Botter and I arrived at the village hall moments later, to find the place swarming with awful commoners, out displaying their fruit and vegetable in a terribly tedious Fruit and Veg Contest.

I took a moment to rearrange one competitor’s display so that a carrot and two artfully-placed plums took on the appearance of the male genitalia (which amused me greatly), and then I complimented a lady on her wonderful melons, before we headed to one of the back-rooms of the hall.

“Right!” I said, slamming the door shut behind me to cut out the noise of the rabble outside. “Now to business!”

Botter looked around the small, unassuming room we now found ourselves in.

“Are…are you sure you have the right room, milord?” he asked. “There is nothing in this room but a small desk, a chair, and a large potted-plant. I can’t begin to fathom where this secret tunnel may be!”

“And that is just as it should be, my cretinous companion. Why, if the entrance to the tunnel was clear to see, it would not be much of a secret, would it now? Honestly, Botter. Do try and engage your brain from time to time.”

“Sorry milord,” Botter apologised.

“That you are, Botter. Very sorry indeed,” I said, as I strode over to the potted-plant in the corner of the room. “Now, let me just check…” I continued, as I read the name of the plant, written on a small sign stuck in the soil. “Hmmm…praeditus senior! Yes, this is definitely the one!”

“Pray-dit what?” Botter asked.

“Praeditus senior, Botter! It is Latin for ‘well-endowed lord’. Look at the plant, Botter. Just look at it! Standing tall and proud, it’s mighty stalk fully erect…this plant was named after my father, you see. Well, to be more specific, it was named after my father’s penis. It’s…rather a long story, to be honest. At any rate, this plant is the key…”

“I see,” said Botter, the vacant look in his eyes betraying this statement.

I smiled and pulled at the plant’s stalk, then pushed it back, then pulled it again. Suddenly there was a grinding sound, and a section of the wall behind the plant began to move aside, revealing a hitherto unseen entrance.

“Open sesame!” I beamed. “Come on, Botter! This will lead us back to the Likely Estate, and then we can give those filthy Italians what for!”

Botter ambled over, and peered cautiously into the tunnel.

“It looks rather tight, milord,” he observed.

“Indeed,” I said. “Maybe I should lubricate myself before forcing myself in?” Botter looked at me quizically. “No, you’re probably right,” I conceded. “We should just get going. Alright, then! You go first, just in case there is any long-dormant evil lurking in there, waiting to feast on the blood of any unsuspecting explorers.”

Botter’s face went white with fear.

“Don’t worry, you fool!” I grinned, grabbing a gaslight from atop the small desk. “It will be fine. Probably.”

Botter gulped. “Milord, I think…”

“Excellent!” I said, pushing Botter into the tunnel. “Simply excellent!”

We had been crawling through the tunnel for what seemed like an age, when Botter, (being the incredibly whinesome and wearying wank-stain that he is) began to complain.

“Are we nearly there yet, milord?” he wailed.

I stopped and sniffed the air. “Smell that?” I asked, holding my lantern up to Botter’s face. “It is the most wondrous scent of beer. I do believe we are right under the Cock and Balls Inn! I wonder if we have time to tunnel our way into the pub, and secure ourselves some booze for our journey?”

“I…I rather think we should press on, milord,” Botter replied, nervously scanning the area.

“Honestly, Botter. You are such a spoilsport sometimes. How the devil I wound up with such a
party-pooping pranny like yourself, I simply cannot fathom. It must have been – “

“What was that?” Botter asked suddenly, his head craned to the right.

“That was the sound of me berating you, you terrible anus.”

“No!” Botter cried. “I thought I heard something else. Like…like a scratching sound…”

“Nonsense, Botter. It is simply your over-active imagination. I dare say your imagination is the only active part of you.”

“SHUT UP!” snapped Botter, before quickly remembering his place. “Uh, I mean shut up, milord.“

“Botter! I would beat you completely and utterly senseless, if it was not for one thing.”

“And what is that, milord?” Botter enquired.

“There appears to be something heading straight for us, Botter,” I replied, pointing behind my man-servant. “And it appears to be entirely unfriendly…”

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Something Wicked This Way Comes!

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I was in some exceptionally deep excrement.

Was it really at all possible that I had gambled away the ownership of my entire Estate whilst off my Lordly tits on booze in Italy? Could I really have been that inebriated? Or were the two Italian miscreants currently taking up residence in my house talking complete and utter, gold-plated bollocks?

“You, sir, are lying through your filthy spaghetti sauce-stained teeth,” I ventured.

The thin man smiled, his gold tooth sparkling in the afternoon sun.

“Oh really, Meeester Likely?” he said. “Maybe this will satisfy any doubts you have!” With that, the fiend produced a crumpled document from his coat pocket, and waved it in my face. “Read this and then proceed to weep, signore.”

I snatched the paper from the man’s hand, and read it over. It appeared to be some sort of contract, with my unmistakably lavish signature at the bottom of it. It was rather reassuring to see that my penmanship clearly did not suffer when I was completely pissed.

“Hold no one twatting moment,” I said, as I read through the contract. “It says here that I entered into a penis-wrestling match with your man Rocko, here. What the Dickens?”

“Penis wrestling. It’s-a like wrestling, but with penises.”

“I understand that much, you wretched swine,” I sniffed. “What I fail to understand is how I lost. My Lord Palmerston is the better of any todger in this entire continent – nay, the globe.”

“Heh,” smirked the Italian. “You said preeety much the same-a thing on the day. Except you were slurring far more, of course. Once again, you underestimate the sheer strength and power of my friend’s massive penis.”

“Oh, really?” I smiled, crumpling the contract up in my fist. “Well I shall be sure not to do that again.” Then, as quick as a flash, I spun round and kicked Rocko right in the plums.

It was a spectacularly fluid and graceful manouevere, but it was to prove to be exceptionally foolhardy, as my foot connected with something so incredibly hard that I could not help but to yelp out in pain, while Rocko stood perfectly still, unflinching.

“FUCK ME!” I yelled, nursing my injured foot in my hands. “What in the name of the Pope’s piss-hole has he got down there?”

“My cock,” Rocko smiled.

“They don’t call him ‘Rocko‘ for nothing, Meeester Likely,” the other man chuckled. “Now, maybe you can be a good little lord, and admit defeat graciously, eh? And then, get your stinky English backside off of my property!”

“You may have won the battle, but you have not won the war!” I jeered, as I limped away, with my man-servant trying gamely to support me as I went. “Me and my Lord Palmerston shall return, and when we do, we shall leave you in such a ruined state that the Colosseum will look positively brand-new in comparision. Capiche?“

“Bar-keep!” I yelled, slamming my fist on the counter of my local public-house, The Cock and Balls. “I demand some of your strongest alcoholic beverages, and some of your sluttiest whores post-haste! I have an aching desire to get blind, roaring drunk, and reassert my manhood right away.”

“Very good, milord,” said Blind Trevor, the landlord, who is must be noted was neither blind, nor actually called Trevor, but had assumed the nickname under the assumption that it made him sound more amiable and approachable.

His real name was Rupert. Nobody likes a Rupert.

“Milord,” said Botter, as we took our drinks to a nearby table and waited for Blind Trevor to find some prostitutes. “Are you sure this is wise? Getting completely drunk got you into this mess after all….”

“Botter,” I replied, pausing to take a sip from my beer. “I have been booted out of my family home, and have suffered a terrible blow against my manhood. At least allow me to get so totally sloshed that I can forget any of this happened.”

“Come on, milord! We’re wasting time here! You should be out there, at the Likely Estate, fighting for your very home! If not for you, then for all of the Likelys who have e’er dwelled there.”

“Botter, I fear you are extremely close to having your speaking privilages revoked. Now, do be a good chap and let me be. I shall drink myself to a stupor, and then I plan to tunnel the whores so vigourously that they can barely walk again…”

I lowered my beer slowly, an idea slowly forming in my magnificent brain.

“Tunnel! Tunnel. TUNNEL! Of course! By Jupiter’s Jizz-pole, we’ve got them!”

“What?” Botter asked, as I leapt to my feet. “What is it milord?”

“There’s an old tunnel that leads from the village hall all the way to the old library on my Estate! My great-great-great-great grandfather had it built during the English Civil War, don’t you know?”

“Really? Was it built so he could get his family safely out of the Estate without being attacked by Roundheads?”

“No, it was so he could sneak slatternly young ladies into the house in the evening, and indulge in all-night orgies the likes of which would make Marquis de Sade blush. The point is, the tunnel still exists, so we can easily get back inside my abode, and drive those filthy Italians from the Estate! It is almost too facile. Quick! Let us depart to the Village Hall!”

“Oh. So you won’t be needin’ these two, then?” said Blind Trevor, who had since returned with two completely corking young women for my pleasure.

“Well…it can’t hurt to get a bit of tunneling practice in beforehand,” I beamed. “Ladies, shall we?…”

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Journey to the Centre of the Hearth!

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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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