With a furious rage in my heart, and a large double-ended dildo in my hand, I set off to track down the despicable Dagos who had taken up residence in my precious home, with the intention of violently introducing the sizable sex-toy to their filthy Italian rectums.

Botter lagged several paces behind, carrying a large collection of other erotic implements.

“Do try and keep up, Botter,” I hissed, as I edged along the walls leading to my lounge.

“Sorry, milord,” Botter replied. “I think the Clockwork Cock Tickler is, well, tickling my cock.”

“This is no time to be enjoying yourself, Botter,” I scowled.

Suddenly I stopped sharp, causing Botter to slam into my backside.

“Sorry, milord,” Botter apologised.

“Shh!” I whispered. “I think I can hear those Italian fiends up ahead!” I paused. “Botter, is that the Scandinavian Sphincter-Splitter, or is it you jabbing into my hindquarters?”

There was a pause.

“Um…I think it’s the Scandinavian Sphincter-Splitter,” Botter replied.

“Thank heavens for that. I feared for a moment there that I might have to snap your prick off.”

My thoughts swiftly returned to the business at hand, when I heard the unmistakable clink of glass coming form the lounge. I peered around the corner of the wall, and saw my fears confirmed – those swarthy Italians were raiding my liquor cabinet.

That was the final straw.

I stepped out from my hiding place, and loudly cleared my throat with almost theatrical zeal.

“Ah-HEM!” I coughed, ensuring I had the duplicitous duo’s attention. “I do believe that is my booze you are drinking. I strongly suggest you return it all to the liquor cabinet immediately, or I shall be forced to enact a strange and unusually painful punishment on you both.”

“Likely!” gasped the smaller of the two men (who’s name was Alfredo, which I believe I omitted to mention earlier, due to drunkenness). “How did you-a get in?”

“That is for me to know, and for you to never find out,” I smirked.

“Are you-a holding da big-a dildo?” Alfredo remarked. “What are you’a going to do, huh? Bugger us to-a death?”

“It can be arranged,” I said calmly.

“Rocko,” Alfredo said, motioning toward his gorilla-like henchman. “Take care of this-a clown, huh?”

“Sure thing. Boss,” Rocko replied as he advanced towards me.

Then everything went to shit in a hand-basket.

As Rocko lumbered forward, I swiftly dodged to the side and hit the ground, performing a rather fantastic forward roll which bought me up behind the lumbering galoot. From this vantage point, I was able to deliver an almighty blow to the back of Rocko’s head, using the double-ended dildo as my weapon of choice. This sent the blaggard staggering forward, but he quickly regained his composure and decided to hurl a nearby vase at my head. I ducked, then watched with considerable dismay as the vase shattered into a thousand tiny pieces on the wall behind me.

“Oh, bad show,” I sighed. “I trust you gentlemen will be paying for any damages caused by this ruckus?”

Rocko hurled an antique chair at me, which provided a crystal-clear answer to that particular line of enquiry.

“Right then!” I cried, raising my fists up. “I do believe it is ruddy well on.”

With that, Rocko and I clashed, exchanging punches with considerable gusto. However, as I swung my fist round to deliver a sterling upper-cut to the rogue’s chin, the brute caught my hand in mid-air, then delivered an almighty head-butt to my lordly face.

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed, as I staggered back, blood gushing from my nose. “That jolly well does it!”

I dived back under Rocko’s legs, and with incredible dexterity, pulled down his trousers and underpants in one fell swoop, and then pushed the fellow over on to the ground, buttock-side up.

“Botter!” I yelled out. “Pass me the Anal Battering Ram!“

“Righto, milord!” Botter answered, juggling the various implements to retrieve the ram. However, his presence had suddenly been noted by Alfredo, who wasted no time in tackling my unfortunate man-servant to the ground, sending the tools of titillation crashing to the ground.

“Oh tits,” I sighed, until I noticed one device skittering across the floor towards me. It was The Spaff Pistol, a device intended to send jets of semen arcing across considerable distances, and which I had taken the liberty of filling up just before we left the Love Dungeon. I scooped it up and turned to face Rocko, who had managed to get back onto his feet.

“Here’s mud in your eye,” I said, drawing The Spaff Pistol up to Rocko’s face. “And by ‘mud’, I mean ‘my penis paste’.”

With that, I pulled the trigger, sending a jet of my noble nob-butter flying into Rocko’s eyes. Thus blinded, the lumbering idiot staggered backwards, then tripped over his own trousers and fell backwards onto the floor.

And then I saw it.

There, glinting in the afternoon sun, was Rocko’s penis, the self-same organ which Alfredo had claimed had bested my own Lord Palmerston in a game of Penis Wrestling, which had led to the Italians claiming my estate as their prize.

Except this was no ordinary penis. It was an entirely artificial construct, built out of solid steel and powered by a series of complex-looking mechanisms and pistons.

“What the toss is the meaning of this?” I cried, pointing at the artificial appendage. “Is this how you won the Penis Wrestling contest? By cheating?“

“Um, well…” Alfredo stammered. “It’s-a complicated, but…uh…si. Si, we may have had a slight…advantage.”

“Well, then, the entire deal is null and void, and you now have ten seconds to get your damn backsides off of my property, or else you shall find yourselves as permanent guests in my Love Dungeon.”

I straightened my arm, pointing the Spaff Pistol in Alfredo’s direction. “Ten….nine…”

“Okay! Okay! We go!” Alfredo cried, hurriedly helping Rocko back to his feet. “But this is not-a the last you will hear of me, Meeeester Likely! Alfredo Di Clitt never looses!”

“…Five…Four…” I continued, training my pistol on the two fellons.

“Bastardo!” Alfredo hissed, and then the pair dashed off, slamming the door behind them.

“Marvellous,” I beamed, holstering the Spaff Pistol. “All’s well that ends well, eh Botter?”

“Yes milord,” Botter replied. He picked himself up off the floor, and then turned his attention to collecting up the various implements from the ground.

“Leave that one, Botter,” I said, as my man-servant went to pick up the Anal Battering Ram. “There is still the small matter of your punishment for leaving the door to my Porn Library open, after all…”

Botter gulped loudly.

Ah, home sweet home.

- Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Something or other, I shouldn’t wonder.

Behold some other funny blogs designed to make you laugh so hard your sphincter splits wide open.

Celebrations Abound! Last week’s appeal for generous donations to help stave off disaster throughout the Likely Empire was a complete success, and for that I truly thank you all. Read the full details hither, and bear witness to a wondrous piece of film featuring a dozen naked dancers. HUZZAH!

Today’s charming image is the work of one Mr. Banksy, a renowned deviant and ne’er-do-well. His lordship is not associated with this cad, and neither does he encourage the vandalism of statues or walls. Unless it is rather raunchy, as it is in this case.

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“Here we are, Botter,” I boomed in a loud, steady voice, “This is…THE LOVE DUNGEON!”

“Crikey!” chirped Botter as he followed me out of the secret passageway, and into the new room.

‘Crikey’ was hardly a befitting exclamation with which to convey the required admiration and respect for this den of debauchery. ‘Holy Cocking Shit’, or ‘Fucking Twatting Hell’ would have been far more appropriate, I felt.

The Love Dungeon was installed beneath the Likely Mansion by Lord William Knott-Likely in the seventeenth century. Lord William is something of an embarrassment to the proud Likely name, as he was one of the few Likelys to have been born without the dashing good looks which befit our proud lineage; and to cap it all he was cursed with an incredibly tiny penis, leading to his unfortunate nickname ‘Little Willy’.

With the odds stacked so highly against him, Lord William found courtship somewhat difficult, with ladies repulsed by his vulgar features and complete lack of charm or girth. More often than not, ladies would flee from Lord William as soon as he approached them, sometimes taking the rather extreme measures of emigrating, lest they beheld his deformities any more.

Lord William became rather annoyed at this turn of events, and this annoyance led to anger, which in turn lead to a furious rage, leading him to full-on barking insanity, which set in motion the construction of the Love Dungeon, with William theorizing that women would not be able to run away from him if he kept them chained up in a dank cellar beneath his house.

The dungeon was completed within a month, and upon its completion Lord William sent out his man-servant to kidnap ladies in the middle of the night, and bring them back to the estate. Clearly holding something of a grudge against the female gender, Lord William filled the dungeon with terrible instruments of torture, and took great delight in meting out cruel and depraved punishments upon his petrified prisoners, which he found incredibly arousing.

Lord William’s awful deeds carried on for the best part of a year, until someone in the neighbouring village realised that there were a lot less women walking about, and set about trying to track them down. A group of locals followed Lord William’s man-servant on one of his kidnapping missions, and followed him back to the Likely Estate, where they were shocked to discover the Love Dungeon chock-full of less-than happy young ladies.

Lord William was driven from his home and spent his last days wandering the country, sticking his penis into anything he came across. As his mental state worsened, he wound up trying to have sex with a furnace, and died shortly thereafter.

Like I say, he was something of an embarrassment to the proud Likely name.

Since then, the Love Dungeon has remained closed off, until a few years ago when I reopened it, but refurnished it as a place for pleasure, and not pain (well, maybe a bit of pain, I confess). I destroyed Lord William’s awful instruments of torture, and replaced them with various elaborate sex-toys instead, such as The Spinning Fanny Slapper, The Spunk Cannon, The Hump-Hammock, The Whirling Titty Tickler, The Box of Delights, The Steam-Powered Flange Thudder and The Iron Maiden’s Mother-In-Law. And, naturally, I do not need to send Botter out to abduct local women either. If anything, ladies queue up to sample the delights of the Love Dungeon these days, and there is quite a waiting list for admissions.

“That is a surprisingly good question for one so naturally inclined towards idiocy,” I replied, straightening up a suit of armour sporting a rather hefty strap-on. “We cannot well stay hidden down here forever. Not without you getting some funny ideas.”

“I suppose not,” Botter said, running his hands across an anal battering ram.

“We need to do something, Botter!” I cried, sitting down on the edge of Dr. Ignoble Buttocks’ Patented Cock-Stretching Cock Rack. “We are so close to reclaiming the Likely Estate from those terrible Italian fellows. If only we were better equipped to overcome them…if only we were armed! What I wouldn’t give to have a sturdy weapon in my hand right this instant!”

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud crashing sound, as Botter knocked over a stand housing various sex-aids, sending the various implements of intercourse spilling onto the floor.

“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, as I picked up a Double-Ended Backdoor Invader from off of the ground.

“I…I’m sorry, milord,” Botter apologised profusely. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you?” I beamed. “Why, I could kiss you if you weren’t so god-awfully grotesque! Botter, gather up as many of these wonderful tools as you can carry…I think I have a rather excellent plan!…”

- Lord Likely.

humor-blogs.com never leaves home without carrying a Clockwork Cock Tickler.

My increasingly inept scribe, Mr. A.D Fanton, has relaunched his comic strip-based inter-net web-site The Carrotty Kid this week, and urges you all to visit it and marvel at the wonders within. However, he has already run into a spot of bother with the new venture, which could also affect my fine journals themselves! If you can spare a moment, and maybe a ha’penny, visit The Digital Sickbag or www.thecarrottykid.co.uk and join in with Carrot Aid this instant! Many thanks!

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