Lance took my unconscious form back down to Camp Camp, where I was immediately taken in by the Red Rump Tribe and given the very best medical aid they had to offer. I do not recall much of this part of my adventure, as I flitted in and out of consciousness, although I do recall being tended to by Titty-Titty, the tribe’s only female. On a fair few occasions I opened my eyes, to find her leant over me, wiping my brow or redressing my wounds, her ample bosom brushing against my face and causing my Lord Palmerston to twitch in excitement. I have many happy memories of those mammaries, I can tell you.

As Titty-Titty nursed me back to health over the days, we got to talking and I found her to be a most charming, if slightly bashful creature. That is, until the topic of sexual intercourse reared it’s massive, purple head. Being the only female in a camp full of homosexual Indians had clearly taken it’s toll on poor Titty-Titty, and her eyes lit up with fervent excitement as I began to press upon the subject, detailing some of my many sexual conquests of the past. When I had finished talking, she leapt onto the bed and grabbed my hand, pressing it to her chest.

“Do me, your lordship!” she blurted, excitedly. I recalled Chief Spurting Cock‘s words about how Titty-Titty was considered sacred among the tribe, as the would-be mother of the Indians’ children, but as I beheld Titty-Titty’s glorious knockers, heaving with lustful passion, I decided it would be far more sacrilegious to let this girl go un-pumped.

I smiled, and flung back the bedsheets.

“Thank you, your lordship, for saving our tribe form those awful beasts,” said Chief Spurting Cock, shaking my hand with evident glee as I prepared to depart the camp and head back to England. “And thank you too,” he added, addressing my crotch.

“Don’t mention it,” I said, modestly.

“Anything we can do in return, just let us know,” the Chief continued. “We could bathe your penis for you, if you like,” he added, hopefully. “With our mouths.”

“That is a most generous offer,” I said. “But I must decline. My man-servant and I must return home, now. I have been away from the Likely Estate for much too long, and I greatly desire to be back among my expensive furnishings and extensive collection of pornography.”

“Suit yourself,” Spurting Cock replied. “The offer is open-ended.”

“Believe me, I have no compulsion to go anywhere near your open-end,” I retorted, dryly. “You can let go of my hand now, Chief.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Spurting Cock exclaimed, releasing my lordly appendage from his grip.

“Thank you,” I smiled, then turned to my brother, Lance. “It has been a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lance. Let us hope that any future family reunions pass off a lot more peacefully.”

“I hear that,” Lance grinned.

“For a filthy outlaw with a weakness for penetrating the backsides of farm animals, you are a good man, Lance. I wish you well with your future endeavours, whatever they may be.”

“Well, I’ll probably go an’ bury Ludlow, first,” Lance drawled. “He’s startin’ to stink a bit, an’ vultures have started to peck bits off of him.”

“That would be a good move, certainly.”

“Then I’m thinkin’ I might marry my horse, Jezebel, an’ make an honest mare outta her.”

“That…would be an interesting move,” I smiled.

“Hey, d’ya think it’s true what Ludlow says about dad? That he’s still alive?”

“It would not surprise me one bit,” I answered. “And if he is, I shall certainly find him.”

“Well, if you do, can you do me a favour?”

“What would that be?”

“Kick the ol’ bastard in the nuts for me,” Lance growled.

“I will, brother,” I rested a friendly hand upon Lance’s shoulder. “Right in the love-spuds.”

This touching moment of brotherly bonding was suddenly rudely interrupted by one of the braves from the Red Rump tribe running, screaming from a tent. It was Sucking Pole, and his face was scarlet with rage. I watched in baffled befuddlement as he exchanged some furious words in his native tongue, with Chief Spurting Cock.

“What in the name of the devil’s anus is going on here?” I asked.

“Beats me,” Lance shrugged his shoulders.

“I think something has gone awry with the fornication ceremony,” Botter replied, despite no-one asking him.

“Pardon?”

“I have managed to pick up a little of the tribe’s language while staying here, your lordship.” Botter explained, as he watched the unfolding drama. “Yes, I think Sucking Pole attempted to impregnate Miss Titty-Titty, but claims that she has been defiled.”

“Ah.” I gulped, the colour draining from my cheeks. “They…they can tell that, can they?”

“It seems that they can when the man in question leaves his ejaculate all over the woman’s chest,” Botter said.

“Ah. Botter, prepare the horses, I fear we may have to leave rather sooner than we had planned,” I cried, as a sea of angry Indian faces turned to face me. “In fact, forget the horses, and run like fuckery!”

With that, Botter and I sprinted from the campsite, and into the sunset, pursued by a mob of angry tribesmen eager to tear my wondrous self a new arsehole.

All in all, it had been quite an adventure.

Goodnight, and God Bless America. And God Help Me.

- Lord Likely.

His Lordship will return on Hallowe’en, with a tale of terror so terrifying you may well shit your trousers. In the meantime, his lordship requests – nay, DEMANDS – that you visit the following websites for more entertainment:

Lord Likely’s Audio Adventures: his lordship reads poetry, performs readings from his journals and even indulges in some song. WARNING: may be too erotically charged for some to handle.

Lord Likely: Stripped Nude: the companion piece to the Astonishing Adventures, taking a behind the scenes look at the making of these frankly fantastic journals.

Lord Likely Interviewed: Mr. Chris from the web-log Nothing to See Here interviews Lord Likely, revealing his lordship’s hatred for the French, and discovering how one should practice safe sex if one is prone to violently explosive orgasms.

Lord Likely Filmed: As part of his MyBlogLog Sunday initiative, Mr. Ed teamed up with Mr. OS9user to produce a short film highlighting certain web-logs, including this very one you are reading right now. Click here to witness the resulting piece of remarkable video footage!

Lord Likely’s Lavish Lounge: If you are a member of the Blog Catalog community, you can now socialize with his lordship in his own opulent group, where the wine flows freely and intercourse is always on the cards. If you are not a member, join up now, else you shall miss out on all this excellence.

humor-blogs.com: For further humourous web-logs (some of which are almost approach these journals in terms of excellence), visit this fine blog directory.

Fuel My Blog: As ever, one may ‘fuel’ his lordship’s web-log by clicking on this link. NOW!

Or, simply read the entire Astonishing American Adventure from the start.

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From the report of Captain Dick Jerker, of the New York City Police Department:

I ordered my men to continue firing upon the pirate ship ‘The Hairy Clam‘ that was advancing onto US shores, until I saw the vessel rocked with explosions and saw it sink beneath the waves, no doubt taking it’s criminal pirate crew with it.

As we celebrated a job well done, I suddenly noticed two figures appearing from the smoking wreckage, astride two large wooden barrels. One was a tall man, sporting a top hat and who seemed to be contentedly sipping on a glass of alcohol, stopping every so often to refill his glass from a tap on the barrel he was sat upon. The other, smaller man, meanwhile, was frantically paddling trying to keep himself afloat. Naturally, we were rather taken aback by this sight, and I ordered my men to stand down as the two men approached dry land, as I was eager to question them.

Once they came into shallow waters, I sent two men to escort them up to me. I introduced myself, and asked what business they had on United States waters. The taller man declared that he was in fact an aristocrat from England, and called himself ‘Lord Likely‘. While he did indeed sport a top hat and a striking moustache, his clothes were so tattered and he was so clearly drunk that I doubted the legitimacy of his claims, and accused him of being nothing more than villainous, pirate scum, here to steal from our fine city. At this, Mr. Likely became furiously angry, yelling at me and screaming, “don’t you know who I am?!” before attempting to take a swing at me, but only succeeding in falling flat on his face. His associate, a Mr. Botter, rolled his eyes and remained silent.

We searched both men, and removed a fencing sword, a pistol, a hip-flask of whiskey and a bottle of perfume from Mr. Likely. It was thought he was concealing another weapon in his trousers, but it transpired that it was not a weapon, but his fully erect penis instead. I then arrested the pair on suspicion of piracy, and also charged the so-called lord with attacking a police officer. I ordered they be handcuffed and taken to the nearest jail, but as they were loaded up into the police wagon, Likely was violently sick upon two of my men, so I added ‘vomiting upon the police in the course of their duty’ to his list of charges. Mr. Likely mumbled something about ‘removing my testicles with a rusty blade’, then passed out.

The two men were dispatched to the county jail, where they are currently being kept in a cell awaiting further action. Mr. Botter has been highly co-operative with our inquiries, while Mr. Likely has done nothing but complain, and has continually made outrageous demands, such as silk sheets for his bed, a freshly-pressed suit, meals of swan-meat and caviar, and the finest wines we have to offer. He also asked that the cell be re-designed with gold trimmings, a chandelier and classical artwork. Unable to meet his ludicrous demands, we gave him a few scraps of beef and a cotton bed-sheet, which incensed him further.

Proceedings against the pair will resume tomorrow morning, when Mr. Likely has had ample time to compose himself and sober up.

Report filed by Cpt. Dick Jerker, July 2nd 1856, 19.36pm.

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And so, having taken complete and utter control of the Hairy Clam, we continued to sail onwards to America, to answer the call from my brother, Ludlow.

I say ‘we’, but of course Botter did most of the actual sailing, while I decided to relieve the ship of it’s supplies of rum, of which there was a plentiful and abundant supply. Suffice to say, after a day and a half of non-stop drinking, I did become quite, quite drunk, and thus the remainder of our voyage remains quite an indistinct blur.

I do remember swinging from the masts of the ship, totally naked, yelling, “I am a jolly rogerer!” before falling onto the deck with an almighty thud, bending my cutlass as I did. No-one should have to endure the agony of a bent cutlass, let me tell you.

Later on, I am told I tried to engage a shark in a bout of fisticuffs, as the hungry creature swam alongside our vessel. Allegedly, I called the shark, “a fang-faced, fin-backed bastard” and then I began wildly swinging my fists in it’s direction, apparently succeeding in laying a blow on the animal’s nose as it lunged up out of the water. At this point, I am told Botter tried to drag me away before I was devoured by the furious shark, but instead I declared the creature to be a “big, aquatic poofter” and then I vomited into the shark’s open mouth, as it rose up out of the sea to take a snap at me. This did not seem to please the animal much, and I am told it swam away in disgust.

As we continued onwards, my alcohol-induced antics increased; I apparently bore my naked buttocks to any other ship we passed, and one time I am informed that I stuck a telescope up my arse, and claimed I was keeping look out with my “brown eye”. On another instance, I wrestled control of the Clam from my man-servant, and attempted to steer us to the end of the world, so I could take a piss off of it. It was only by offering me more rum that Botter managed to pry me from the wheel, which is just as well as I was seemingly very close to sailing the ship right into some rocks, which would have been rather unfortunate.

I do faintly recall hanging my Lord Palmerston over the side of the boat at one point, thinking, in my drunken state, that I could use it as a rod to reel in any nearby mermaids, and then take them back to their mermaid castle and paste their fishy behinds with my own man-batter.

After hours ands hours of such inebriated tomfoolery, I finally went to sleep, my trousers around my ankles, apparently clutching a fish I had caught earlier, believing it to be a ravishing mermaid princess. I am fairly certain I did not try and penetrate the fish, although Botter always goes rather quiet when I try and discuss the matter with him.

Anyway, I was roused from my soused slumber later by Botter, who was positively brimming with excitement.

“Land ho!” he cried out.

“Did you just call me a whore?” I slurred, as I picked myself up off the ground, discarding my piscine partner in the sea as I did so.

“No, milord. Look – I can see land!”

I tried to focus through my alcoholic haze, gave up, and employed the use of the nearby telescope.

“Well slap my dick on the Pope!” I exclaimed, lowering the telescope, apparently leaving an awful brown ring around my eye, as I had quite forgotten where that telescope had been earlier.

“Could it be America?” asked Botter, hopefully.

“Wherever the cock we are,” I said, rubbing my increasingly sore head. “I hope they have got some fucking coffee.”

- Lord Likely.

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Captain Anchor and I boarded the HMS Bastard, with Botter lagging behind, carefully attempting to balance all twelve cases of luggage I had bought along with me. We ascended through the decks, only stopping to wait for Botter to pick up the cases that he would invariably drop with increasing frequency.

“Whoops!” he exclaimed, as they tumbled down to the ground for the umpteenth time.

“Botter, if you drop those cases one more time, I shall drop-kick you into the ocean. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” came the apologetic reply.

“Honestly,” I said, turning to Captain Anchor. “I am beginning to think it would have been much more efficient to hire a ruddy mule. And maybe a mule would have stank less, as well.”

We strode on through the long, grey corridors of the ship, until we came to a stop outside an equally grey door.

“Your lodgings, my lord,” Captain Anchor beamed, extending his hand towards the door.

“Hmmm. It hardly seems worthy of one as overwhelmingly important and ridiculously wealthy as I,” I sneered.

“Please, step inside and have a look. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

I sniffed haughtily, and flung open the door.

“By St. George’s sainted scrotum!” I exclaimed, as I laid eyes upon the room inside. It was a massive room, equal in size to that of a particularly roomy and spacious cathedral. Golden chandeliers rocked gently from side to side, hanging over a fine selection of luxuriant furnishings and fittings, including a beautiful leather couch, a quadruple bed with satin sheets, a silver-trimmed bath-tub and a glorious, mahogany drinks cabinet filled with enough alcohol to inebriate a small army. While I am used to living in luxury and opulence, this was a completely different kettle of fish altogether. A gold-plated kettle with a diamond studded spout, and stuffed with bluefin tuna.

“I trust everything is to your satisfaction, my lord?” asked Captain Anchor, nervously.

“It shall suffice,” I said.

“Very good, your lordship,” Anchor replied.

“Um…where will I be sleeping, Captain?” Botter enquired.

“You are to sleep in the cargo hold, with all the other baggage,” the Captain answered.

“Oh.” Botter said, dejectedly.

“Well, I must depart, for I have to get this Bastard onto the open sea,” Anchor smiled. “I trust you shall join us for luncheon tonight, your lordship.”

“Absolutely,” I replied, opening the drinks cabinet. “I do so enjoy eating out.”

“May I join you both, sirs?” Botter asked rather meekly.

“Certainly not!” Snapped Anchor. “You shall dine in the kennels, with all the other dogs.”

“Oh.”

“Then, you can go the gentle-man’s latrines, and hang out with all the other cocks,” I interjected, not wishing to be outdone in insulting my own wretched man-servant.

“Ha! Good one, your lordship!” Anchor cried. “Good one indeed!”

“HA!” I echoed, slapping Botter on the back of the head for good measure.

Captain Anchor laughed heartily, and then withdrew, his laughter echoing down the long, dull corridors.

“Well, Botter, begin unpacking and sorting my cases. I am going to bathe myself in champagne for a while, then I shall possibly venture out and explore this fine vessel and, with any luck, I shall also get round to exploring some lucky lady’s intimate areas with my highly tensile tongue.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Botter said, his face white with fear.

“Nonsense, Botter. My cunnilingustic skills are renowned throughout the continents, and besides which I also – “

“No, sir. I was not referring to that. I meant this voyage. I have a bad feeling about this entire voyage.”

“Botter, Botter, Botter, Botter,” I sighed. “Botter. We are heading to the United States of America, from Southampton, in the biggest ship ever built by man, on it’s maiden voyage, no less. Now what could possibly go wrong with that? Hmmmm? Nothing. Nothing can go wrong, that’s what. Now, let us hear no more of your nonsense, or I shall beat you.”

As the ship’s whistle blew loudly, and the HMS Bastard finally pulled away from the docks of Southampton, little could I know just how wrong my words were going to prove to be…

- Lord Likely.

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We made good progress on our journey to Southampton, with only one minor inconvenience when Botter asked that we stop for lunch. I naturally refused him permission, and instead told him to keep his mouth wide open as we rode, and with any luck he might accidentally swallow a fly or two, thereby providing him with all the nourishment he required. Botter thanked me for providing him with such a good idea, and then resumed his position at the reigns. Meanwhile, I returned to my delicious steak and caviar sandwich which I was eating at the time.

Thanks to my ingenuity, we made good time on our journey and finally rolled into Southampton in the early evening, and were met at the docks by a smartly dressed man.

“Your lordship,” the man said, saluting sharply, “I am the captain, Huw Anchor.”

“Did you just call me a wanker?” I asked, incredulously.

“No, your lordship. You misunderstand me. That is my name: Huw Anchor.”

“Egads!” I cried. “You have done it again! Do you not realise to whom you are referring?”

“My name is Huw Anchor, milord,” the man repeated.

“Your name is ‘You Wanker’? I find that very hard to believe…”

“HUW ANCHOR!” the sailor yelled, his face reddening with rage.

“RIGHT!” I snapped, reaching for my trusty fencing sword. “You shall pay for your insolence, you blaggard!”

“Uh, milord?” Botter whispered, stepping forward and resting his hand on the handle of my sword. “I believe that this man is the captain of the boat that will ferry us to America. It seems his first name is Huw, and his surname is Anchor. He is not belittling you at all, milord.”

“Ah,” I said. “I see. Well, why did he not just say that in the first place? The man is clearly an arse.”

“Very good, milord.”

“Oh – and Botter, should you ever touch my sword again, I will literally shit on you.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“Captain,” I said, extending my hand to the man. “Wonderful to meet you.”

“Lord Likely,” the captain replied, shaking my hand firmly. “We received your telegram, and have prepared our most luxurious cabin for your journey. We trust it will be sufficient.”

“Excellent, excellent.” I said. “Now, where is this fine vessel in question, Captain?”

“You are standing in it’s presence, your lordship.”

I looked up, and realised that what I had assumed to be a very large building, was in fact an enormous ship that seemed to stretch ever upwards into the sky, like a big, metal monolith. It was really big.

“The HMS Bastard,” Anchor beamed proudly. “The biggest ship in the entire world.”

I stood agog.

“That,” I said slowly, “is a load of ship.”

- Lord Likely.

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Botter, having regained consciousness, prepared the carriage for our immediate departure to Southampton, from where we would sail to America. As he busily set about his task, I stood around looking handsome and suave, as is my wont.

“Milord,”said Botter, as he set about tethering my fastest horse, Reynolds, to the carriage. “Forgive me for asking, but who is this other Likely you spoke about?”

“Well, my father, Lord Eustace Likely, was a keen traveller and made several trips to our former colonies himself. During one of these visits he became rather fond of a waitress he met, called Mandy Murkerfarker. Suffice to say, being a Likely, he quickly impregnated her then disappeared into the night, off on another wild adventure. I do not believe he ever saw Mandy again, but I do know that she gave birth to a son called Ludlow, to whom she gave the Likely name in honour of my father. This Ludlow Likely is the fellow who has written to me.”

“So, he’s your brother, then, milord?” Botter asked, deftly avoiding a hoof to the face as he spoke.

“I suppose so. Though I have yet to meet him face to face. We Likelys do not convene often, as it is feared such a high concentration of sexual charisma in one place may cause the very fabric of the universe to unwind.”

“Milord, a thought has struck me. You too are often bedding beautiful ladies around the globe – do you think you too might have a child, somewhere out there?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain of it. My fantastically fertile seed has been sown in so many furrows, that I am sure that I must have, at the very least, enough children to form an entire football team.”

“So, what did Ludlow say in his letter, milord?”

“Not an awful lot. He merely wrote the words, ‘Come Quickly‘.”

“‘Come Quickly’?”

“No, ‘Come Quickly‘, Botter. It must be italicized. Now, assuming that this is not some sort of advice as to how I should conclude my acts of sexual intimacy, I can only presume Ludlow needs my most immediate help. And, while I have never seen or spoken to him in all his life, when a Likely is in trouble I am quick to respond. Blood is thicker than water, Botter. And so is semen.”

“Wow,” said Botter, upon hearing my wonderfully wise words. He stared at me with astonished eyes but was soon snapped out of his awe-struck trance by a sudden kick to the testicles from Reynolds, who was getting increasingly impatient.

“Reynolds makes a very good point, Botter, in a damnably hilarious manner. We should stop standing around chit-chatting, and head off to Southampton. There is much traveling yet to do!”

Botter struggled to his position at the reins, clutching his recently bruised ball-bag, while I clambered into the carriage and poured myself a whisky. Botter jerked the reins, and we were off on an uncertain journey, with hidden dangers and death lurking in every shadow.

Although, having said that, Southampton can be nice enough in the summer-time.

- Lord Likely.

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It was a rather uneventful morning on the Likely Estate, with Botter dutifully taking my inside-leg measurements for a new pair of trousers. As I prefer to be naked when getting measured, this was proving to be rather a difficult task for my struggling servant, as my extremely massive manhood kept getting in the way, thus ruining his careful measurements.

“My lord,” said Botter, trying to fight off my mighty organ, “I cannot accurately take your inside-leg measurements with your todger flapping about all over the place. Can you not keep it out of the way, or something?”

“Hmmm?” I said, rather absently, as I was perusing the morning’s edition of The London Daily Times. It was then that I chanced upon an article about Queen Victoria, which naturally led to my Lord Palmerston stiffening to attention, such is my lust for Her Majesty.

“Oh…never mind,” Botter replied, and continued on with his task.

Suddenly, the front door bell rang, heralding the arrival of the morning post.

“Ah-hah!” I exclaimed. “That will be the post-man, I should expect.”

“I’ll go and collect the mail, my lord,” Botter said.

“No, no! It is alright, Botter. You continue writing down my measurements, I shall go and collect the mail. I could use a little fresh air.”

I strolled off to the front-door, and flung it open. Surely enough, the post-man stood outside, clutching some letters.

“Good morning, your Lordship,” he began, and then, noticing my nudity, he became rather flustered and confused. “I…uh…letters…um….uh…oh…oh my…”

“Ah!” I cried, “I see you have taken note of my proud, purple-hatted lord. I should imagine you are probably feeling rather embarrassed and inadequate right now, which is perfectly natural when faced with an organ as splendid as mine. Do not fear it, my good man. You may even stroke it, if you wish. It will not bite, I assure you!”

The post-man hurriedly thrust the post into my hands, then fled at top-speed away from the house, screaming.

“That new post-man is most peculiar,” I said to Botter as I re-entered the living room. “Remind to me to ask the post-master if we can have our old post-man back. He was never one to shy away from my penis.”

I resumed my position at the window, and Botter returned to his duties taking my measurements. Meanwhile, I began to flick through the assortment of letters I had received.

“Hmmm….an invitation to another party, I see. And another. Another invite. Another. Yet another…you know, Botter, sometimes it can be quite draining to be as ludicrously popular as I am. There simply is not enough hours in the day to attend all these parties.”

“It must be a terrible burden, my lord,” Botter said.

“It is a curse I must live with, I fear. What-ho! This letter seems to have come all the way from the United States of America! I suppose it was only a matter of time before tales of my excellence reached across the pond.”

I tore open the envelope, and began reading the contents.

“Holy bollocks!” I shouted, as I read this latest missive.

“What is it, milord?” Botter asked.

“I do not cocking well believe it!” I yelled, spinning round to re-read the letter in a better light, resulting in Botter receiving a rather nasty facial injury as my mighty manhood clipped him as I turned.

“This letter,” I explained, spinning back round to face Botter, ignoring his cries of pain as my penis caught his terrible face once more. “This letter is from…ANOTHER LIKELY!”

There was a hushed silence, as Botter was out cold on the floor.

“Botter,” I said. “Stop being unconscious at once, and go ready the horses. We are going to…AMERICA!”

A new adventure was only just beginning…

- Lord Likely.

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