27 November 2009
One Lord A-Leaping
THIS WEEK, dear readers, you find me plummeting down the side of a rather tall cliff, rapidly heading towards a doubtlessly painful and potentially messy encounter with the ground below. You may (quite naturally) be wondering how I found myself in such a predicament, so please allow me to elucidate.
As Christmas approaches, one cannot help but notice the appearance of a vast array of autobiographies penned by the rich and famous, which begin to clutter up the shelves of book-shops up and down the land, like literary pigeons depositing their word-droppings into the eyes of anyone passing by.
This year sees publication of such tomes as Mr. Charles Dickens’ ‘What? THE Dickens?’; Sir Robert Peel’s ‘Unpeeled’; Charles Darwin’s ‘The Origin of Charles Darwin’ and ‘Bell Ends’, by Alexander Graham Bell, all vying for the punter’s Christmas cash. It is certainly a lucrative market, which gave me a rather glorious idea…
“Pah!” I exclaimed, as I slammed shut a copy of Mr. Bell’s book, which I had been reading in the drawing room of my spacious mansion. “Alexander Graham Bell! What has HE done to warrant such a publication, eh?”
“Well, he revolutionised the way we communicate with one another by developing and patenting the telephonic device, milord,” Botter replied.
“Pah!” I repeated. “But did he ever wrestle a bear, I ask you?”
“Not to my knowledge, milord.”
“Precisely! But I have!” I cried.
“As I recall, milord, that was just a rather large lady in a fur coat…”
“Aye, but she was wild!” I beamed. “Anyway, the point remains – my life has been considerably more interesting than these bearded buffoons who have been blessed with biographical books! But where is my autobiography, hmmm? Nowhere, that is where! Well, that is a publishing oversight that I shall attempt to rectify right now! Quick, let us hasten to the ‘Wonder Factory’!”
“The…the what, milord?”
“My STUDY, Botter. Heavens, do try and keep up.”
*****
AS YOU all should know by now, whene’er I embark upon another Astonishing Adventure, I am careful to chronicle it in one of my journals, so that future generations may read them and revel in their sheer majesty, thus keeping my memory alive for time immemorial, if not longer. Once completed, my journals are carefully stored away in the bookcases of my study, which were now being viewed by my considerably widened eyes.
“Bugger me!” I declared as I surveyed the rows upon rows of journals before me. “There are a lot of ruddy journals here!” I plucked one from a shelf, and flipped through its yellowing pages. “Ha-ha! Listen to this, Botter: ‘March the Sixteenth, 1864. My man-servant Botter got his head trapped in some railings today. I had rather a good laugh at his expense, and then helped him free. Several hours later.‘ Ha! Do you remember that?”
“Yes,” Botter winced.
“Good times, good times,” I chuckled as I slid the leather-bound volume back in the shelf.
“I must say, milord, I’m rather impressed that you are willing to put so much work into this autobiography of yours…researching through all of these journals will take you months, I’d wager!”
“Oh, scrotums to that, Botter!” I beamed, spinning away from the bookshelf. “I have thought of a far easier, and much more exciting way of preparing for this task! Quick! Let us hasten to the Likely Mobile!” Botter’s face suggested a complete absence of comprehension. “Ready the horse and carriage, you wretched sphincter.”
*****
“MILORD,” Botter said slowly. “I cannot help but wonder why we have come to Death Ridge, and why we are standing at the vey edge of an extremely tall cliff.”
“Ha! Poor, stupid, intellectually-impaired Botter!” I cheered, slapping my man-servant so very heartily on the back that he nearly toppled over the edge. “A small cliff would never suffice!”
“Suffice for what, milord?”
“Let me explain, you poltroon! You see, they say that when a man finds himself in a life-threatening situation, facing near certain death, his entire life flashes before his eyes…”
“Uh-oh…” Botter began.
“Thus, I have decided to hurl myself off this very cliff, so that my life may flash before my eyes, thereby saving me all that terribly tedious research I would otherwise face. And naturally, as I have lived such a full, rich and exciting life, I shall need a very tall cliff from which to leap, as opposed to a much smaller cliff which would be more than adequate for someone like yourself, who has lived a very dull and remarkably uninteresting life. Do you see? ‘Tis rather ingenious, is it not?”
Botter shook his head. “If you shall forgive me for saying so, milord, I think it is rather – ”
“It is, rather!” I beamed. “Toodle-pip!”
And with that, I jumped right off the cliff, which is where you came in, dear readers.
And as I began my descent towards the decidedly solid ground below, my life did indeed begin to flash before my very eyes. My plan was working PERFECTLY.
I could see myself as a mere lad, playing and frolicking on the grounds of the Likely Estate – ah, such fun! And there I was, being caught reading some pornographic literature behind the old oak tree, my father quickly confiscating said pamphlet from me…
My father. Lord Eustace Likely, Gentle-Man Explorer – a hero to millions, and a father to me, or at least he was, until he buggered off when I was six years-old. I had since presumed him to be dead, but a recent run-in with my arch-nemesis Lord Loathsome had revealed to me that he was still very much alive. I should really go and look for him, I suppose. But what if he has forgotten me? What if he simply does not care? What if he turns out to be a massive, terrible twat-hole? The disappointment could kill me!
Damn that Loathsome for imparting that news to me. Damn him to Hades, the snivelling little tit-sack.
Ha! Tit-sack. Tit. TITS. Hmm….
Suddenly a stream of memories relating to the ladies I have pumped over the years trickled through my mind, forming an ocean of breasts, a sea of vaginas and a beautiful, babbling brook of buttocks. Ah, so many beauties! Ladies, female pirates, sensual Russian spies, bakers, paupers, wives, dancers…so many notches had been carved upon my bedpost that it had been whittled down to a toothpick. Ah, happy times!
Hmmm, I pondered as I tumbled through the air, I wonder how my dear Dorothy Mount-Worthy is keeping? It has been a while since I last beheld her fine form, and longer still since I last bedded that fine form. Ah, what a woman! She was one of the few ladies who could lay claim to my heart as well as my ‘part’. The last I heard she had returned to her husband, Count Mount, a fellow I always thought had one too many vowels in his title to adequately describe him.
Ah, well, I sighed as I continued my downward trajectory. There is plenty more fish in the sea, as they say. But in all honesty, I don’t really want to have sex with a fish. A mermaid might be interesting, I suppose, although it’d depend largely on which half is which. The traditional mermaid build, with a human upper-half and fishy lower-half does not really work for me. If it was the other way around, then one is blessed with a chuff AND a creature with a mouth that looks like it was designed with fellatio in mind. Perfect!
Good heavens, now I’m incredibly aroused, I mused.
And then I hit the ground.
*****
I AWOKE with a start.
“Wh-where am I?” I blurted.
“‘Tis alright, my lord,” said Botter, carrying a tray of broth over to me. “You are back home, in your own bed.”
“How…why…who…what the ARSE is going on?” I snapped, springing up into a sitting position.
“You were rather lucky, milord. You landed on a group of schoolchildren who were collecting seashells on the shore”
“Oh,” I laid back gently. “Anything broken?”
“A dozen conch, a bucket of wentletraps and you also crushed their teacher’s cockles.”
“Well, that’s alright then.” I smiled weakly.
“Did you at least manage to see your entire life flash before your eyes milord? Have you now got adequate notes for your autobiography through this foolhardy scheme?”
“Er…no, sadly not. I got rather…distracted. I fear we shall have to find a bigger cliff, I simply have too much life to recall!” I paused. “Either that, or I shall get you to do all the research for me, Botter.”
“Very good, milord.”
I smiled and allowed my eyes to gently close once more. One day, I thought, one day I shall compile my adventures into the world’s most thrilling book. ONE DAY.
And who knows? Maybe there shall even come a time in the future when all of my adventures are transmitted through a series of wires, to strange glowing boxes all across the Empire.
At any rate, I confidently anticipate that I shall still be much celebrated and admir’d for centuries to come. I am much to marvellous to fade into obscurity.
Unlike that Dickens fellow.
- Lord Likely.
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