I AM something of an avid card player, and may often be found in a local tavern indulging in a few hands of either poker or Blackjack, or perhaps one of the less well-known games such as ‘Seven-Card Scrote’, ‘Twat the Joker’ or ‘Queen on Top.’ Perhaps my favourite game, however, is ‘Flinging a Gin in Your Opponent’s Face and Scarpering Before You Lose Yet Another Grand.’ Ah, cards. The game of kings!

So it was something of a delight to discover that my own handsome visage features in a brand-new card game, even if it does mean that I must share a deck with that incorrigible cur, Professor Elemental.

Yes, despite our differences, the Professor has seen fit to include me in the deck for his edition of the game ‘Pairs’ (probably because he does at least have the sense to see that my addition will help sales of this game to soar), produced by Hip Pocket Games and which is available to purchase hither.

However, being the benevolent sort that I am, I have decided to offer my damnably fabulous readers the opportunity to win one of THREE packs of said cards. I know, I know. I AM staggeringly generous.

To be in with a chance of winning a pack, simply answer this question:

I have in my hand a deck of ordinary playing cards. They are shuffled, and I draw one card out of the pack. My question is this: which card is it?

Simply write your guess (serious or silly) in the comments below, or send me an electronic mail (with ‘Is This Your Card?’ in the subject header). Alternatively, send me a tweet with the hashtag #isthisyourcard, or enter via The Book of Many Faces. Three lucky, lucky winners will be selected on November the 1st. No cash alternatives offered, so do not ask, you scrounging beggars. Winners will be selected based on either guessing the card correctly, or in the event of no-one getting it spot on, the closest or most humorous guesses shall triumph. His lordship’s decision is FINAL, and anyone wishing to dispute it may speak with my Thundercock, my pet lion.

Good luck!

– Lord Likely.

I HAD been pulling the chord on the servant’s bell for what seemed like an eternity;  yanking and yanking and yanking and yanking but with no result, like an impotent man indulging in a spot of onanism.

After a while, I tired of this charade, flung back my bed covers and headed off to find my errant man-servant, Botter. ‘Twas barely 11am, far too early for a gentleman of leisure like myself to be up and about. When I found Botter, I would have to dock his pay for this insolence. Also, his legs.

I made my way down to the servant’s quarters, where my nostrils were assailed by a stench so wretched that it left me in no doubt that Botter was nearby. I steadied myself in preparation of further olfactory assault, and then threw the door open.

I found my miscreant of a man-servant sat on a stool, reading and laughing, emitting long, horse guffaws from his awful pie-hole.

“BOTTER!” I yelled, causing the wretch to fall backwards off of his chair. “What in the name of Dutch cockery is going on here?”

“I…I was reading, milord,” the cad replied, picking himself up off the ground.

“Reading? You? I had always assumed that all you commoners did was to point gleefully at colours and shapes. What on earth could you be reading?”

Botter meekly passed across his reading material of choice. I looked at the cover with an arched eyebrow, and a knowing moustache. Suddenly, it all made sense.

He was reading one of those new-fangled ‘comic books’ I had heard about, those gaudily-coloured rags wherein the illustrations outweigh the words by a considerable margin, and as such are favoured by those less highly and expensively educated than me.

But worse still was yet to come, for this was not just a comic, but a comic centred around the exploits of one of my most hated enemies, that pith-helmeted pranny, Professor Elemental.

“Good lord, Botter,” I exclaimed. “Have you taken leave of what precious little sense you had left? Why on earth would you be enjoying this garbage spewed forth from that idiot Elemental?”

“He…he gave me a copy, milord,” Botter stammered. “He was hoping that I might give him some feedback…”

“Feedback, eh?” I said, rolling the comic up until it made for a suitable makeshift baton. “Well, here is something that you can tell him…his comic makes for a most excellent bludgeon!”

And with that, I administered a few short, sharp blows to Botter’s bonce, stopping only when I had decided that he had been suitably admonished for the heinous neglect of his master.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Botter,” I said. “You simply cannot leave me upstairs unattended, tugging away furiously.”

“I thought that was when you preferred to be left unattended, milord,” the cove replied, at which point I twatted him around the head one more time, sending him careering backwards, whereupon he stumbled over his stool, got his feet tangled up in the chair’s legs, and then fell flat on his face.

“Now let THAT be a lesson to you, Botter, seeing as how the previous lesson seemed to go unlearnt.”

“Yes, milord,” Botter groaned, as he sat up to tend to his recently-bloodied nose.

“Oh, Botter, don’t go bleeding all over my floors, you ingrate,” I said, as I tore a couple of strips of paper from the comic and scrunched them up. “Here, put these up your nose to stem the bleeding.”

“Dank do, dilord,” Botter replied as he shoved the paper into his awful nostrils.

“Not at all. Then, once you’re quite finished spurting blood all over the ruddy place, you can use the rest of this pitiful periodical to soak up the mess,” I said, hurling the remnants of the comic at my man-servant. “It shall have some use, after all.”

So, in review, dear readers, I thoroughly recommend issue two of ‘Professor Elemental Comics’. It makes for a most excellent impromptu weapon, passes as a serviceable first-aid kit, and its absorbent pages are ideal for mopping up any spillages about the home. Go forth and procure one from the Professor’s webbed-site FORTHWITH! Just do not let me hear that you enjoyed the gaudily-coloured antics of that amateur adventurer…

– Lord Likely. 

YOU MAY well hear talk of some sort of diamond jubilee taking place this year, but I urge you all to dispel such nonsense from your minds immediately. There is only one jubilee worth celebrating and that, my dear readers, is MINE. For this year sees the fifth anniversary of my Astonishing Adventures, or my ‘Wooden Jubilee’, as I like to call it. Rather apt for a fellow who himself will often be found to be ‘sporting wood’.

It was upon this day, five years ago, that I took pen to hand and wrote the following wondrous words:

“Being a hard-working member of the aristocracy is tiresome fare indeed. When not deciding which hat to wear, or attending private functions, or stabbing a beggar, there are countless other tasks which all vie for my finite attention.

That was the opening of my first ever Astonishing Adventure, entitled ‘The Peculiar Prostitute Predicament’, a thrilling tale about murderous harlots which enraptured the globe, leaving people on the edge of their seats as the action unfolded. It also introduced the world to my glorious self – Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action. From that day on, literature would ne’er again be the same, and society would be fundamentally altered for all time. And, of course, millions upon millions of ladies would begin to view their partners with acute disappointment, dismayed to find them failing to measure up in comparison to me. Quite literally, in most instances.

Since then, my adventures have gone from strength to strength, wowing more and more readers with each new fresh exploit. Admiring words have poured forth from my myriad readers, including the national press, when The Guardian newspaper declared my adventures to be one of the ‘best of the web’ three years ago (see the sidebar, left). Celebrated performers of the day have also stepped forth to heap praise upon my deserving shoulders, such as comic actorMr. Rob Riggle, who wrote to me stating, ‘I am a fan. Well done, sir….I throughly enjoyed reading your site and I look forward to reading more of your adventures!‘ A very astute chap indeed, that one.

I have also been drawn by modern artists, joined forces with talented authors such as Mr. Darren Craske and Mr. Jonathan Pinnock and formed an uneasy alliance with the bafflingly popular musician, Professor Elemental. I have even conquered the airwaves in the form of my own astonishing audio play, and I have made exemplary use of this new-fangled moving picture technology, as you can see below. There is no medium I cannot thrive in!

Truly, it has been a fantastic and formidable five years, and I am truly grateful for anyone who has stopped by to read my words, or who has left a comment, or who has befriended me ‘pon the Twittering Device or the Book of Many Faces. You are all superlative souls, and I should like to buy you all a drink. Just one between you all, mind. You shall have to pass it around. I am not made of money (unlike the suit I am currently wearing, I hasten to add).

Despite such a delectable half-decade of dazzlement, I am not going to rest upon my laurels, no matter how comfortable they may be. The next couple of months shall be a veritable whirlwind of activity based around my Wooden Jubilee, including all sorts of wonders. There shall be laughter. There shall be highly-charged eroticism. There shall be special prizes, and – most importantly – an all-new Astonishing Adventure. EGAD!

So do be sure to keep coming back, for I would hate you all to miss anything. But I do ask that you bring a bottle, for above all else, I intend to get blind, roaringly DRUNK in celebration.

Let the party commence!

Toodle-pip!

– Lord Likely.

AS A RICH, powerful, incredibly handsome and overwhelmingly male human being, I enjoy exclusive membership of London’s notorious ‘Bullion Club’ (motto: NIL PAUPERUM). ‘Tis a lovely, luxurious and opulent environment, where I can take time out from a busy day battering my man-servant (not a euphemism) or polishing my cane (a euphemism) and indulge in some raucous banter with my fellow millionaires, while lighting our fat cigars on unused bank-notes and mortgage deeds. Truly, it is like a home away from home to me, except with better service.

It was a balmy autumnal afternoon, and I was enjoying a few drinks with the chaps at the club, while reminiscing about one of my many astonishing adventures.

“And so there I was, surrounded by a dozen female pirates, with the captain demanding that I draw my weapon.” I paused, and thoughtfully swirled the whisky about in my glass, while simultaneously becoming faintly aware of some sort of dull, thudding noise emanating from the main hall down the corridor. “So, what else could I do, but drop my trousers…” Another pause. More noise. I pressed on with my story. “Needless to say, the entire crew were really quite amazed at the sight of my gargantuan…COCK IT!” I roared, unable to concentrate for the infernal racket nearby. “What in the name of Beelzebub’s blistering ball-bag is that unholy din?”

“Oh, that? I think it’s the new chap,” replied one of my companions, Colonel Avery Mann-Phorrimself. “He joined the club recently, don’t you know? Believe he’s some sort of singer, rather popular in the music halls.”

I pulled a face. “Ugh. An entertainer, eh? Heavens, they’ll let any old riff-raff in here these days,” I grimaced, rising up out of my seat. “Well, I simply am not standing for it any more!”

“Yes you are, old bean, you’re standing right now!” the Colonel pointed out. I chose to ignore his entirely accurate observation, however, and made my way towards the main hall to give this bounder a piece of my mind; specifically the piece that said SHUT UP OR I SHALL PLANT MY FOOT FIRMLY IN YOUR BALLBAG.

As I advanced nearer the main hall, the cacophony grew louder, sounding very much like a man yelling at a dustbin that was being kicked down some stairs. I nodded sadly. If this was modern music, then I’d rather have rusty needles thrust into my ears.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF GREEK BUGGERY IS GOING ON IN HERE?” I bellowed into the room, as I flung open the doors in a most dramatic (and rather impressive) manner.

Alas, no-one could hear me above the tumultuous caterwauling that was coming from a rather scruffy-looking oik in a shabby safari suit and pith helmet, who was prancing about at the back of the hall singing (and I use the word in the loosest and wrongest sense possible) a dirgesome ditty entitled ‘Cup of Brown Joy’ to a group of rapt onlookers:

Once the performance had finished, and the (quite undeserved) applause had subsided, the only sound that could be heard in the hall was my slow clapping.

“Oh, bravo, sir. BRAVO,” I said, sarcasm not merely dripping from my voice, but positively gushing forth in a sarcastic waterfall. “I have not seen such a diverting show since I last visited the zoological gardens.”

The singer – let us call him that for want of a better and much more apt word – smiled. “Ah, you must be Lord Likely. I have heard much about you.”

“I wish I could say I had heard anything about you at all, Mister?…”

“Professor. Professor Elemental, at your service,” said the man, doffing his ludicrous-looking pith helmet in greeting.

“And what precisely are you a professor of, professor?” I enquired. “Perhaps you have a doctorate in Dressing Up Like A Giant Breast And Dancing About The Place As If Undergoing Electrolysis?”

A shocked gasp rose from the assembled crowd. Elemental simply smiled again. ” I sir, am professor of the potent punchline and powerful, punchy pugilism.” He paused thoughtfully. “And alliteration. But what are you lord of sir? Have you a title and no purpose? Like an owl with no beak; very decorative but essentially useless.”

More gasps from the crowd, as a dozen heads swivelled around in my direction, waiting for my riposte.

“I am going to ruddy bash your teeth down your scrawny throat,” I rejoined. Possibly not the wittiest of retorts, but by golly I had an overwhelming urge to batter this arse-pipe.

The crowd dutifully parted as I made my way toward the oaf, the smell of combat gleefully filling their nostrils.

“Oh, so it is a scrap you want, eh?” Elemental said, lighting his pipe. “Well, in that case I shall need to don my fighting trousers!”

“Fighting trousers?”

“FIGHTING TROUSERS!” affirmed the professor, and then the bounder burst into song again:

“Well, sir,” I said, removing my topper. “In that case, allow me to put on my ‘pummelling hat’.”

“I’d put up your dukes, if I were you, sir!” said Elemental, circling me with his fists raised.

“Oh, you’d better be ready, sir, for I shall bring forth the pain!”

But as we squared up to each other, our duel was brought to a standstill by a voice out from the doorway. And that voice said the following words:

“Nobody move! I have a gun!”

The voice belonged to a rather dishevelled looking chap, who was indeed brandishing a pistol which he held with shaking hands. His eyes looked wild and frantic, like those of a rabid dog.

“Everybody put your hands up! And no funny business!” the man shrieked loudly.

“I think he must have heard your act,” I whispered to Elemental, as everybody raised their arms, filling the room with a forest of self-preservation.

“Well, well, well,” sneered the man, rubbing his grubby chin in contemplation, with an equally grubby hand. “Look what we ‘ave ‘ere. A room full of well-to-do gents, with wallets just ripe for pinchin’, I reckon! Yes, yes, I could make a pretty packet robbin’ this room! Heh-heh!”

And so the fiend began walking through the crowd, prodding people with his gun and demanding they empty their valuables into his grubby sack. I was practically shaking with rage.

“Don’t worry, your lordship,” whispered Elemental. “As well as being a most excellent musician, I am also an explorer and an inventor. I do believe I have the perfect contraption with which to disarm this scoundrel and…no, wait. I’m wearing my fighting trousers. The device is in my incapacitating felons trousers. Confound it!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, luckily, as an aristocratic adventurer and gentle-man of action, I have formulated a plan to apprehend this swine. All I need to do is to pretend I am going for my wallet, and then swiftly deploy a quick judo chop to the blighter’s gun-hand, and then -”

But before I could reveal the full splendour of my amazing plan, there was a loud screeching noise and some unidentified creature dashed forth from the back of the hall. On closer inspection, the creature appeared to be an orangutan in a tuxedo, and I watched with amazement as the beast leapt onto the robber, and began clawing at the criminal’s countenance whilst shrieking wildly.

“What the -?” I began.

“Ah-ha!” beamed Elemental. “That is Geoffrey, my monkey butler! As punctual as ever – remarkably good time-keeping for an ape, you know.”

“You have a monkey for a butler?” I said, somewhat surprised.

“Absolutely!” grinned Elemental, proudly.

“That is rather impressive, I have to admit,” I admitted. “And you mentioned that you are an explorer and an inventor, too?”

“Indeed I am,” the professor nodded. “I have had quite some adventures, let me tell you!”

“As have I,” I said. “You know, there is a possibility that I may have misjudged you, Elemental. I’m willing to take back at least two-thirds of the things I said about you.”

“Likewise, your lordship,” beamed the professor, holding out a hand. “I like a fellow who’s not afraid to step up and get scrapping if needs must.”

“Perhaps we should adjourn to the lounge for a few brandies, eh, and share a few tales?” I smiled, shaking Elemental firmly by the hand.

“Splendid!”, said Elemental.

“Splendid!” said I.

“SPLENDID!“, we said in unison.

– Lord Likely.

For more from Professor Elemental, why not visit his webbed-site HITHER, where one may listen to more of his ditties, purchase his recordings and keep up-to-date with his latest exploits.

This tale is based on actual, real-life exchanges betwixt professor and lord, as originated on the Twitter device by @lordlikely @prof_elemental

Splendid!