As I finally took my seat in the theatre’s auditorium, next to my man-servant Botter, the curtains rose on what was going to prove to be an unforgettable show – for all the wrong reasons.

First on were the chorus girls, with whom I had already had the pleasure of acquainting myself with earlier. It was something approaching a miracle that they were still able to dance with such vigour and energy, following the rigourous pumping I had bestowed upon their collective fundaments mere moments ago.

While the ladies high-kicked their way across the stage, I found myself growing increasingly irritated by a gentleman sat in front of me, who was wearing a top hat of such ridiculous height that it was marring my view of the scantily-clad strumpets. I tried my best to angle myself so I could better enjoy the ladies’ rather raunchy act, but it was to no avail.

“Sir!” I hissed, tapping the fellow on the shoulder. “Sir, may I just politely ask that you remove your hat, please. It is rather obscuring my vision, and I do so wish to enjoy the show in full.”

“Bah!” scoffed the man. “I shall do no such thing sir. And if that displeases you, I suggest you go and boil your head.”

I looked at Botter, who silently implored me to refrain from carrying out any further action that may disrupt the evening, but my mind was made up. I was not going to let this fat-headed buffoon get away with speaking to me in such a manner.

“Sir,” I said, leaning forward, “I shall ask you again. Remove the hat, or I shall remove it for you.”

“Pah! I should like to see you attempt such a feat, sir!” the odious chap blustered.

I leant back, smiled at Botter, then in a flash I grabbed my trusty cane and thrust it with great force into the man’s hat. The stick easily penetrated the headwear, and with the hat thus skewered, I lifted it off the brute’s head and then flung the offending article behind me, into the recesses of the auditorium. The gentleman was less than pleased with my actions, but was quickly silenced when gently I informed him that next time, I would aim for his stupid, fat head.

Next up on the bill was Madam Norksag and her Musical Stoat Chorus. This was a most unusual act, wherein Madam Norksag arranged stoats of varying size upon a table, and then yanked upon their tails with considerable force, resulting in a differently-pitched squeak emitting from the creature, depending on its size. Madam Norksag led her stricken stoats through some frankly awful renditions of popular music, including a terrible version of ‘Rule Britannia‘ that was so awful it made me wonder whether Norksag was attempting some kind of stoat-based treachery upon our glorious nation.

Finally, the squeaking subsided and Archibald the Entirely Adequate strolled onto the stage, dressed smartly in a tuxedo, a top hat perched at a rather rakish angle atop his head.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” he crooned. “Prepare yourself now for some high-class conjury, guaranteed to leave you awe-struck and amazed! And if you are not sufficiently awed, I will personally give you your money back!” He grinned, and thrust his hand into the air and then, to hushed gasps from the audience, plucked a pound note out of the air.

“What manner of devilry is this?!” the troublesome gentleman in front of me cried out. “It is the work of Beezlebub, I tell you!”

“Do shut up, you tiresome old vagina,” I whispered in his ear. “Or else I shall make your balls vanish.”

The man harrumphed and spluttered, and sat back down. Archie continued on with his set unperturbed, trotting out an array of tricks and deceits, from vanishing cards to producing doves out of nowhere, all of which were unequivocally entirely adequate. Finally, Archie approached the front of the stage, and addressed us all as one.

“Ladies and gentleman, I shall now need a volunteer from the audience, to partake in my latest and greatest magic trick – the Card of Death!”

The irksome fellow in front of me scoffed once more, then turned to his companion and in a hushed tone said, “Hmph! Whichever fool dares go up there and dabble in the Dark Arts, it shall not be me!”

Upon hearing this, I could not resist but ramming my cane firmly into the back of the miser’s chair, causing him to leap up with alarm. Before he knew what was happening, Archie had spotted the man and singled him out as his makeshift assistant. Despite his vocal protestations, the man was led to the stage by one of the ushers, and led up to Archie’s side. I allowed myself a small smile of sweet satisfaction.

“Now, sir, we have not met before, have we?” Archie purred, clearly in his element.

“I should bally well say not,” the man grumbled, clearly out of his.

“Very well, than we may proceed. Sir, behold these playing cards,” Archie continued, smoothly fanning out a deck of cards in front of the man’s face. “Are they, or are they not, a perfectly ordinary pack of playing cards?”

“Hm,” the man huffed, closely inspecting the cards. “Egads! No! They are razor sharp!”

“Exactly, precisely and absolutely correct!” Archie beamed. “They are razor sharp, ladies and gentlemen…razor sharp!”

To further demonstrate his point, Archie then hurled a card at a nearby board. The card whizzed through the air, then came to a sudden stop, one corner fully embedded in the wooden surface. The audience murmured their approval.

“Now, sir, if I may ask you to pick a card…any card!” Archie instructed the man, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable with each passing moment. The man hesitated and deliberated, then drew a card out from the pack. “Now don’t show it to me!” Archie exclaimed. “Just make a note of which card it is, and hold it up so that some of the audience may verify your selection!”

The man held up the card towards the audience, some of whom craned their necks to try and determine which card it was. It was the King of Spades.

“Marvelous!” said Archie, happily. “Now slip it back in the pack there – no, don’t let me see it! – that’s it, very good. Now, sir, I must ask you to stand over there, by the big board. That’s right, over there…”

The man walked over and stood in front of a large board, which had a large target painted on its surface. The fellow regarded the board quizzically, then turned to face Archie.

“I say what the devil is – ” he began, but was interrupted by Archie.

“IS THIS YOUR CARD?” Archie boomed, hurling one of the cards with full force at the gent. Before the wretched chap could answer, the card had found its home. Unfortunately for the unwitting accomplice, that home was in his forehead. The man looked up, and regarded the King of Spades now resting firmly in his skull with a mixture of shock and awe.

“It…it is my card,” the man croaked, as blood began to trickle down his face. Then he fell to the floor, lifeless.

A hushed silence filled the auditorium, until one man stood up, applauding loudly.

“Bravo!” he cheered. “BRAVO!” He continued to clap furiously, until he realised he was applauding all by himself, at which point he sat down again pretty sharpish. Archie, meanwhile, was frozen, his eyes not straying from the bloodied body of his volunteer.

“Where in buggeration are the management?” I whispered to Botter. “They ought to be doing something about this!”

“Um, milord,” Botter said. “You are the management, remember? You bought this whole, entire theatre earlier!“

“Oh yes,” I replied. “Bollocks.”

I rose up out of my seat, and then groggily staggered down the stairs towards the scene of the crime. Once there, I struggled onto the stage, and faced the still-stricken audience. I coughed loudly, and smiled.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I began. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

- Lord Likely.

Now Open: We are very pleased to announce the unveiling of The Upper Crust, a very special web-based community for all those loyal to his lordship to engage in friendly discussion, befriend one another, share items of interest and to get blind, roaring drunk. It is absolutely free to join, and his lordship hopes to see you there. Please bring a bottle.

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“Good evening, sirs,” the fellow croaked. “Could I just see your tickets, please?”

“Tickets?” I snorted. “Tickets? What is all this about?”

“I just need to check your tickets for the show, sirs,” the old wretch continued.

“My good man,” I said, resting a hand upon the fellow’s shoulder. “I am Lord Likely, aristocratic adventurer and peer to the realm. As such, I do not make a habit of paying for things, and that is a habit I do not intend to break now.”

“I’m afraid I must see your tickets, sir,” the buffoon went on. “We are getting close to capacity tonight, and I’m afraid we do not have any gratuities left to hand out. You…you’ll have to purchase tickets from the box-office if you wish to get in. I’m very sorry, sir, but that is the theatre’s policy.”

“I would advise you to change that policy pretty sharpish, then.” I said.

“I…I do not have that power, sir.” the man smiled weakly. “Um…I could get the manager for you, if you like…”

“Yes! Bring me this ‘manager‘,” I demanded, loftily.

The old man shuffled off and returned moments later, accompanied by a rather smarmy-looking fellow with slicked-back hair, and the sorriest excuse for a moustache I have ever seen. It looked rather like this blaggard had been vigourously exploring his own back-passage with his finger, and then accidentally smeared it on his top lip. Which he may well have done, I could not really tell for certain.

“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I am Mr. Helix Thrunt, and I am the manager. And what seems to be the problem here?”

“The problem, Mr. Thrunt, is that I cannot get into see this show for free, despite my extremely important status and high-standing in society, a situation which I find to be outrageous and unfathomable, and unfathomably outrageous all at once.”

“Well, I am sorry to hear that,” Mr. Thrunt replied, unconvincingly. “Unfortunately our policy states that…”

“Gah! There’s that accursed policy again! This is intolerable!” I snapped, reaching into my coat pocket, and pulling out my wallet. “Here!” I said, thrusting a large wad of money into Mr. Thrunt’s hands. “That is several hundred pounds, there. I am buying this theatre.”

Mr. Thrunt looked at me agog. Even Botter seemed to be surprised at my impulsive gesture.

“Now, as the owner of this establishment I am going to change this ridiculous policy of yours. So, from now, on aristocrats get free entrance, no matter what. Understood?” I asked.

The man nodded in stunned silence.

“Good show. The second change I shall enforce, as the sole proprietor of this theatre, is to demote you to the position of toilet-scrubber, effective immediately.”

Mr. Thrunt nodded again, more glumly this time.

“Well, don’t just stand there – get to it, man! Those shit-stains won’t remove themselves, you know!” I yelled.

Mr. Helix Thrunt skulked off, muttering to himself and shaking his head sadly.

“Far be it for me to question your actions, milord,” Botter piped up. “But you do realise that it would have been much cheaper just to buy the tickets, don’t you?”

“Pah!” I exclaimed. “It is not the money, Botter. It is the principle of the thing! All I ask is that I am shown the reverence and respect that I deserve. Is that really too much to ask, Botter?”

“No, milord.”

“Correct. Right, you go on in and find us the best seats in the house. And if someone is already occupying the best seats in the house, inform them that the new management will deliver a sound drubbing upon their livers if they do not vacate.”

“Very good milord. Where are you going, if I may ask?”

“You may not, Botter. But I shall tell you anyway – I am going to go and catch up with my old mucker Archibald. And maybe I shall take a quick tour of this damned building I have just purchased.”

And with that I strode off, whistling merrily.

It took me a fair old while to locate Archibald’s dressing-room, as he seemed to have been deemed unworthy of having his name clearly written upon his dressing-room door, unlike Silas Surprise, who’s door sported an overly-large star bearing his name in bold, cursive letters. Even Madam Norksag‘s musical stoats had their names proudly emblazoned upon their door, which was not quite as bewildering as the fact that they had their own room at all.

Thus, I spent my time wandering from room to room, trying to locate my old chum Archie. At one point, I accidentally strolled into a room full of semi-naked chorus girls, which was an accident I would happily endure more often, given the chance.

Finally, having managed to tear myself away from the lust-crazed chorus girls, I chanced upon a final door, which I presumed to be the door to Archie’s dressing-room. I was about to knock, but then I decided just to burst in on my old school-friend, and give him the surprise of his life.

As I flung open the door to his room, it was I who received the surprise of my life. And it was not a pleasant surprise, either.

For there, standing in the centre of the room, was a man with a playing card sticking out of his arse.

I recognised old Archie alright, but that card-trick was definitely new to me, and I hoped dearly that he did not also have a rabbit secreted up there as well.

- Lord Likely.

Now Open: We are very pleased to announce the unveiling of The Upper Crust, a very special web-based community for all those loyal to his lordship to engage in friendly discussion, befriend one another, share items of interest and to get blind, roaring drunk. It is absolutely free to join, and his lordship hopes to see you there. Please bring a bottle.

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