After a couple of days of jubilant celebrations, during which I was (quite rightly) hailed and revered as a returning hero (and thus plied with so many drinks and women I thought I had died and gone to some sort of sexy Heaven), now it was finally time for me to return to my not-at-all-humble home on the Likely Estate.

“Ah, home, sweet home!” I exclaimed as Botter and I disembarked from our carriage, and onto the familiar grounds of my Estate. “I think the first thing I shall do when I get in is to pour myself a large whisky, sit down, and maybe bash one out.”

“It’s a sight for sore eyes, milord,” Botter agreed. “I cannot wait to get back inside!”

“Overcome with emotion, are we Botter?” I smiled.

“No, milord. I’m rather overcome with luggage,” my man-servant replied, as he gamely struggled up the path with my numerous suitcases and hat-boxes. “I cannot wait to get inside and set all these down!”

I tutted and strolled on after my man-servant, until we came to a stop outside the front doors of my mansion.

“Well?” I said, expectantly.

“Well…what, milord?” Botter replied from behind the towering pile of suitcases.

“Well, aren’t you going to open the door for me, you loathsome wretch?”

“Um…well, my hands are rather full at the moment, milord, and the key is in your pocket, milord, so…”

“So you think I should open it myself, do you?” I snapped. “Well that’s cocking well marvellous, isn’t it? I mean, what is the ruddy point of having a man-servant if I am expected to do these things myself?”

“Sorry, milord. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Botter apologised, as he attempted to shift all my cases onto one arm.

“I should think so,” I snorted, as Botter’s free hand fumbled about in my waist-coat pocket in search of the door key.

“Um…milord, you do have the key, don’t you?” Botter asked nervously.

“Of course I do, you blathering cock-shaft! I never leave home without it!”

“It’s just that I can’t seem to find it, milord,” Botter continued as he searched my other pocket.

“Ye Gods!If one wants a job done properly, it seems one has to do it oneself! Let me look!” I yelled, pushing Botter away, which caused the unsightly urchin to lose his balance, and spill my luggage all over the floor.

“Oops,” Botter said.

“I swear, if anything is damaged, I shall be docking you of your pay. And quite possibly your limbs, as well,” I sighed, as I rummaged through my pockets for the ever-elusive front-door key. “Damnation! Where in the blasted blazes did I put that cocking key?”

My rigourous investigation of my pockets was interrupted suddenly by the front-door opening, and a large, thick-set man with a bald head and a rather nasty-looking scar stepped out onto the door-step.

“What do you want?” the man grunted.

“I…I beg your pardon?” I stuttered, slightly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events.

“What do you want?” the man repeated.

“Well, first of all, I want to know what the ruddy Hell you are doing in my house, you lumbering great ape,” I snapped.

However, before the Neanderthal could reply, another voice interrupted him from within the building.

“Who eees eet, Rocko?” the voice enquired in an Italian accent.

“Jus’ some goon in a top-hat,” Rocco replied.

“Excuse me?” I spluttered, but my furious indignation was cut short by the appearance of the second man, a thin chap with an even thinner moustache.

“Ah-hah!” he beamed. “Meeester Likely! How nice of you to stop by my ‘ouse!”

“YOUR house?” I roared. “Now listen here, you filthy pair of bastards, you have precisely ten seconds to remove your rancid posteriors from my home, or heaven help me, I shall remove your balls and use them to make a testicle kebab.”

“But meeester Likely,” grinned the second man, revealing a gold tooth. “Theees ees not your ‘ouse anymore, remember? I won eet fair and square.”

“What? What? WHAT the shit are you babbling on about?”

“You don’t recall? I cannot say I am much surprised, you were preety drunk at the time! You see, Meeeester Likely, you gambled theeese ‘ouse in a game of chance, and you lost, so now she is mine.” The man waved the house keys, and let another sickening grin creep across his face.

“Oh tits,” I said.

- Lord Likely.

Next time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: will Likely ever set foot in the Likely Estate again?

humor-blogs.com gambled it all, and lost it all.

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Now where was I?

Ah, yes. In the gutter, in a pool of my own urine, apparently homeless and with no recollection of who I really was.

In other (decidedly more succinct) words, I was in big trouble.

I elected to try and get up, and maybe take a stroll to see if there was anything about that might help refresh my memory as to my true identity. It would transpire, however, that this plan was much easier to formulate than it was to practice, as getting to my feet proved to be a task of near Herculean effort. Every bone and muscle screamed with pain, and my head began to spin wildly like an out-of-control carousel driven by a drunk.

I steadied myself against the wall behind me, and tried to regain some composure. As I did, I felt my trousers moisten, and not in a sexual way, either. I fumbled at the zipper of my trousers, and found that I was, in fact, urinating. I grappled with the gargantuan organ within my trousers, and directed it towards the wall, whilst urine gushed forth like a powerful jet of water from a (particularly large) firehouse.

As I continued to pass water, my head began to spin again, and nausea enveloped me. Before I could do anything, I found myself spewing up vast quantities of yellowy liquid.

So there I was: standing in a street, in urine-soaked trousers, with my cock out, pissing and vomiting in equal measure.

Truly, there has never been such a terribly tragic sight.

Once I had stopped peeing, and puking upon my own pee, I collapsed to the floor again, exhausted and (quite literally) drained.

Ruddy Hell, I thought to myself. Where in the name of arsery is… what’s his name when you need him?

I frowned. What’s his name? Who was this what’s his name? Did I have some sort of acquaintance with me? A friend, perhaps? Or was it a pet…I seemed to recall something small, hairy and incredibly foul-smelling following me around…

Blotter. Butter. Blister? Buttocks?

Confound it. I almost remembered something.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Maybe there was nothing else to remember. Maybe the pitiful existence with which I was currently presented was the sum total of my life. Maybe I was nothing more than a homeless shambles, a piss-stained mockery of manhood.

I felt something gently fall into my lap. I opened my eyes and blearily gazed down, to see a coin resting there, head-side up. I raised my eyes to see a smartly-dressed man smiling sympathetically at me.

“There you go, you poor blighter,” said he. “Perhaps you can afford to buy some bread now, or some such thing.”

I smiled back, and looked back down at my lap. I beheld the image of a woman’s face upon the surface, my brow knotted in deep concentration. I knew that stern, noble face. She was important.

“Sir!” I said, still slurring slightly but I was far more comprehensible than I had been earlier. “This woman, on the face of this coin. She is someone of great importance, is she not?”

“Why, I should say she is, friend!” The man beamed. “That is Queen Victoria, after all! God Save Her!”

Queen Victoria, I thought. Queen Victoria…

Suddenly, I felt that python-like appendage betwixt my legs stiffen to attention.

Queen Victoria! Yes, I knew her alright. Her Majesty gave me the raging horn, I seemed to remember. I wanted to take her, and pound her with my Lord Palmerston, thrusting away at her magisterial mimsy until…

Lord Palmerston! Yes, of course! My penis had a name! Lord Palmerston! I clawed excitedly at my zipper once more, and unfurled my mammoth member. It was fully erect and throbbing with barely-contained excitement. Clearly I was in a state of considerable arousal bought about by the thought of humping the Queen.

I looked at my penis. I looked at the coin in my other hand. This seemed familiar, I thought. I am sure I have been in this position before…

“I say, friend! What on Earth are you doing?” cried the man, looking upon the spectacle unfolding before him with shock and disgust.

“I am not yet entirely certain,” I replied. And then, for whatever reason, I began to masturbate furiously. It seemed like something I should do.

I pounded my Palmerston for a few, short, blissful minutes, ne’er once taking my eyes off of the embossed portrait of Her Majesty. The building excitement proved to be too much for any sustained act, and I soon found myself spurting forth a glorious jet of my fantastical cock-foam, narrowly missing a young couple on the other side of the street.

From that point on, everything seemed much clearer, almost as if I had spunked out any last remnants of doubt and uncertainty through this splendid act of self-abuse.

I now knew exactly who I was.

“Thank you, sir!” I bellowed, leaping to my feet and shaking the horrified man’s hand. “You have helped me to find myself once more!”

“So..who…who are you?” stuttered the flustered fellow, as I gathered up my top hat from the floor.

“I am Lord Likely, aristocratic adventurer and gentle-man of action,” I replied firmly, as I placed the hat upon my noble head, showering myself with pennies in the process. “Now if you will excuse me, I must go and have a frightfully violent discussion with a bunch of homeless bastards.”

I strode off, leaving the man bewildered and confused, and with a rather sticky hand to boot.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: His Lordship seeks vengeance upon the vagrants!

Presenting gaup - another quality venture from the cads responsible for these Astonishing Adventures.

Likely Bags A Blogscar! Dear Valerie Morrison, writer of the marvellous ‘Thinking Out Loud‘ web-log, has chosen to honour his lordship with this fine, shiny award:

His lordship is truly grateful, and plant to spend many hours diligently polishing his little chap to celebrate. Many thanks indeed!

As his lordship attempts to penetrate each and every nook of the inter-net, we are proud to announce the unveiling of his latest undertaking – Lord Likely’s Fanatical Followers, a brand-new fan club for Lord Likely on the ever-popular Facebook web-site. Do feel free to join up, and declare your moist lust for his lordship!

The Further Scrawlings of Mr. A.D Fanton:
Digital Sickbag | New! gaup
The Carrotty Kid
The Best Bit of the Internet (R.I.P)

Other places of interest:
The Clay Pigeon

FuelMyBlog | Blog Catalog | humor-blogs.com

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Date unknown, 1857.

I awoke with the most awful of headaches.

I am no stranger to hangovers, of course. My hedonistic lifestyle dictates that I often wake up with a fierce, pounding headache and with little or no recollection of the previous twenty-four hours. Indeed, the entire of the 1830s remain a mystery to me still, being nothing more than a decade-long hangover.

This time, however, was different. I could not recall one single damned thing, not even my name, who I was, or how I had come to be sitting in the street, in a puddle of my own piss (at least, I hoped it was mine).

And why were people throwing coins at me, for cock’s sake?

“Get a job, you filthy, degenerate swine!” yelled one portly gentleman as he passed me by.

I may have been completely clueless as to my own identity, but I was fairly certain I was not the sort of chap who tolerated that sort of slur upon my character.

Did I even have a character? I could not remember.

“Go and take an extremely lengthy constitutional off an incredibly meager pier,” I retorted to the fat fellow. At least, that is what I had tried to say. What actually emitted forth from my mouth was a lengthy, slurred cacophony of nonsense, which caused the target of my vitriol to nod sadly and stride onwards.

I mumbled something in return, then allowed my head to loll over to the side, where it remained as I tried to marshal the facts I had to hand in an attempt to fathom out precisely who I was.

I grabbed at my groin. Fact one: I was a man. Good, I thought, I am making progress.

Fact two: I was a particularly well-blessed man. Even better.

Fact three: I was on a street.

Fact four: I was -

“Mother, dearest, what on Earth is THAT?” asked a precocious young lad with a shock of blonde hair, pointing at me with clear disgust.

“Keep away, Sebastian,” replied the child’s equally pretentious mother. “That is a homeless man. Keep well away, for the homeless eat little children for dinner, you know!”

The child yelped in horror and withdrew back behind his mother, and then they both scurried past in a terrible hurry, leaving me with one, final, undeniable fact.

Fact four: I was a homeless man.

Something was distinctly amiss here, of that I was certain.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Likely is drunk. Very drunk INDEED.

Presenting gaup - another quality venture from the cads responsible for these Astonishing Adventures.

As his lordship attempts to penetrate each and every nook of the inter-net, we are proud to announce the unveiling of his latest undertaking – Lord Likely’s Fanatical Followers, a brand-new fan club for Lord Likely on the ever-popular Facebook web-site. Do feel free to join up, and declare your moist lust for his lordship!

His lordship would like to take this opportunity to give his hardened, fully-engorged thanks to his loyal readers, for their continued support over the past year. His lordship is truly grateful, and wished that he could penetrate each and every one of you in return. Cheers!

The Further Scrawlings of Mr. A.D Fanton:
Digital Sickbag | New! gaup
The Carrotty Kid
The Best Bit of the Internet (R.I.P)

Other places of interest:
The Clay Pigeon

FuelMyBlog | Blog Catalog | humor-blogs.com

> Subscribe in a reader

Having pumped the incredibly freakish Jennifer, the Incredibly Freakish, and filled her with so much of my man-cream that she was nothing more than a walking, human éclair, I decided that it was high-time for a little light refreshment.

I headed back to the scrap-yard, where I found my man-servant, Botter, already getting a head-start on the boozing.

“Botter, what in the name of Her Majesty’s regal fanny do you think you are doing, man?” I snapped.

“I…I’m ‘aving a drink, milord.” Botter replied.

“And where, pray tell, is mine, hmmm?” I enquired.

“Um…I…well, you were busy, so I thought…erm…” Botter stuttered.

“You did not think, Botter. I know for a fact that you are entirely incapable of anything as taxing as thinking. Had you actually thought, then you would have remembered that you are my servant, and thus your entire purpose in your pointless, vapid existence is to serve me, and ensure my constant and continued comfort and contentment. This being the case, I would have hoped that at the very least you would have gotten me a beer, if not many. Do you understand, Botter?”

“Sorry, milord,” Botter replied, sheepishly.

“And?…” I added.

“Would…would you like my beer, milord?” Botter said, offering me the bottle he had been drinking.

“That is much more like it,” I swiped the bottle from my man-servant’s filthy mitt. “You shall only receive a mild thrashing when we get back home now.”

“Milord is much too forgiving and kind,” Botter replied.

“And sexually attractive. Do not forget that.”

“And sexually attractive,” Botter repeated.

I nodded my approval, and began to swig on the bottle of beer. Although I had gone for several hours without any alcohol of any sort passing my lordly lips, this particular brand of beer was doing little to refresh me. It was warm and slightly nutty tasting, but in the absence of any other booze I drank up the entire bottle, and tossed the empty container upon the floor.

“Hmm, I have had better,” I declared, wiping my mouth with a handkerchief. “To be honest, that was akin to drinking tramp’s piss. Still, we are in dire need of alcoholic beverages for my celebratory shindig, so I suggest we gather as much of this beer as we can carry, and take it back to the Likely Estate, post-haste. Tell me, Botter, where did you get that bottle from?”

“Well, that’s the funny thing, milord. For a bunch of homeless geezers, these fellahs certainly have a lot of beer at their disposal. Flakey Jim gave me that bottle, an’ said there was plenty more where that came from.”

“Well, I dare say that these wretches spend each and every ill-gotten shilling on nothing but booze,” I reasoned. “Either that or they steal it all. Come, Botter, let us go and gather together as much beer as we can carry, and get back to glorious civilization as quickly as possible.”

Botter and I traipsed up and down the scrap-yard for what felt like an age, and in all that time we found neither any more beer, or any of the other filthy vagrants with whom we had become acquainted.

“Where in the name of King Solomon’s Colon is everyone?” I said. “It is not as if they have jobs to go to, or anything.”

“Why don’t we try in there, milord?” Botter suggested, pointing to a large, disused warehouse at the end of the yard.

“It looks incredibly ominous and frightfully perilous,” I observed. “Yes, let us go there immediately.”

And so, we went there immediately.

“You go in first, Botter,” I said as we stood outside the warehouse’s doors. “Should there be any crazed lunatics lurking within, I would rather they lopped off your face rather than mine. My face is far too handsome to be sliced up and worn by a deranged psychopath.”

Botter sighed, and cautiously opened the doors. He peered inside, then quickly withdrew his head and turned to me excitedly.

“Milord! You have to see this!” Botter cried.

I pushed past my grubby associate, and strode into the warehouse. The entire place was lined with crate upon crate of beer, stacked up to the very ceiling.

“Fuck me in a Turkish bath, that is rather a considerable quantity of alcohol. One far cruder than I may even describe it as a ‘shitload’,” I said, picking a bottle of beer out from an open crate beside me.

“It’s a shitload!” Botter said.

“Exactly,” I agreed, popping open the bottle and drinking the contents. “Eugh, this stuff tastes just as revolting. Still, needs must, and all that.”

As I opened another bottle, Botter wandered deeper into the warehouse, gazing around him in awe. He disappeared behind some crates for a while, then suddenly he was back, looking as white as a ghost. A stinking, foul ghost with terrible hair.

“Milord, you’d better come with me!” He whispered, pulling at my arm.

“Unhand me, Botter! I am quite capable of walking, thank you ever so much,” I snapped, as I staggered forth, and then crashed into a pillar. “Blow me, this beer appears to be far more potent than I had given it credit for.”

I followed Botter as he led me through the warehouse, and into another, previously unseen, room. Botter pointed inside.

“What is it, Botter?” I said, swigging from the bottle in my hand. “What ish it?“

I walked into this new room, completely unprepared for the sight that would greet me.

Around the entire circumference of the room were dozens upon dozens of unfortunate homeless urchins, all chained up and either asleep or unconscious. They were all stripped completely naked, with tubes affixed to their genitals, through which their urine was being drawn into a large vat in the centre of the room. The vat itself had a complicated-looking pumping mechanism affixed to it, which was taking the liquid up from within the container, and depositing it into bottles moving slowly along on a conveyor belt.

Bottles just like the one I was currently drinking from.

“Shitting Christ!” I yelled, spitting out a mouthful of beer all over the back of my man-servant’s head. “No wonder this tastes like tramp’s piss! It is tramp’s piss!”

I felt sick and revolted, and my head was spinning so fast I feared it would fly off of my neck and fly around the room.

“Focking bash-tardshhh,” I slurred, and then I blacked out completely.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Likely is drunk. Very drunk INDEED.

Presenting gaup - another quality venture from the cads responsible for these Astonishing Adventures.

Come, See His Lordship’s Cock and Balls! His lordship has very kindly decided to let all of you join him in The Cock and Balls (his preferred drinking establishment) for light and heavy refreshments, chit-chat and barely-concealed flirting. Do the honourable thing, and visit the Cock and Ball Inn right NOW! Many thanks.

Lord Likely would like to give his warm and incredibly moist thanks to Random Chick, for seeing fit to bestow him with this fine award right here:

Many thanks indeed, m’dear! The fact you have noticed how very ‘cool’ his lordship is has made him incredibly hot!

His lordship would like to take this opportunity to give his hardened, fully-engorged thanks to his loyal readers, for their continued support over the past year. His lordship is truly grateful, and wished that he could penetrate each and every one of you in return. Cheers!

The Further Scrawlings of Mr. A.D Fanton:
Digital Sickbag | New! gaup
The Carrotty Kid
The Best Bit of the Internet (R.I.P)

Other places of interest:
The Clay Pigeon

FuelMyBlog | Blog Catalog | humor-blogs.com

> Subscribe in a reader

February, 1857.
Miss Jennifer the Incredibly Freakish was an arresting, trouser-tightening sight; and I knew right there and then that I simply had to have her. And suffice to say, what I desire, I ultimately get.

I am Lord Likely, after all.

“Why on Earth do you call this poor woman Jennifer the Incredibly Freakish?” I asked Kenneth the Hat, the so-called leader of the group of homeless wretches with whom I had wound up spending my precious time.

“Well, look at her!” Kenneth the Hat exclaimed. “She has neither the warty complexion nor the diseased mouth of a true ‘omeless, like what we is.”

“She’s a FREAK!” Flakey Jim chimed in.

“She is the most devilishly attractive freak I have seen for a while,” I said. “I believe the last freak I desired was when I saw a curiously attractive bearded lady at the circus. Luckily, the beard transpired to be fake, although I can attest that she boasted a very real beard down below.”

The vagrants mumbled their disapproval, and ambled off to do whatever it is the homeless do to occupy their time. Probably urinating in each other’s mouths, I shouldn’t wonder.

I sent Botter, my man-servant, off to scout around for any booze for my party, but my real focus now was in penetrating Jennifer as soon as possible. As we were now alone, I sensed the perfect opportunity to make my move.

“Good day, m’dear!” I beamed, tipping my hat. “And what, pray tell, brings such a delightful creature as yourself to such an unsavoury locale as this? What unfortunate circumstances have led to such beauty finding herself out on the streets, left to fraternize with such odious fellons?”

Jennifer looked down at her feet, and when she looked back up tears were forming in her deep, dark eyes.

“Oh, sir! It is a terrible tale. You see, when my mother and father died, I was placed in the care of my wicked uncle, who promised to look after me, and – “

“Terrible.” I interjected, holding precisely no interest in the sob story. “Listen, m’dear, my time is rather precious so what say we just get down to the intercourse, hmmm?”

Jennifer stopped, tears streaming down her face, and looked up at me. Then, as quick as a light, her expression changed to one of sheer joy.

“Oh, yes sir! I do so love the cock, you know, sir! Big, veiny, purple-headed cock, sir!”

I shall admit that this rather frank answer did throw me somewhat. She looked like an angel, and yet spoke like a filthy, whoreish sailor.

God, I wanted her so much my balls were in danger of combusting.

“Good! So it is decided, then!” I cheered. “But what say we adjourn to rather more comfortable and less pungent quarters, hmm? I fear that if I get naked here, a rat may crawl up my anus.”

“Let’s go to my place,” Jennifer gasped, grabbing my hand.

“Your place?” I repeated, but before I could collect my thoughts Jennifer grabbed my hand and dragged me off.

We left the scrap yard and headed across the street, before turning into a narrow lane lined with small, cramped-looking houses. Jennifer came to a stop, and proudly indicated down the street.

“Here we are. Home sweet home,” she said.

“I thought you said you were homeless, my dear? ” I asked, slightly puzzled.

“I am, sir,” Jennifer interrupted, pointing to a dustbin outside one of the houses. “That. That is my home.”

“Charming, I’m sure,” I said. “It looks awfully cramped though…are you sure there is no-where else where we – “

“LOOK!” yelled Jennifer, stamping her feet. “Do you want to fuck me or not?”

The bin was indeed rather cramped, and there was a lot of maneuvering required to fit Jennifer, my good self and my mighty Lord Palmerston inside, but once we had settled in, things became considerably easier. Besides which, it was not as if a dustbin was the strangest place I’d ever had intercourse. That would have to be inside a whale.

Anyway, despite our restrictive surroundings, we managed to be surprisingly athletic and creative in our love-making, trying a variety of different positions and styles, including the ‘vertical sixty-nine‘, the ‘rear admiral‘, and the ‘disgraced puppeteer.’

In one instance, the sex became so impassioned that we accidentally upended the dustbin, and wound up rolling down the lane in it. I am happy to report that even in such a situation, I was not put off my stroke.

Jennifer was an extremely passionate lover, gasping and screaming with such ferocity that at one point, one of the inhabitants of a house across the street opened their window, and hurled a boot at us. Still we continued, and Jennifer displayed some rather unusual fetishes over the course of our pumpings. For example, she adored having filth smeared into her breasts, demanded to have an entire rotten pilchard thrust up her jacksie, and at one point she even asked whether I would throw any spare change into her gaping mimsy.

I declined, of course. Beautiful or not, I never give change to beggars.

As we concluded our intercourse, I could quite clearly see the real reason this young lady had been given the nick-name Jennifer the Incredibly Freakish.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Likely uncovers something slightly unsavoury about the homeless, and it’s not even the urine stains on their trousers.

Come, See His Lordship’s Cock and Balls! His lordship has very kindly decided to let all of you join him in The Cock and Balls (his preferred drinking establishment) for light and heavy refreshments, chit-chat and barely-concealed flirting. Do the honourable thing, and visit the Cock and Ball Inn right NOW! Many thanks.

His lordship would like to take this opportunity to give his hardened, fully-engorged thanks to his loyal readers, for their continued support over the past year. His lordship is truly grateful, and wished that he could penetrate each and every one of you in return. Cheers!

> Subscribe in a reader

Against all my better judgement, I followed the foul-smelling, cider-swigging reprobate as he led us through the twisting back-streets and alley-ways of the city. I made sure that Botter, my man-servant, kept closely behind me, lest any more ruffians leapt from the shadows and tried to bugger me six ways to the Sudan. You might say he was maintaining a valiant rear-guard action.

“‘Ere we is, sir,” croaked the homeless wretch. “Our ‘ome sweet ‘ome, as it were.”

“I cannot help but notice we are in a scrap-yard,” I said, not helping but noticing that we were in a scrap-yard.

“Heh, yeah. I ‘spect it’s a bit more ‘umble than what you is used to,” the vagrant beamed, whilst mangling the English language. “Wait ‘ere, sir, an’ I’ll go an’ get the boss.”

“The boss?” I repeated. “How in the name of cock-suckery does a homeless swine like you have a boss?”

“Jus’ wait ‘ere,” the cove replied, and staggered off.

“What an awful and abhorrent chap,” I mused as I watched the filthy figure disappear behind a broken-down carriage. “I don’t suppose he is any relation of yours, is he Botter?”

“Very funny, milord,” Botter dead-panned.

We waited patiently until the foul creature returned, accompanied by an even fouler looking man who was wearing a suit that hung sadly off of his boney frame, as if it was yearning to be on someone less repellent; whilst atop his awful head sat an even-sadder looking bowler hat, seemingly held in place by a large knife sticking out of the top.

“Greetings, sirs!” he said, offering me his hand to shake, a request I declined. “Please, take a seat! Sit, sir, sit!”

I looked around at my surroundings, and found nothing that looked suitably worthy of my noble buttocks, so I gestured to Botter to make himself useful as a temporary chair. He rolled his eyes, and knelt down on all fours. I sat down on his back, and found him to be less comfortable than I had hoped. I would have to dock his pay for being an insubstantial seat.

“I am Kenneth the Hat,” the fellow began. “I got that name because I wear a hat,” he added triumphantly.

“And the knife?…” I asked.

“Oh, you saw that, did you?” Kenneth the Hat replied, gently tapping the blade. “I got into a bit of a scrap with a chef a few years back, when he caught me foraging for sausages in his kitchen. He plunged this flippin’ great knife in my head, and the doctor’s say they can’t take it out because it’s too close to my brain. One slip, one wrong move, and I become a drooling vegetable. Ha-HAH! Ha-HAHAHAHAHA!”

I wondered if it was not already too late.

“Anyway, you’ve met Flakey Jim, here,” Kenneth the Hat continued, indicating to the grimy chap who led us here. “Now, let me introduce you to the rest of the group!”

I shifted uncomfortably on my man-servant-shaped seat, as Kenneth the Hat produced two dustbin lids from a pile of junk, and loudly banged them together.

“VAGRANTS! ASSEMBLE!” he roared, somewhat over-theatrically.

There was a moment of silence, and then more stinking fiends began to emerge from their hiding places, stepping out from within broken wardrobes, squeezing out from underneath disused bath-tubs and sliding out from inside smashed-up grandfather clocks. They were like giant, human cockroaches in many ways, and each was more foul and pitiful than the last.

Sometimes the lengths I would go to in order to get some booze amazes even myself.

“Here they all are, sir! This here is Beardy McBeard,” he said, pointing to a man with a huge, dirty, black beard which seemed to have pigeons nesting inside. “He has a beard,” Kenneth the Hat added unhelpfully.

“Beard.” Beardy McBeard agreed.

“And this is No-Legs Noreen,” Kenneth continued, indicating to a pitiful-looking hag who was, indeed, bereft of legs.

“I ‘as ghost legs!” she cried.

“For the millionth time, Noreen, there are no such things as ghost legs!” Kenneth turned to me. “You shall have to excuse her, sir, she’s a little bit daft. Ah-HAHAHAHAHAHA! Ah! That there’s Mr. Disease,” Kenneth rambled on, as an incredibly sickly-looking chap shuffled forward. “He has over one hundred different diseases. Impressive, eh?”

“Astonishingly so,” I mumbled, as Mr. Disease smiled weakly.

“And then we have this poor sod,” Kenneth the Hat said, introducing a man with a huge wart on his face. A wart so huge, in fact, it was his face. “This is Benson – “

“…Wart-Face?” I guessed.

“Why, yes! Have you two met, perchance?” Kenneth said, genuinely surprised.

“No,” I replied. “I would have remembered such an encounter. I never forget a face, and his face is considerably less forgettable than most.”

“Oh. Well, that’s us, anyway! Now maybe you can tell us a bit about – “

“KENNETH!” yelled Flakey Jim, waving his arms about with such ferocity he dislodged numerous flakes of skin in the process . “Jennifer’s comin’!”

“Oh no!” wailed Kenneth the Hat. “Not Jennifer!”

“Who in the name of Saint Paul‘s sainted scrotum is this Jennifer?” I snapped, as the group of paupers became increasingly agitated.

“Oh, she’s AWFUL, sir!” moaned Kenneth the Hat. “Hideous. Such a foul, degenerate creature! She is horribly disgusting, sir, and incredibly freakish. In fact, she is so incredibly freakish we nick-named her Jennifer the Incredibly Freakish.”

“How very clever,” I said sarcastically.

“Oh, Lord! Here she comes!” screamed Kenneth the Hat, and then he ran for cover with the rest of his grotesque group, leaving me to face this monstrosity alone, save for my man-servant-stroke-seat.

I braced myself to have my eyeballs assaulted by this fresh display of degradation, but as Jennifer the Incredibly Freakish appeared at the gates to the scrap-yard, I saw that she was anything but incredibly freakish.

She was just incredible.

Jennifer, the Incredibly Freakish.

So bowled over by her radiant beauty was I, that I quite literally fell off of my chair.

“Blimey, what a cracking bit of crumpet, eh milord?” my chair observed.

I had to agree. Things were definitely looking up.

And by ‘things’ I mean ‘my penis’.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Lord Likely gets incredibly freakish with Jennifer the Incredibly Freakish.

A Terribly Important Announcement! His lordship has very kindly decided to let all of you join him in The Cock and Balls (his preferred drinking establishment) for light and heavy refreshments, chit-chat and barely-concealed flirting. Do the honourable thing, and visit the Cock and Ball Inn right NOW! Many thanks.

His lordship would like to take this opportunity to give his hardened, fully-engorged thanks to his loyal readers, for their continued support over the past year. His lordship is truly grateful, and wished that he could penetrate each and every one of you in return. Cheers!

Lord Likely Joins The Carnival! The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely is one of the many humourous web-logs to partake in The Humor Blog Carnival, currently being hosted by Mr. Kevin over at Pointless Banter. As well as his lordship’s fine work, there are also links to many other excellent web-logs, which you should jolly well visit right now. Hooray!

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