Lance took my unconscious form back down to Camp Camp, where I was immediately taken in by the Red Rump Tribe and given the very best medical aid they had to offer. I do not recall much of this part of my adventure, as I flitted in and out of consciousness, although I do recall being tended to by Titty-Titty, the tribe’s only female. On a fair few occasions I opened my eyes, to find her leant over me, wiping my brow or redressing my wounds, her ample bosom brushing against my face and causing my Lord Palmerston to twitch in excitement. I have many happy memories of those mammaries, I can tell you.

As Titty-Titty nursed me back to health over the days, we got to talking and I found her to be a most charming, if slightly bashful creature. That is, until the topic of sexual intercourse reared it’s massive, purple head. Being the only female in a camp full of homosexual Indians had clearly taken it’s toll on poor Titty-Titty, and her eyes lit up with fervent excitement as I began to press upon the subject, detailing some of my many sexual conquests of the past. When I had finished talking, she leapt onto the bed and grabbed my hand, pressing it to her chest.

“Do me, your lordship!” she blurted, excitedly. I recalled Chief Spurting Cock‘s words about how Titty-Titty was considered sacred among the tribe, as the would-be mother of the Indians’ children, but as I beheld Titty-Titty’s glorious knockers, heaving with lustful passion, I decided it would be far more sacrilegious to let this girl go un-pumped.

I smiled, and flung back the bedsheets.

“Thank you, your lordship, for saving our tribe form those awful beasts,” said Chief Spurting Cock, shaking my hand with evident glee as I prepared to depart the camp and head back to England. “And thank you too,” he added, addressing my crotch.

“Don’t mention it,” I said, modestly.

“Anything we can do in return, just let us know,” the Chief continued. “We could bathe your penis for you, if you like,” he added, hopefully. “With our mouths.”

“That is a most generous offer,” I said. “But I must decline. My man-servant and I must return home, now. I have been away from the Likely Estate for much too long, and I greatly desire to be back among my expensive furnishings and extensive collection of pornography.”

“Suit yourself,” Spurting Cock replied. “The offer is open-ended.”

“Believe me, I have no compulsion to go anywhere near your open-end,” I retorted, dryly. “You can let go of my hand now, Chief.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Spurting Cock exclaimed, releasing my lordly appendage from his grip.

“Thank you,” I smiled, then turned to my brother, Lance. “It has been a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lance. Let us hope that any future family reunions pass off a lot more peacefully.”

“I hear that,” Lance grinned.

“For a filthy outlaw with a weakness for penetrating the backsides of farm animals, you are a good man, Lance. I wish you well with your future endeavours, whatever they may be.”

“Well, I’ll probably go an’ bury Ludlow, first,” Lance drawled. “He’s startin’ to stink a bit, an’ vultures have started to peck bits off of him.”

“That would be a good move, certainly.”

“Then I’m thinkin’ I might marry my horse, Jezebel, an’ make an honest mare outta her.”

“That…would be an interesting move,” I smiled.

“Hey, d’ya think it’s true what Ludlow says about dad? That he’s still alive?”

“It would not surprise me one bit,” I answered. “And if he is, I shall certainly find him.”

“Well, if you do, can you do me a favour?”

“What would that be?”

“Kick the ol’ bastard in the nuts for me,” Lance growled.

“I will, brother,” I rested a friendly hand upon Lance’s shoulder. “Right in the love-spuds.”

This touching moment of brotherly bonding was suddenly rudely interrupted by one of the braves from the Red Rump tribe running, screaming from a tent. It was Sucking Pole, and his face was scarlet with rage. I watched in baffled befuddlement as he exchanged some furious words in his native tongue, with Chief Spurting Cock.

“What in the name of the devil’s anus is going on here?” I asked.

“Beats me,” Lance shrugged his shoulders.

“I think something has gone awry with the fornication ceremony,” Botter replied, despite no-one asking him.

“Pardon?”

“I have managed to pick up a little of the tribe’s language while staying here, your lordship.” Botter explained, as he watched the unfolding drama. “Yes, I think Sucking Pole attempted to impregnate Miss Titty-Titty, but claims that she has been defiled.”

“Ah.” I gulped, the colour draining from my cheeks. “They…they can tell that, can they?”

“It seems that they can when the man in question leaves his ejaculate all over the woman’s chest,” Botter said.

“Ah. Botter, prepare the horses, I fear we may have to leave rather sooner than we had planned,” I cried, as a sea of angry Indian faces turned to face me. “In fact, forget the horses, and run like fuckery!”

With that, Botter and I sprinted from the campsite, and into the sunset, pursued by a mob of angry tribesmen eager to tear my wondrous self a new arsehole.

All in all, it had been quite an adventure.

Goodnight, and God Bless America. And God Help Me.

- Lord Likely.

His Lordship will return on Hallowe’en, with a tale of terror so terrifying you may well shit your trousers. In the meantime, his lordship requests – nay, DEMANDS – that you visit the following websites for more entertainment:

Lord Likely’s Audio Adventures: his lordship reads poetry, performs readings from his journals and even indulges in some song. WARNING: may be too erotically charged for some to handle.

Lord Likely: Stripped Nude: the companion piece to the Astonishing Adventures, taking a behind the scenes look at the making of these frankly fantastic journals.

Lord Likely Interviewed: Mr. Chris from the web-log Nothing to See Here interviews Lord Likely, revealing his lordship’s hatred for the French, and discovering how one should practice safe sex if one is prone to violently explosive orgasms.

Lord Likely Filmed: As part of his MyBlogLog Sunday initiative, Mr. Ed teamed up with Mr. OS9user to produce a short film highlighting certain web-logs, including this very one you are reading right now. Click here to witness the resulting piece of remarkable video footage!

Lord Likely’s Lavish Lounge: If you are a member of the Blog Catalog community, you can now socialize with his lordship in his own opulent group, where the wine flows freely and intercourse is always on the cards. If you are not a member, join up now, else you shall miss out on all this excellence.

humor-blogs.com: For further humourous web-logs (some of which are almost approach these journals in terms of excellence), visit this fine blog directory.

Fuel My Blog: As ever, one may ‘fuel’ his lordship’s web-log by clicking on this link. NOW!

Or, simply read the entire Astonishing American Adventure from the start.

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Ignoring Lance’s protestations, I climbed up the remainder of Mount Penis, with lightning flashing about me, and torrential rain lashing at my face as I struggled up the rocks. I recall thinking that if they ever found a way of capturing moving images onto some sort of film, that this particular moment would make for a particularly exciting and dramatic moment, possibly accentuated by a stirring orchestral score.

As I continued my ascent, my deep, unbridled hatred for Captain Huw Anchor grew and grew. Not only had he killed my poor, dear, half-brother Ludlow, but to cap it all Anchor had an incredibly ravishing wife with fine breasts, of whom I thought he was most undeserving. By the time I reached the summit of Mount Penis, I was shaking with furious rage.

Anchor was standing atop the mount, nursing his wounded arm and recently shot leg. He saw me clamber onto the peak, and smiled his sickeningly smug smile.

“Ah-hah, your lordship!” he smirked. “So glad you could join me. You know, it is funny, is it not, how – “

I was in no mood for a tedious, villainous soliloquy, so I simply marched up to the swine and clouted him firmly in the face. Anchor reeled back in shock.

“You bastard!” he cried, lunging forward at me. I blocked his attack, and delivered another blow to his gut, causing the bounder to double up in pain.

“I really do not care for you very much at all,” I said, standing over my fallen foe. “Indeed, it would not be an understatement to say that I find you to be rather awful.”

“Fu-fuck you, Likely,” hissed Anchor, then he drew his pistol out from his pocket, and fired at me. I felt my shoulder explode with pain, bringing me to my knees instantly. My head began to swim, and my vision blurred. Before I could compose myself, Anchor was upon me, striking me in the face and kicking me about the stomach. Blood filled my mouth, fine-tasting, full-bodied, rich, noble blood, but still my blood nonetheless, which was most unacceptable.

“There is almost something deeply, cosmically ironic about you dying here, atop a giant, penis-shaped mountain, don’t you think?” sneered Anchor, leaning over my crumpled form, pointing his gun at me.

“I…I would say it is more unfortunate th-than ironic,” I whispered. “I fuh-find greater irony in the fact that one with su-such a laughably tiny penis as yourself is standing upon this monument to manhood. Nu-now thu-that’s ironic.”

“SHUT UP!” screamed Anchor, delivering a swift, sharp kick to my groin.

I did not flinch. Instead, I smiled.

Anchor froze momentarily, then cried out in pain, clutching his foot and hopping about in agony.

“Shit! My foot! My blasted foot! What the hell have you got down there?” he cried, pointing to my crotch.

“My penis,” I said, rather matter-of-factly.

“But…but it’s so hard,” Anchor wailed.

“Thank you for noticing,” I said, then I leapt upon the captain and bought him crashing to the ground. We tussled on the floor for a while, punching and struggling in a ball of flailing limbs, until we found ourselves perched on the very edge of the mountain, Anchor astride me, hands around my neck, throttling me while my head hung limply over the precipice. During the fracas my hat fell off, and tumbled down to the ground below, which I found most disagreeable.

“DIE, Likely! DIE!” Anchor screamed as he tried to choke the life out of me. I grew increasingly light-headed and was sure my exalted existence was at an end, until a shot rang out across the peak. Through my increasingly-watery eyes, I made out the figure of Lance, holding a recently discharged pistol.

“Good show, Lance,” I said weakly. Anchor released his grip on me as a new wound opened up on his arm, filling his sleeve with blood. He looked at me in stunned silence, then to Lance, then back to me. I smiled politely, then Anchor tumbled off to the side. The whole terrible business should have ended right then and there, but as Anchor disappeared over the edge of the mount, he managed to grab my proud Lord Palmerston, which had stiffened considerably through the melee, thus halting Anchor’s descent. I winced as I felt his entire body weight pull on my poor todger.

“Yuh…yuh…you don’t get rid of me thu-that easily,” Anchor croaked, grinning a bloody smile, as he hung off of my mighty organ, his legs flailing uselessly in mid-air.

“I think you find I shall get rid of you very easily,” I retorted, gritting my teeth. “For you see, my dear captain…you really do not do anything for me at all.”

Upon these words leaving my lips, my Lord Palmerston went limp, causing Anchor to lose his grip. His eyes widened in terror as his hands came free, and then he plummeted downwards to his death.

“Toodle-pip,” I remarked, watching as he landed messily on the rocks below.

Lance came up beside me, and we exchanged satisfied glances, before I finally passed out as the day’s exertions caught up with me, and I collapsed into my brother’s arms.

- Lord Likely.

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“I am sorry, Lordy,” wailed my treacherous half-brother, Ludlow, doing his utmost to avoid my rage-filled stare. “Business is business, you understand that, don’t you? I mean… you would have done the same thing if you were in my shoes, right?”

“If I were in your shoes,” I hissed, “I would have thrown myself onto that ruddy camp-fire right now, and ended my worthless, miserable existence.”

Ludlow scratched the back of his head nervously, and stepped back behind Captain Huw Anchor, who was looking rather too pleased with himself.

“Well,” said Anchor, smiling a sickeningly broad smile, “that was a really touching family reunion. It really was. I think I’m getting tearful, honestly.” He cackled loudly, then in a trice he was standing toe-to-toe with Lance, my other brother who, despite his criminal leanings and penchant for bestiality, had so far proven to be far more trustworthy than that worm Ludlow.

“Now listen here, cowboy,” Anchor jeered, prodding Lance in the chest with a fat, stubby finger. “You are going to tell me exactly where the gold is buried, or else…she gets it.”

On cue, the crowd parted to reveal one of Anchor’s burly henchman holding a pistol to the head of a horse, who was lazily chewing some grass, completely unaware of how precariously it’s life hung in the balance.

“NO!” screamed Lance, struggling to break free from his captor. “Not Jezebel! I love that horse!” He turned to me, and in a hushed tone added, “I really love that horse.” I winced.

“Tell us where the gold is, Lance, and we shall not harm a hair on this creature’s head, you have my word,” Anchor said.

“Your word, sir, carries as much weight as a malnourished street urchin,” I cried, desperately stalling for time so I could plot our escape.

“Oh, your lordship, do shut up,” Anchor snapped. “If you so much as utter another word, or interfere with proceedings in any way, HE gets it,” the captain motioned behind us, where my man-servant Botter was crouched on his knees, hands cuffed behind him, while another rugged rapscallion held a gun at his temple, grinning proudly. I raised an eyebrow, and turned back to Anchor.

“Oh, go ahead,” I smirked. “Shoot him. He is really quite useless to me, and he does smell rather like an old boot filled with feces. I dare say you would be doing us all a favour.” I turned back to Botter, and gave him a sly wink. He nodded slowly, and smiled.

“Your false bravado does not fool me, your lordship. I know you are bluffing. Maybe we should see what happens if we go ahead and pull the trigger…” said Anchor, his voice trailing off as he looked back at my man-servant, who was now standing up, hands freed, clutching the gun that had been held to his head, while his captor now lay on the ground, unconscious.

“You are a perceptive man, Anchor,” I said. “I was bluffing. Botter is not entirely useless, you see. He is rather adept at picking locks, for one thing, and he is also excellent at felling men with a straight shot to the plums. Although I do maintain that he smells like an old boot filled with feces.”

“Nobody move, or I’ll…um…shoot you,” Botter ad-libbed, trying his best to sound vaguely threatening. His shambolic act somehow seemed seemed to work, and some of the roughs in Anchor’s employ, sensing the tide was turning against them, surrendered and allowed themselves to be seized by the resurgent Red Rump tribe, led by Chief Spurting Cock. Meanwhile, other members of the captain’s posse decided that they were not going down without some semblance of a fight, and attacked the tribesmen, quickly leading to a full-on battle breaking out in the camp. Guns blazed, arrows sailed through the air and tomahawks sliced through flesh, with one particularly depraved Indian busying himself with the removal of the fallen men’s todgers, waving them above his head with triumphant glee.

As chaos and confusion reigned, I seized my chance, and flung my head back sharply, cracking the nose of the henchman behind me, a maneuver that caused me slightly more pain than I’d anticipated, and which left me slightly stunned.

Lance, meanwhile, followed my heroic lead and broke free from his guard, and lunged at Anchor, who managed to sidestep the attack and caught my hapless brother smartly in the small of his back with his elbow. Lance fell to the ground, while Anchor smoothly drew out his own gun and held it to Lance’s head.

“Lightnin’ Lance Likely!” Anchor snorted. “Lightnin’? I mean, honestly, that little stunt may as well have been sent by telegram, it was so painfully slow. Pathetic.”

Still nursing a sore head, I rushed to Lance’s aid, but was met by the barrel of Anchor’s pistol.

“I should blow your smug, stupid face clean off,” Anchor snarled as I skidded to a stop. “But why get my hands dirty, when I have a perfectly wiling lackey to do my dirty work for me? He’d kill to get his book published, you know! LUDLOW!”

Ludlow stepped forward, and Anchor placed the gun in his hands.

“I want you to shoot Lord Likely. I want you to do it, now.” Anchor barked. Ludlow looked at the crazed captain, then raised the gun back up to my head, and pulled back the hammer. Anchor clapped his hands excitedly. “Oh-ho! A Likely killing a Likely! How very poetic, don’t you think, your lordship?”

I did not answer, as I was to busy fixing Ludlow with my most sternest of looks, a stare so utterly penetrating and powerful it has reduced grown men to weeping like babies, then filling their trousers like newborns. Ludlow could not look directly at me.

“Treachery, skull-duggery, back-stabbing and greed,” I whispered. “I must admit, father would actually have been very proud.”

Ludlow looked up into my eyes.

“Shoot him!” Anchor screamed. “For the love of God, shoot the bastard!”

Ludlow pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded.

Captain Huw Anchor fell to the ground, clutching a fresh wound on his arm, howling in pain. Ludlow lowered the gun, and turned back to me.

“Some people have no manners, do they Lordy?” Ludlow beamed.

“Spiffing job, old boy,” I said, very much relieved. “But do not think for one moment you have ingratiated yourself with me so easily. I would still very much like to have a thousand wild horses trample your scrotum, you know.”

“Understood,” Ludlow nodded. “I’m so sorry, Lordy. I almost forgot who I was. I am a Likely, dammit, and I’m darn proud to be one.”

“Quite as it should be,” I returned.

“Hey, ladies,” Lance said, gingerly rising to his feet. “I don’t wanna alarm anyone, but I think our man’s gone an’ fucked off,” he explained, pointing to the ground where only moments before Anchor had fallen. All that was left was a pool of blood, with smaller puddles leading haphazardly away from the spot, and out of the camp.

“Hmmm,” pondered Chief Spurting Cock loudly, appearing suddenly beside us like some kind of homosexual phantasm. He knelt down and sniffed at the blood, stood up, stroked his chin, then licked his finger and held it above his head. He made a few more loud hums, then faced us again. “I think that your man has gone to Mount Penis, at the top of the canyon.”

“Amazing!” cried Ludlow, impressed. “How on earth do you know that?”

“He’s over there, look,” admitted Spurting Cock, pointing up to a path leading out of the canyon, upon which the figure of Huw Anchor could be seen, staggering towards a cock-shaped mountain above.

“Remarkable,” mumbled Ludlow, clealrly feeling like the utter fool he was.

“Right!” I cried, clapping my hands together loudly. “Chief, how are your men coping with Anchor’s thugs and goons?”

Spurting Cock grinned suggestively. “They are coping with the men tremendously well, ” he said. “And by ‘coping’ I mean ‘buggering’.”

“Fine! That was more information than I would have liked to have been given, but still, good work nonetheless. Botter!” I cried, swiveling around to face my man-servant, who was still clutching his pistol and trying to maintain an air of menace. “Botter, you stay here and keep an eye or two on Dirigible and Lunettes, here,” I said, pointing to Anchor’s two miserable co-conspirators.

“Why? Where are you going, milord?” asked Botter, keeping his pistol trained on the pugnacious pair.

“We Likelys,” I said, putting my arms around my two brothers. “Have got an Anchor to toss out.”

- Lord Likely.

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Lance and I watched for a few more minutes as the posse of men rampaged through the Red Rump tribe’s campsite, then we withdrew from our vantage point atop Cockshaft Canyon to formulate a plan to overcome this group of horseback bastards.

“I say we go down there, guns ablazin’, and shoot each an’ every one of ‘em dead,” Lance snarled, drawing his pistol from it’s holster.

“An excellent plan, Lance, however it falls down on one crucial point. There are but two of us, and at least twelve of them. By the time we had shot off our first round we’d be riddled so full of holes they could use our corpses to strain spaghetti.”

“Oh. Right.” Lance fell silent, his brow knotted in deep concentration. “Okay, then, what about we get a big ol’ cannon, wheel it up to the edge of the canyon and BOOM! Blow ‘em all to kingdom come?”

“Hmmm.” I mused. “I think that plan is possibly even more asinine than your first.”

“Ass-what?” said Lance.

“Never mind,” I sighed. “Now do be quiet, and let me think so that I may formulate a plan that is not completely and utterly bent.”

My silent ruminations were not to be forthcoming, however, as a loud voice broke into my thoughts from the valley below.

“LIKELY!” came the voice. “LIKELY!”

“Is he talking to you or me?” I said to Lance. Lance shrugged.

“LIKELY! I KNOW YOU’RE UP THERE! JUST COME ON DOWN, AND WE’LL HAVE A LITTLE TALK, MAN-TO-MAN!”

I froze. I recognised that voice from somewhere. The lilting, sing-song cadence and slight Welsh accent…

Then, I had a flashback.

I shan’t bore you with the details of my flashback, except to say it was in black and white, entirely in slow motion, and surprisingly dull. The upshot of it all was that I had indeed heard this voice from someone somewhere before, and that somewhere was aboard the HMS Bastard, where I had began my journey to America, and the someone was it’s captain – Huw Anchor.

What in the name of Thor’s mighty hammer was that swine doing here?

I crawled back to the precipice and peered over the top. Surely enough, there was the smartly-dressed form of the captain, flanked by two other familiar faces, Renchard Dirigible, his second-in-command and Jean des Lunettes, the awful Frenchman I had met while dining with the captain aboard the HMS Bastard.

“Well bugger me sideways,” I exclaimed quietly. “I have met these fiends before! What a small world it is, eh Lance?” There was no reply. “Lance?”

My finely-tuned sense of danger told me something was amiss, so I gently pulled out the antique pistol Ludlow had given me, and quickly spun round, holding the gun out on front of me. I saw Lance, on his knees, head bowed, in front of a burly figure who was pointing a rifle at the back of my poor brother’s head.

“Mr. Anchor wishes to see you both,” the figure growled. “Dead or alive, it makes no difference.”

“Tell him I shall see him…IN HELL!” I roared, squeezing the trigger of the pistol. Nothing happened, save for a dull thud as the hammer clicked into place. I silently cursed Ludlow for having lumbered me with a useless weapon, and gently rose to my feet, hands in the air.

“Or, we can see him now, I suppose,” I sighed.

“Oh! Your lordship! How lovely to see you again!” Anchor cried, as we entered the campsite. “It has been much too long. I do hope there are no hard feelings about the whole trying-to-kill-you-by-ploughing-our-ship-into-an-iceberg business?”

“Oh, not at all, Mr. Wanker. The sea-breeze did me the world of good, I shouldn’t wonder. Now if you do not mind, can you please tell me what in the name of Prince Albert’s golden cock-ring is going on here?”

“Certainly,” said Anchor, sitting himself down on one of the tribe’s comfortable sofas. “It is the least I can do, before I have you shot dead by my accomplice Herman, over there,” he indicated to the burly fellow behind me, who jabbed his rifle into my back on cue.

“Charmed,” I said.

“You are a well-travelled man, are you not, your lordship? I too travel a lot, but alas all I ever get to see of the various countries I encounter is the coast, before I am off again on another voyage. So, when my annual holiday came around this year, I decided to take in some of the sights of this great nation, and get to know it a little better. My holiday took me to some rather obscure, peculiar little places, such as a small town called Around Here, in Dinkle County. My! That was a rather colourful little township, I must say. Anyway, I was relaxing in a bar there, when I overheard two men engaged in a hushed discussion about the recent discovery of a large stash of gold, and what to do with it. One of these men was your brother, here, the other was an old fellow who seemed to be the one who had made the discovery.

“Now, an opportunity like this does not come along every day, your lordship, and I decided I wanted this gold for myself. So I assembled together this group of easily-bribed men from the town, and we paid this old man a visit, with a view to wringing the location of the gold from him. Unfortunately, he was not forthcoming with the information, so I…”

“You killed him, ya lily-livered piece o’ shit!” snapped Lance, angrily. Anchor motioned to Herman, who responded by smashing Lance in the back of the head with his rifle butt. Lance howled in pain.

“Please, do not interrupt me when I am telling my story. It is really very rude, you know,” Anchor droned. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes! So, I decided to terminate the discussion with the old man, and thought I might be able to learn the location of the gold from his partner, the incredibly rude Lance Likely, here. Unfortunately, tracking Lance down was rather tricky, and despite my best efforts he remained an elusive character. Eventually I had to give up and return to England, and back to work.

“But happily, Lady Luck seemed to smile down upon me, for when I returned to duty on the HMS Bastard I saw that one of my passengers was another Likely – your good self, Lord Likely. This could not be mere coincidence, I thought, and I reasoned that this man had to be connected with the other Likely in United States. So, I informed the most trusted members of my crew about the whole affair, offered them a share of the bounty and together we decided to ransack your cabin to glean further information. We abducted your man-servant so that you would think the sole purpose of the raid on your lodgings was for a kidnapping, and would not get suspicious of our real intentions, and then we turned the place over. There we found the letter of distress from yet anther Likely, your American half-brother Ludlow, so we made a note of his address and decided that when we got to America, we would pay him a visit.”

“Why didn’t you just follow me?” I asked.

“Mr. Dirigible here informed me that you were somewhat of an adventurer and detective, who had defeated countless criminals and miscreants over the years. We reasoned that only you could possibly scupper our plans, and we would fare better leaning on this Ludlow fellow instead. So, we agreed to sink the HMS Bastard with you on it, lest you interfere with our plans.”

“Of course, that was after your first attempt on my life failed, when I overcame your hired goon Doctor Corkscrews,” I remarked.

“Doctor who?” Anchor asked, genuinely surprised. “We did not hire anyone to kill you, your lordship. We already had our scheme all set out.”

I was confused. I had been sure Doctor Corkscrews was part of this terrible business, yet he was not. I was reminded of an earlier mystery, where my carriage had been shunted off the road by persons unknown, and where I had received a note threatening violence upon my lordly form, of which both instances had proved to be unrelated to the mystery at hand. Was someone else following me and trying to end my precious life? And if so, who? And why would anyone wish harm upon my wondrous self? This sort of thing was happening far too frequently for my liking, and further contemplation would be needed. However, for now I had to focus on my current predicament.

“Anyway, your lordship, thinking we had finally dispatched you, we headed off to see your brother Ludlow, hoping to persuade him to tell us how to find the ever-elusive Lance.”

“Ha! That is where you miscalculated, I fear. Ludlow would not give up such information freely. Blood is thicker than water, and – “

“Oh, you are quite right,” Anchor interrupted. “He did not give it up freely. But every man has his price, your lordship.”

“Not Ludlow,” I sneered. “He is a good, honest and decent man. If he told you anything, I will eat my hat.”

“Well, you shall dine well tonight then,” Anchor said dryly. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Likely?”

An all-too familiar figure stepped out from the shadows, his head lowered in shame. It was Ludlow. I felt my heart sink.

“I…I am sorry, Lordy,” Ludlow said, avoiding my furious gaze. “They offered me a lot of money, which helped me to get my book published…I just couldn’t refuse…please, forgive me.”

“Oh, Ludlow,” I shook my head sadly. “You utter, utter cunt.”

- Lord Likely.

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Now there were two Likelys at the campsite, my glorious self, of course, and my half-brother Lightnin’ Lance Likely. This meant that now there was twice the sexual charisma, and double the loveliness, so to prevent us from being ravished by the cock-hungry braves of the Red Rump tribe, we decided to conduct our business elsewhere, namely at the top of Cockshaft Canyon.

We followed a small path up to the top of the canyon, from where we had an excellent aerial view of the campsite, and where I could quite clearly see my man-servant Botter being dragged into a tent by three Indians, to be roughly buggered in return for shelter for the night. An entirely reasonable deal, I felt.

I lit a cigarette and turned to face my brother, who was sat on a large rock swigging noisily from his hip-flask.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the receptacle towards me. “Have some fire-water.”

“Fire-water?” I asked. I took the flask and cautiously took a sip. A familiar, warm glow filled my chest.

“Whisky!” I beamed, taking another, longer sip. “You’ve clearly inherited an appreciation for the finer things in life from our father.”

“S’about the only thing I got from that asswipe,” Lance replied gloomily, taking his hip-flask back. “He wasn’t much of a father figure in my life, y’know. He knocked up my ma, then shot off without so much as a how d’ya do. Then he reappears five years later, jus’ to get him some more action. Didn’t even stop to see how his son was. I mean…what a butt-pipe.”

“Now come along,” I snapped. “I cannot stand here and listen to you bad-mouthing our father. I shall not hear you belittle Lord Eustace Likely, one of the finest, bravest and frankly randiest men I have ever known. Your words make me feel quite nauseous, and if you persist I shall have no option but to violently insert my fist into your ruddy teeth!“

“Oh sure. I guess you would kiss his ass, seein’ as how you got the sweetest deal. You got to grow up with him. I spent more time in his fuckin’ nutsack then I ever did in his company. The man was a dick.”

“Right! I have had enough! Put your fists up, you scoundrel, and prepare to be battered!” I shouted, circling Lance with my own fists held aloft. Lance looked up at me, slowly, a wry smile etched across his lips.

“Gladly.” He said, then as quick as a flash he sprung from his seated position and was upon me, raining blows about my torso. I flailed wildy in return, caught off-guard by the rapidity of his attack, until I managed to lay a glorious left-hook to Lances’ face, sending him sprawling. I picked myself up, and dusted myself down, only to then find myself on the receiving end of a punch to the abdomen that knocked the air out of me. As I doubled-over, winded, Lance came at me again, swinging for my beautiful face. I dodged his first punch, but the second caught me squarely on the chin, causing me to stumble backwards, tripping over a rock as I did, resulting in me falling flat on my back. Lance smiled and came at me again, but this time I was ready, and I swept his feet from underneath him with my leg, bringing Lance crashing to the ground with a heavy thud.

We both laid on the ground in silence for a few minutes, exhausted.

“Thanks. I needed that.” Lance said eventually, lighting a rather sorry-looking cigar. “That was better than sex.”

“I suppose it would be if all your sexual conquests had four legs and a tail,” I replied.

“Hey! I like fuckin’ cattle! Is that really so wrong?” Lance wailed.

“In a word: yes,” I said. “In two words: Christ, yes!“

Lance chuckled, then sat up. “Sorry about that scuffle, back then. I have some issues to work out, I guess. Especially with our father. It’s jus’…I mean…I got jack-shit, an’ look at you! You got his money, his title, his estate and…” Lance paused, and gazed up at the stars mournfully. “An’ his love.”

Tears welled up in Lance’s eyes, causing me to feel quite uncomfortable. I never react well around such blatant shows of emotion, more so if it is a man with whom I am dealing. I know that I am supposed to say something, or do something, but I am never entirely sure what these things are supposed to be. Why couldn’t people be more like me, I wondered, and keep all their emotions bottled up and then unleash them through a violent thrashing upon one’s man-servant?

I hauled myself up on my elbows, and regarded the miserable form of my half-brother.

“Pull yourself together, man!” I snapped, jumping to my feet. “I did not come all this way, and risk having my anus perforated by queer Indians, just to watch you weeping like a ruddy child. I came here because I heard you were in trouble, and I wanted to help you. And why should I do that? Because, despite all your whining, you ARE a Likely, and we must stick together. Blood is thicker than water, Lance, and the Likely blood is thicker still, and ninety-five per cent proof, to boot. Together, we can achieve anything, and shag anyone. Now, are you going to sit there moping like a complete and utter useless twat-stick, or are you going to be a cocking man and sort this sorry mess out once and for all?”

Lance looked up at me through teary eyes. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, then smiled.

“You had me at, ‘anus’,” he grinned.

From there on in, Lance told me about the trouble he had found himself in. He freely admitted to the cattle-buggery, and a few bank raids, but he swore blind that he did not kill anyone, and that he had been framed for murder.

“Listen, one day, I’m hidin’ out in the woods near Jizzballsville, lyin’ low after pullin’ a job on the city’s bank, an’ one day I meet this crazy ol’ drunk guy, who swears he’s found a whole buncha gold in the mines nearby. I think this guy’s a kook, right, but I go check it anyway, and shit, I couldn’t believe it, the ol’ man was right. The mines were lined with gold, tonnes of the stuff, just lyin’ there, waiting. No-one else knows about it, right? So me an’ this ol’ fellah, we agree to work together to strip the mine of all this gold, and go fifty-fifty on it. It’s a good deal, right? But then one night, I’m at the ol’ man’s house an’ I hear a commotion outside. So, I go an’ check it out and there’s this bunch of men pushin’ the ol’ guy about, askin’ him where the gold is, and so on. The ol’ man ain’t talkin’, though – ‘cuz we had a deal, see – an’ this just pisses these guys off an’ one of them just shoots the poor ol’ guy dead. Bang. I figure they’ll come fer me next, so I scarper outta there, go back to the mine and load up mah horse with as much gold as the ol’ girl can carry, an’ I go into hidin’ again. Later on, I found out I’m wanted fer the murder of that poor, dead ol’ guy. I think them guys are tryin’ to weed me out, get a hold a’ me an’ my gold. But they ain’t gonna get it, right? Right?”

I held up a hand to Lance’s face, while putting the index finger of my other hand to my lips.

“Ssssh.” I hissed.

“What is it?” he whispered. I beckoned to him to follow me, then we crawled along to the edge of the canyon and looked down. There seemed to be nothing astray, save for a distant noise that sounded like thunder. Lance looked at me quizzically, but before he could ask me another asinine question I had placed my finger back on my lips.

The rumbling noise got louder and louder, until a group of dark-clothed men on horseback rode into the campsite, whooping and hollering and firing pistols into the air. I looked back to Lance, who’s face had become stricken with shock.

“I fear that these gentlemen may want to have a quiet word with you, Lance,” I whispered.

- Lord Likely.

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The Red Rump tribe offered us a ride back to their camp, located in the depths of Cockshaft Canyon. Botter rode on the back of Sucking Pole‘s horse, while I had the dubious honour of riding with the tribe’s Chief, Spurting Cock.

The journey was awful, as I had not only had to contend with the intolerable heat and treacherously rocky terrain, but I also had to fend off continued lecherous advances from the over-excitable Chief. His favourite trick was to steer his horse over some particularly bumpy ground at great speed, forcing me to tighten my grip around his waist, at which point he would cry, “Oooooh! You saucy devil!” before breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. By the end of the journey I was praying for a terrible accident to befall the Indian, preferably involving a low-hanging branch, a broken leg and a pack of wild coyotes. Sadly, my prayers went unanswered.

We finally arrived at the tribe’s camp in the late evening, by which time I was considerably saddle-sore – due solely to the pressure of the saddle on my rear, I hasten to add. At no point did I allow any of the nancified natives penetrate my venerable backside.

“Welcome to Camp Camp!” cried Spurting Cock as we trotted into the campsite. I rolled my eyes.

The camp was luridly styled; the tribe’s tents were all coloured in various gaudy hues, with skulls bearing far too much make-up tied to poles flanking them. A large camp-fire acted as a centre-piece for the site, surrounded by large, comfortable, rose-coloured couches, upon which sat more gaily-coloured tribesmen, who leapt to their feet as we entered and clamoured around us in awe-struck wonder.

“My chief! You have bought us fresh meat?” said one, pawing at my leg like an over-affectionate cat.

“You shall keep your hand off of my meat,” I snapped. “Your fresh meat is over there,” I added, pointing to Botter who was half-dismounting and half-falling from his horse. The native regarded my man-servant glumly.

“He doesn’t look very fresh,” he moaned. “In fact, he looks like he has gone off.”

“Yes, he has gone off rather a few times,” I agreed, climbing down from my ride. “But that is all that is on offer. Take it or leave it.”

The Indian sighed, then sloped off towards Botter sadly.

“Take a seat, your lordship,” beamed Spurting Cock, indicating to one of the couches around the fire. I sat down gingerly on the seat. “Now, would you like to suck on my pipe?”

“I beg your pardon?“

“Peace pipe!” the Chief smiled, producing a large, wooden pipe from his belt. “Would you like to smoke the peace pipe with me?”

“If it’s all the same, I shall decline the offer, thank you,” I said, stiffly. “I shall have a cigarette, instead.”

“I must warn you, it is a great insult to refuse the peace pipe,” Spurting Cock said solemnly. “People have died for less!”

“Really?” I said, aghast.

“No! Not really! Hahahaha! You totally fell for that one, your lordship! Your face was a picture!”

I shook my head wearily, and lit a cigarette.

“Alright, let us eat now. You must be famished, your lordship!” The chief clapped his hands loudly. “Will someone go and fetch his lordship a menu – pronto!”

“A menu?” I said. “Why on Earth would you need a menu? Don’t your sort just eat raw buffalo meat?”

“Please, your lordship. We are not savages, you know. We order in a lot of food from the nearby town – salmon, veal, the finest cuts of steak, fresh vegetables – we like to eat well!”

“I stand corrected,” I replied.

“Ah, here comes the menu now!” cried the Chief, indicating towards a stunningly gorgeous young lady, with jet-black hair, beautiful brown eyes and large, round breasts. I felt my interest suddenly perk up, along with my Lord Palmerston.

“Your menu, Chief Spurting Cock,” the girl said, bending over to hand over the menu to the Chief. I allowed myself a quick glance at her pert buttocks as she did so, and hoped that I might get better acquainted with them later.

“Thank you, Titty-Titty,” the Chief said, taking the menu from the girl. “This is our special guest, Lord Likely, from England.”

“A pleasure my dear,” I said, rising to my feet and taking her hand gently in mine. She giggled timidly, her cheeks flushing scarlet. She was positively adorable, I thought, and then I softly kissed the back of her hand. As I withdrew, I became aware that a hushed silence had fallen upon the camp. As I turned around, I saw a sea of open mouths, jaws-dropping wherever I looked. I quickly realised what was up.

My Lord Palmerston was up.

Surely enough, my proud organ had also taken a liking to this pretty Indian girl, and the resulting erection was causing quite a stir in the camp.

“Well, your lordship!” Exclaimed Chief Spurting Cock. “I was going to show you our totem-pole later, but quite frankly I don’t think it will measure up to your own.”

“My apologies, Chief, you have not been introduced. This here is my Lord Palmerston, my closest companion. Evidently he is rather taken with this young lady, as am I.”

“Titty-Titty?” snorted the Chief. “Well, I suppose she’s alright, if you like that sort of thing. We keep her around to foster our children, for we wish our tribe to carry on long after we are gone. Although, having said that, we have only managed to raise one child so far, as only Pounding Ass there could find the nerve to penetrate this vile, cockless hussy.”

“It was a moment of weakness,” whined Pounding Ass forlornly.

“It is alright, Pounding Ass,” Chief Spurting Cock said reassuringly to the saddened brave, patting his back gently.

“Well, maybe I might offer my services to Miss Titty-Titty here?” I asked, brushing a loose hair away from the girl’s face.

In a flash, Spurting Cock was beside me, grabbing Titty-Titty away from my reaches.

“She may lack a lovely, smooth shaft and large, round balls,” he said sternly, “but Titty-Titty is sacred to us, as the bearer of our son, Little Bender. Should any white man interfere with her, we will not hesitate to spear his gonads to the wall!”

“They will, too,” growled a drawling voice behind me. “I came this close to losing a nut myself.”

I swung round, and beheld a rather dishevelled man in a long coat, half his face obscured under the shadow cast by the large brim of his hat.

“I only managed to save mah balls by agreein’ to share some of mah gold with these fellahs. Mine must be the most expensive balls in the entire country.” The stranger smiled, and raised his head, revealing more of his face to me. The sharp, glittering eyes, proud nose and well-maintained moustache left me in no doubt as to the identity of this fellow.

“Lance!” I cried, then there was a brief pause as his words sank into my head. “Hold on…did you say gold?”

- Lord Likely.

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

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

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

There was silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was more raucous laughter from the two men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The VC?”

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

“The VD? What’s that, milord?”

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

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

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

- Lord Likely.

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Botter and I stood silently on the platform, awaiting the train that would take us to Disaster, and no doubt onto further astonishing adventures.

“The ruddy train is late,” I said, breaking the silence.

“I only make it thirty seconds late, milord,” Botter replied, observing a clock on the wall behind us.

“Late is late, Botter.” I snapped. “I do so hate being kept waiting. It is the height of bad manners, and jolly bad form all round.”

Right on cue, as if it had heard my complaint, the train pulled into the station. It was a large, powerful-looking machine, resplendent in it’s jet-black paint and red trim. It drew up beside us, and came to a gradual stop, before a small, bearded man in a train-driver’s uniform descended from it and hurried over to us.

“Good day, folks! You here to ride aboard The Steamed Eagle?” he exclaimed, picking up my suitcase.

“No, I am here to ride the train,” I replied.

“Why, that is the train, sir! We call her The Steamed Eagle,” he exclaimed, waving towards the engine with a proud flourish. “She’s entirely at your service!”

“Well, she could do with being rather more prompt,” I snorted. “You do realise that you are fifty-three seconds late, don’t you?”

“Well, don’t you worry, sir! Your destination ain’t gonna be going anywhere!”

“And neither will you, with two broken legs.”

“I haven’t got two broken legs, sir!”

“Not yet, you haven’t. Now, here are my tickets – which one is the First Class carriage?”

“Right over there, sir,” the man indicated to a fine-looking carriage behind him. “Just you two, is it?”

“Well, I shall be travelling first class, certainly. My man-servant here will be travelling with the luggage, after all he is pretty much just a bag on legs,” I said, ignoring Botter’s silent protests.

“But you paid for two first class tickets, right?” The man asked, scratching his head.

“I did, that is true. One for me, and one for my Lord Palmerston. He is a first class passenger, make no mistake.”

“Where is this Lord Palmerston, then, sir?” the man enquired, looking around the station.

“In my trousers, you utter ignoramus.”

“In your trousers?”

“‘Lord Palmerston’ is the nickname I have given to my gentleman’s organ, my good man. He is of such a substantial size and importance that I feel obliged to purchase a ticket for him, so he may ride in comfort. Now, are there any further questions, or would you like me to display my Lord Palmerston to you, so that you might check his bags?”

“Uh, no, sir. That won’t be necessary. You go ahead, and have a pleasant journey. The, uh, both of you. And you, sir,” he said, turning to the despondent form of my man-servant. “The luggage compartment is the last carriage, down there.”

Botter took my case from the man, and shuffled off to his designated carriage, while I clambered aboard my first-class compartment. It was certainly first-class, of that there could be no doubt, with large, comfortable seats, fine furnishings, a drinks cabinet, a large fish-tank and a small orchestra playing beautiful music in the corner. I smiled a big, contented smile, took a bottle of whisky from the drinks cabinet and sat down in one of the seats, which I found to be extremely comfortable indeed. So comfortable, in fact, that I soon found myself drifting off to sleep as the train slowly pulled out of the station.

I do not know how long I had been asleep for, or how far we had travelled before I was rudely awoken by a cry from outside the train. I sat bolt upright, spilling some of my whisky, and looked out of the window. We were stationary, and the short man with a beard who I had been talking to earlier was lying dead on the grass beside us, a large arrow sticking out of his chest. Then another man, dressed in uniform, ran at full pelt past my window, stopping only to fire a few shots from a pistol at some unseen assailants. He turned to run, catching a quick glance in my direction as he did.

“Injuns!” he cried to me, pointing towards the front of the train. “Injuns! Save yourself! Ruuuun!”

I sat back in my extremely comfortable seat, trying to decipher exactly what it was the man had said. Engines? In gins? On Genes? What in the name of French cockery was he trying to say? I leant forward again, to see the man still running at full speed, until another arrow sailed through the air and found it’s home in his back. He fell to the floor, managing to squeeze off one more shot from his pistol, firing it aimlessly into the air.

I leant back again, and took a swig of whisky, thoughts racing through my lordly head.

Indians, I thought. He meant Indians.

I took another swig.

Shit, I thought. Indians.

- Lord Likely.

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And so, with my birthday celebrations well and truly over, we must now return to the continued chronicles of my Astonishing American Adventure, an adventure so massive that it has so far taken some four months to transcribe. But then, would have you expected anything less sizable from my good self?

Let us now rejoin our exciting exploits in the former colonies…

July, 1856.

So, Botter and I left the New York abode of my half-brother Ludlow Likely, and took a hansom cab to the nearest train station, ready to travel out to the American South in the hope of locating my other half-brother, the criminal gun-slinger and cattle rapist, Lightnin’ Lance Likely.

We arrived at the train station by lunch-time, and as we departed the carriage of our ride I made sure to tip the driver, my tip being, “Never stick your todger in a grinder”, sound advice for anyone. Anyone with a todger, of course. That done, Botter and I then strode up to the station’s ticket booth to purchase our tickets for the next leg of our journey.

“Two tickets to Around Here,” I said to the bored-looking elderly man in the booth.

“Around here?” Said the old fool. “But you’re already around here, sirs! Why on Earth would you want to buy tickets to get to a destination you are already at, I wonder?”

“Ah. I see what has happened here,” I replied. “There has been an almost comical mix-up. You see, I wish to go to Around Here, in Dinkle County, and not ‘around here’, as you have said.”

“Around Here? Dinkle County? Why, they sound like made-up names, dreamt up by a lunatic, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”

“Well, I do mind you saying so. In fact, so much do I mind you saying so, I may well clamber into that booth at any moment, and demonstrate how very much I mind you saying so by slamming your face into the window, if you don’t mind me saying so.” I snarled, causing the old man to become rather flustered.

“Okay, sir, okay. Let me just consult my map, here,” the old goon babbled, unfolding a large map and spreading it across his desk. He poured over it for a few minutes, before finally locating our desired destination. “Well, blow me!” He exclaimed. “Whaddya know! There IS an Around Here, in Dinkle County. Forgive me sir, it’s just that it sounded so ridiculous I thought you’d made it up! Heh-heh!”

“Yes, I suppose it does sound rather amusing,” I said, lighting a cigarette.

“I mean, who calls a place ‘Around Here’, anyways? That’s just plain crazy,” the old man continued. “Just crazy! Okay, what you need to do, sir, is to take the train to Disaster, in Spittlesburg, and from there you have to take a short carriage ride to Brown Hole Gorge, near Shit Creek. From there, you can take another train through Spermatozoa, up past Crusty Flaps Gulch, and into Hemorrhoid. From Hemorrhoid you have to get yourself another carriage, and ride down through Sodomite Valley, into West Vagina, pass on by the Pissypants River, up into the Hairy Minge Hills and finally down into Felch City, near Cockshaft Canyon. Up over the Canyon you’ll find Around Here.” The old man looked up from his map, beaming with pride.

“I…see,” I said, raising an eyebrow in quizzical surprise. “That was most…edifying. And when is the next train to Disaster, may I ask?”

“Well, let me see…oh! Oh dear! I am terribly sorry sirs, but it seems you have missed the last train to Disaster by a whole… five and a half hours,” the old man said, consulting a pocket-watch. “There won’t be another train passing through until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

“I beg your cocking pardon?” I snapped, simmering with barely-concealed rage.

“Ah! No, wait! You are actually early!” the old man corrected himself. “I was holding my watch upside-down. The last train to Disaster will be along in fifteen minutes. My mistake, sirs!”

“Marvelous.” I said, through gritted teeth. “We shall take two for that, then, if we may. First class, naturally.”

“There you go, sirs,” the old man grinned, pushing two tickets across the counter. “Have a nice day!”

“Well, I cannot see how it can get any worse,” I replied, scooping up the tickets and turning sharply on my heels.

Little did I know, as Botter and I boarded that last train to Disaster, that the rest of my day was going to get a lot worse. A lot bloody worse indeed.

- Lord Likely.

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