IN recognition of the second anniversary of my astonishing adventures, and in celebration of my  continued wonderfulness, I decided to commission professional strip-cartoonist Mr. Jamie Smart to draw a comical piece capturing me in all my undoubted glory.

The above splendid strip-cartoon is the result of Mr. Smart’s toil, and I am sure you will agree that he has done a marvellous job in embodying my truly complex and varied nature. Also, he has managed to make my moustache look as luxuriant as ever. Huzzah!

Mr. Jamie Smart is a comic-strip artist (as opposed to a comic strip-artist, which is an entirely different prospect altogether) who has put his mighty talents to use drawing pictures and writing words for American comic books, to t-shaped shirts, as worn by the more uncouth members of society.

You may peruse his fine portfolio of work both hither and thither.

Mr. Smart’s cartoon-strip is the first of many tributes to my fabulous self which I shall be sharing with you over the next two weeks or thereabouts. If you wish to share in the Likely Worship, then do feel free to send your lines of verse, your perfect prose, your artistic daubings or even your full musical compositions to Likely Towers via electrical mail:

hislordship@lordlikely.com

I shall then print them here for all my readers to view with their eyeballs, which shall serve to make you seem a thousand per-cent more attractive instantly by mere association with one as incredible as I.

Now, let the celebrations recommence! I demand more booze, and/or naked breasts.

- Lord Likely.

Having recently completed my one-hundredth exhilarating entry in these very journals, I decided to celebrate this centennial by imbibing one-hundred pints of beer, whilst hosting a massive orgy featuring some one-hundred ladies. Needless to say, the combination of such a large amount of alcohol and numerous wet, sweaty bodies did not mix well, and I soon found myself in hospital with a terrible injury to my beloved Lord Palmerston (the pseudonym I have bestowed upon my fine gentleman’s member). The upshot of it all was that I required a terribly symbolic one-hundred stitches to my mighty organ, and was told that I would not be able to so much as wipe my poor Palmerston on a female’s chin, let alone even contemplate engaging in the sex-act for the next two weeks.

Disaster!

As I laid recumbent in my hospital bed, I found myself being fussed over by a rather delightful nurse who’s fine figure made my Lord Palmerston twitch with excitement, sending shock waves of pain tearing through my body. Thus unable to show my gratitude to the nurse in my usual, highly erotic manner, I was left to pay tribute to the nurse’s kindness by other means; to whit, I let her keep the plaster-cast from my Palmerston, a gift which she accepted gratefully, a broad smile spreading across her beautiful face.

Upon witnessing the evident joy my plaster-cast penis had bought to the nurse, I got to thinking: what if I could repeat this exchange, but on a far wider scale, using my todger to show my gratitude to the many fine writers, commentators and artisans who have supported me and my journals over these past few months? Could I perhaps spread my penis all across the globe?

Thus, Lord Likely’s Golden Cock of Excellence was born.

Based around another mould of my massive manhood, the Golden Cock of Excellence is an award I have created to honour those jolly decent types who have either given me support, shown me love or sent me their unwashed undergarments.

And so, it comes to pass that Lord Likely’s Golden Cock of Excellence goes to:

Nurse Myra of Gimcrack Hospital, for services to his lordship’s libido, with her tales of sordid shenanigans and for offering forth tantalising glimpses of her ample charms.

Dame Domestic Minx, for being wicked, witty and generally all-round wonderful. And for services to onanism.

Lady Beenzzz of Stealthy Bean, for being a MILPW – Mother I’d Like to Procreate With.

Dame Olga, the Traveling Bra, for lending considerable support to his lordship, and to breasts everywhere.

Lady Laura, for proving that women can have adventures every bit as astonishing as mine. Well, almost. I am bloody amazing, after all.

The Ladies of Central Snark, for having a far higher breast quotient than any other web-log I frequent.

Sir Ed of the Pisstakers, for spreading the word of Likely through his wonderful journal, and for the tireless work he puts into it. Bravo!

Lord Diesel of Mattress Police, for services to humour, with not only his own jocular journals (almost worthy of being published, I’d say), but also for his fine work with his humor-blogs.com enterprise. Despite not having yet reviewed my excellent journals, the cad.

Sir Brent of Ominous Comma, for occasionally sporting a damned fine moustache that almost rivals my own. ALMOST. And for just being so damnably rugged.

Lord Lobo of Predator Press, for services to his lordship’s funny-bone, and for continually pledging his allegiance and soul to my wondrous self.

Lord Chris of Angry Seafood, for making my mouth turn upwardly in a gesture of mirth, and for seeing the good sense to interview me, as I am cocking-well brilliant.

Sir Bill Blunt, for being one of his lordship’s first followers, and for being a man of undeniable good taste.

Sir Japing Ape of the Congo, for services to human-ape relationships, and for never once flinging his own feces at my lordly face.

Lord Lord Matt, who may already be a lord, but is now doubly so, due to his fine advice and writing skills, and excellent hat.

Sir Boopadoopboy of the Neon Underground, for having drunk the drinks cabinet entirely dry in my Lavish Lounge.

Sir Hungry of Ghost, for services to my expansive ego, by constantly massaging it with his carefully crafted comments, and for having the good manners not to leave ectoplasm all over the place.

Lord Scary of Duck, for driving many visitors to my highly desirable domain. He must have a massive carriage, and no, I am not referring to his backside.

Sir Kevin de Pointless Banter, for services to surgery, for I have split my sides many a time whilst reading his fine writings. (That did not actually happen, by the way).

Sir Reverend Qelqoth, for preaching the only sermon that I can fully get behind, and then bugger senseless.

Lord Fab of Drivel, for making me wish I was inclined towards the male gender.

Lord and Lady Go! Smell the Flowers, for having the good, common sense to notice how excellent everything I do turns out to be.

Lord and Lady Dixie of Fuel My Blog, for allowing me to share my wisdom with their readers, and for setting up a ruddy marvelous place to meet new chums.

Feel free to proudly display my shining, golden cock upon your pages, you lucky people, so that your readers may know that you carry the official Likely seal of approval – the only seal worth carrying.

And if you are not on my list, do not fear, I do treasure you all the same. And who knows? Maybe, one day, you too could hold my cock in your hands.

Toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely.

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November 5th, 1856.

Remember, remember the fifth of November. Not because of that awful terrorist bastard Guy Fawkes, and his preposterous plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament. No, dear readers, the real reason to remember this historic day is that it is the very day that I, Lord Likely, celebrate my one-hundredth journal entry! Hurrah, and indeed, huzzah!

Who would have imagined that when I set out to transcribe my thrilling adventures in my trusted journals all those months ago, that I would still be writing them one-hundred entries later?

Well, I would have imagined it, of course, as I am cocking-well brilliant.

Naturally, to celebrate such a milestone I set about cracking open a fresh bottle of champagne – quite literally, infact, as Botter did a terrible job of opening the bottle himself, leaving me with little recourse but to smash the bottle open upon his wretched skull. Of course, he then whined and moaned and carried on about needing ‘several stitches’ to his head, but I was not going to let a bleeding man-servant ruin my celebrations, and so I carried on drinking while he passed out under the table in a pool of his own scarlet.

Happy times!

Feeling in such a reflective and celebratory mood, I thought I would re-read my journals and select my favourite moments. A surprising amount of these choice cuts seem to revolve around me injuring someone, which is why I refer to them as:

Horses, in which I give details about my collection of horses. In lesser hands, this would have been a dull entry, but I make it fascinating and fantastic, as is my way.

Aches and Pains, in which I list some of the injuries I have suffered whilst trying to remain so gloriously composed and ravishing.

Brawls I Have Known, where I recount some of my more violent sojourns to various drinking establishments around the country.

Fight to the End, in which I tackle a small army of bloodthirsty prostitutes.

The Astonishing Adventures of Lady Likely, where I recall some of the escapades of my dear mother, the errant Lady Likely.

Things I Have Stabbed, says it all, really.

Things I Have Stabbed – Part Two, also says it all, really.

Ladies I Have Loved and Lost, in which I recall a small selection of the many sexual conquests of my past.

Shopping Habits of a Lord, whereby I list some of the fine establishments I frequent when shopping.

A Wanted Man, in which I become a fugitive from the law, and have my handsome face plastered all over ‘Wanted’ posters across London Town.

Banquet and Wild, wherein I attend a party thrown in my honour, only to be forcibly ejected from said party not long after it has commenced.

Dealing with Aristocratic Anger, in which I demonstrate exactly what to expect should you find yourself disagreeing with my lordly self.

A Tidal Wave of Filth, wherein plans for my gloriously decadent Porn Library are exposed to the world.

All Rise for Her Majesty, in which I reveal my barely-concealed lust for the monarch, Queen Victoria. God Save Her!

The Likely Family Tree, in which I give a little bit of background on the Likely family.

Pounding the Palmerston, wherein I have a wank, or at least try to.

Loopy Lisa, in which I nearly wind up getting wed to something that closely resembles a man.

Lord Likely’s Schooldays, in which I recall some of my scholastic memories, some of which almost got me expelled.

If You Are Going to Party Then Party Hard, wherein I have one hell of a birthday party, and wind up many miles from home.

Quite a fine selection of wondrous writings from my incalculably incredible self there, I am sure you will agree. And I am sure you will not hesitate to join me in proposing a toast to the next one-hundred entries, and many more astonishing adventures. Especially as the booze is on me!

CHEERS!

- Lord Likely.

The Likely Centenary will continue apace for the rest of the week, where lucky readers can expect to bear witness to Lord Likely’s Birthday Honours, an all-new Likely Portrait, more recollections of his lordship’s schooldays and more besides. Chin-chin!

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