Out of the Frying Pan…

Andy Fanton — Sat, 28 Jul 2007 10:16:00 +0000

June, 1856

As I continued to sail my man-servant, Botter, across the ocean, I took the time to ask him about the events leading up to his kidnapping, back on the HMS Bastard. I was most eager to ascertain whether all the unfortunate events that had unfolded around me on that accursed ship were linked, or just terribly coincidental.

I enquired as to the identity of Botter’s captors, but all I could get out of the blithering idiot was that the kidnapper was a, “sea-faring man of some sort”. As we had been on a massive ship full of such gentle-men, Botter’s vague discription was about as much use as a prophylactic to a eunuch. Botter suggested that he might be able to recount some more vital detail, if he was allowed to rest up for a while. I told him that such an idea was completely out of the question at this point in time, and told him to hold a steady course so I could better enjoy my whisky.

We continued on in silence for a while, until Botter shattered the tranquility of our journey by loudly shouting and pointing at something to the right of us.

“Milord!” he cried. “Look! Look – a ship!”

I did indeed look, and there was indeed a ship in the distance, slowly heading in our general direction. I stood up, ignoring Botter’s cries of pain as I did so, and strained to see what sort of vessel it was.

“Hmmm,” I mused. “It seems to be a British vessel, I am fairly certain. Ah-hah! It flies the Union Jack, so must be British. But whether we should entrust ourselves to another ship, I am not sure…”

“Please, milord!” Botter wailed. “My back is killing me.”

“Hmph. Alright, then, Botter. We shall try and board this boat, but if it turns out to be run by blood-thirsty savages, it shall not only be your back killing you. Do you understand?”

“Hooray!” Botter cheered, accidentally swallowing some water as he did, causing him to start choking.

Eventually, after Botter had composed himself, we started to approach the new vessel cautiously. As we drew closer, until we were mere feet away, the Union Jack flag that had been flying proudly atop the ship’s mast was quickly lowered, and another was raised in it’s place. And this new flag was not nearly as inviting as the Empire’s red, white and blue.

It was a skull and crossbones.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said, despairingly. “Now it’s fucking pirates. Hip-hip hoo-fucking-ray!”

This trip was becoming something of a headache, all in all.

- Lord Likely, hoping that these pirates are at least fans of Humor-Blogs.com.

Further Likely-related scrawlings can be enjoyed on Lord Likely: Stripped Nude.

Lord Overboard

Andy Fanton — Tue, 24 Jul 2007 00:19:00 +0000

June, 1856

The HMS Bastard shook violently as the iceberg struck, sending me hurtling backwards, spilling some of the whisky from my hip-flask as I did so, which was rather irritating. As I collided with a particularly stubborn wall, I heard a small noise in among the screeching cacophony of twisting metal. It was a gentle, sobbing sound coming from a nearby cupboard, and reasoning that cupboards, on a whole, are not prone to bursting out into fits of despair, I deduced that someone must be lurking within. I made my way over, wobbling and teetering all over the place as I did so, (but still with a certain degree of style and panache), and flung open the doors of the wailing wardrobe.

“Botter!” I exclaimed, upon clasping eyes upon my man-servant, who was cowering in the furniture. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you, my man!”

Botter sniffled, and dried his eyes. “It…it’s good to see you too, milord,” he began, before I quickly pulled him free from his hiding-place, and then hurled him through a nearby window. There was an almighty crash as the glass gave way, and then the wretched creature screamed as he plummeted from the ship, landing with a huge splash many feet below.

“That fellow always manages to turn up in the nick of time,” I mused aloud. “Now I can make my escape from this accursed vessel!”

By now, the ship in question had let in rather a lot of water through it’s recently-torn hull, and so I had to tread carefully as I hoisted myself up onto the edge of the window I had just opened with Botter’s head. I looked down at the sea below, and gently steadied myself for the descent.

“BOTTER!” I yelled from the stricken craft. “I AM COMING DOWN. BE SURE TO CATCH ME, OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL TEAR YOU A NEW ARSE-HOLE!”

Botter grudgingly swam closer to the ship, and readied himself. I took a swift swig from my hip-flask, straightened my tie and hat, and leapt.

*****

“I’m sorry, milord. You just came down too fast,” Botter whined, as we swam away from the HMS Bastard, which by now was slowly sinking beneath the waves. I snorted loudly.

“I do not wish to hear your pitiful excuses, Botter,” I said. “Just prepare yourself for a life of extreme discomfort and shit-covered shoes.”

We swam out of harm’s way, and then turned and watched the great Bastard slip beneath the water. In the distance, small lifeboats crammed full of less-deserving passengers made their way out to sea, while we remained paddling in silence.

“What now, milord?” Botter asked.

“Well, firstly I shall allow you to carry me onwards. It simply will not do for a man of my standing to be seen thrashing about in the water like some sort of deranged fish.”

“Very good, milord,” said Botter, as I clambered upon his back.

“Now!” I exclaimed, as I assumed my new position on board my make-shift, servant-shaped raft. “I believe we shall head in…that direction,” I said, pointing towards a vast, empty expanse of ocean ahead of us.

“Are you sure?” Botter replied, daring to question my superior intelligence.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “And keep swimming,”

- Lord Likely, whose rather dampened spirits have been lifted by humor-blogs.com and the amusing antics of The Carrotty Kid.

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Out of the Frying Pan…

Lord Overboard