking my path with a thick, tree-trunk like arm. “You will have to join the queue, I’m afraid.”

“A pox on you and your ruddy queue!” I shouted. “Do you not know who I am?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, sir,” replied the doorman, shrugging his hefty shoulders.

“Well, I am very important indeed, let me tell you. I think you shall find my name upon that list of guests you are holding, there,” I said, noticing the sheet of paper clutched in the Neanderthal man’s fat mitt.

“Oh! I’m sorry, sir,” replied the ape. “And you are?…”

“I’m just here,” I interjected, jabbing my finger blindly on the page.

“You’re Mrs. Gobblerod?”

“Well, no, clearly not. I’m just down a bit…” I said, running my finger down the list. “I should be just…HERE!” And with that, I whipped my fist off from the bottom of the sheet, and straight into the doorman’s groin. The man exhaled deeply, then crumpled to the floor, clutching his badly-bruised ball-sack.

“Hm.” I casually rested my cane upon my shoulder as I regarded my handiwork. “Crude, but undeniably effective. Come, Botter!” I cried out, turning to the theatre’s doors. “It is show-time!”

– Lord Likely.

Now Open: We are very pleased to announce the unveiling of The Upper Crust, a very special web-based community for all those loyal to his lordship to engage in friendly discussion, befriend one another, share items of interest and to get blind, roaring drunk. It is absolutely free to join, and his lordship hopes to see you there. Please bring a bottle.

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