Lord Likely's Ejaculate
November 18th, 1857.
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely!
Witness the awesome spectacle that was the previous Incredible Inter-Active Adventure, by venturing hither.
Tuesday
- Lord Likely.
Witness the awesome spectacle that was the previous Incredible Inter-Active Adventure, by venturing hither.
Friday
Incredible Illustrated Indiscretions: A Warning
November 14th, 1857.
Good day, all!
Apologies for the tardiness in updating my fantastic journals this week, but after I completed my two-hundredth entry last week, I celebrated long and hard, and hard and long. Indeed, the hangover only vanished two hours ago, when I found myself naked in a field, getting my face licked by a dirty, old cow.
But that is quite enough about Baroness Mirkin.
Thus, as I am still in a rather hazy state and barely able to string two syllables together, I have decided to publish another of my Incredible Illustrated Indiscretions this week in place of an Astonishing Adventure. While the following strip cartoon may be light on words, I do believe you shall find it no lighter in sheer excellence, for everything I touch turns to gold!
Which should make my penis very valuable indeed.
Now: on with the merriment!
Toodle-pip!
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Something wondrous, I do not doubt.
Hungry for more inter-net based fiction? Then may I suggest you peruse The Web Fiction Guide, Pages Unbound or The Blog Fiction Blog, all of which are thoroughly excellent, due in no small part to the fact that I am listed with them all. Huzzah!
Wednesday
Two Hundred
October 6th, 1857.
These past couple of days have born witness to an event so earth-shattering that I dare say the world will never be the same again. Truly, the incredible developments of this week will reverberate throughout history, and will be spoken of in awe for many, many generations to come.
For you see, dear readers, this week marks the two-hundredth entry in my incredible journals.
The ink had no sooner dried on my previous chapter when I realised that I had also just completed the one hundred and ninety-ninth account of my astonishing adventures, and that my two-hundredth addition was imminent. Needless to say, I was left exhilarated, thrilled and enormously aroused by this turn of events, and decided immediately to celebrate this most fabulous occasion in a manner worthy of its magnificence.
"Botter!" I exclaimed, tipping over my ink-pot with my fully engorged member. "I am about to mark my two-hundredth entry into my fabulous diaries!"
"Well done, milord," Botter replied.
"Yes, it was rather," I smiled. "Do you know what, Botter? I feel like celebrating!"
"Oh, must you?" Botter answered, the colour draining from his face.
"Yes! Yes I must! Two-hundred insertions is not to be overlooked, you know!" Suddenly a most wonderful and fantastic idea popped into my equally wonderful and fantastic head. "Egads! That's it, Botter!"
"What's what?"
"I shall celebrate my two-hundredth insertion by performing two hundred insertions tomorrow! And by 'insertions' I think you know what I mean..."
"Oh no, milord," Botter gasped.
"Oh YES! Botter, you must find me two hundred eminently pumpable women, post-haste! This is one celebration that will most certainly go off with a bang! Or two hundred."
"B-but where am I going to find two hundred women at such short notice?" my foul-smelling man-servant whined.
"If you book them, Botter, they shall come," I grinned. "And then, they shall come hard."
*****
I awoke the next morning to a cacophonous racket from outside the mansion. I flung back the bedcovers, slipped on a dressing gown to preserve my modesty (I always sleep nude, so that I am ready for action in a trice) and popped my top hat on my head. Then I opened up the windows of my bed-chamber, and stepped out onto the balcony.
This is what I saw.
Row upon row of women, all clamouring for my lordly love-shaft. A mass of mimsy as far as the eye could see, a veritable sea of snatch. 'Twas like I had died and gone to fanny heaven.
"I did it milord!" piped a feeble voice from below. There, standing beneath my window, was Botter, looking considerably the worse for wear. "It took me all night, but I did it milord!"
"Yes, yes," I snapped. "What do you want, a medal?"
"Yes?"
"Well tough titties, Botter! I do not believe they give out medals for being appalling. Now move out of the way, you wretched oik! I rather fear you are cramping my style."
Botter apologised and skulked away, leaving me alone with hundreds of nob-hungry females.
"LADIES, LADIES!" I yelled, in order that I might be heard over the row. As my voice boomed across the Likely Estate, the women ceased their nattering and turned to face me. With their attention fully focused on my fine form, I shed my dressing gown and bared my naked glory to the crowd.
"Now then...who's first?" I beamed.
I shall never forget what happened next, as long as there is still breath left in my beautiful body. As soon as the words left my lips, excitable screams filled the air, and the women surged forward as one, before turning upon one another as they attempted to fight their way to the front of the queue, and thus the tip of my shaft.
Dresses were torn, teeth were broken, legs were crushed and hats were trampled upon; it was a scene of complete and utter cock-fuelled chaos.
Naturally, I was overjoyed, although my joy soon turned to deep concern, as the fighting became more and more brutal, leaving me wondering if any of the women present would be left in a fit enough (or attractive enough) state to receive my thunderous thrustings. The grounds of my estate were beginning to resemble some sort of battlefield, albeit a battlefield with big, beautiful breasts.
"Jesus cocking Christ!" I yelled, as I watched one unfortunate woman's nose explode in a shower of scarlet as another lady smashed at it with her parasol. "This is going to be a ruddy bloodbath!"
Just as I was beginning to regret my course of action, I noticed a rather stunning, dark-haired figure battling her way towards me, staving off her rivals with the judicious use of her handbag, which seemed to be packing quite a wallop. As she neared me, I noticed that her dress had been torn in such a way that it left one of her fantastically fulsome and firm funbags exposed, which I recognised almost immediately.
"Dorothy?" I cried.
"It is I, my lord!" panted the delectable Dorothy Mount-Worthy.
"I thought as much!" I proclaimed. "I never forget a breast!"
I had already had the pleasure of ploughing Miss Mount-Worthy a couple of months previously, along with her good friend Maud Dreadful. The latter had proven to be anything but dreadful, and Miss Mount-Worthy was every bit as thrilling as her surname suggested. To see her again made my heart leap into my mouth, and I wasted no time in descending the staircase to my front door, to welcome the delightful filly as she finally staggered up the stairs to the entrance of my mansion.
Even with her clothes torn apart, her hair ruffled and with a few bruises upon her arm from her struggles, dear Dorothy still looked as gorgeous as she had done on that day back in August, and as her big, beautiful blue eyes beheld me, her full, kissable lips curled into a heart-warming smile. I knew right there and then that she was most certainly the woman for me.
At least for the next couple of hours.
I kissed her briefly in the doorway (which I do not mean in any euphemistic form whatsoever), and ushered her gently into the house, slamming the door hard behind me, and bolting it up for good measure, lest any of the sex-starved slatterns outside tried to break in.
"'Tis a pleasure to see you again, my dear," I said, as I drew the final lock fast. "Tell me, what brings you back up this way?"
"Well, my lord..." Dorothy began.
"Please, there is no need for such formality! We have, after all, exchanged bodily fluids and explored one another's genitals! You may call me by my first name, my love."
"Oh!" Dorothy exclaimed. "I...I am afraid I do not know your first name."
"Ah. Well, never mind. You may call me 'your lordship' instead, then."
"Well, your lordship, a rather strange little man came and told me about this event you were holding, and I thought that it sounded like far too much fun to pass up. And, seeing as how to-day is my birthday and all, I thought I would...treat myself..."
"It is your birthday? To-day? Good heavens! Then we must have a double celebration!" I cried, clapping my hands together excitedly. "Wait just one precious moment, my dearest...I believe I may well have a present for you..."
I disappeared briefly into one of my many bath-rooms, and reemerged moments later, clad in one of my finest dressing-gowns, made from the finest Chinese silk. I must have looked even more handsome than usual, for Dorothy let out a very audible gasp of delight.
"Happy birthday, my sweet!" I smiled, and then I slowly undid my gown and slid it off my shoulders, leaving me utterly nude once more, save for a large, red ribbon I had tied around my proud Lord Palmerston.
"Is...is that for me?" Dorothy whispered, pointing at my gift-wrapped glory-pole.
"It most certainly is," I grinned. "I should very much like to give it to you, my dear. Many times over, if possible."
Dorothy looked up at me with those pretty eyes, and smiled, and before I knew it she was upon me. Needless to say, we made mad, passionate, sweaty, sticky, glorious, thundering love two hundred times over the course of the next few days, in two hundred different positions.
Here, then, is to the next two-hundred entries!
Toodle-pip!
- Lord Likely.
Announcement! Lord Likely wishes to dedicate today's journal entry to all his loyal readers, subscribers, and commentators; all of whom he wishes he could thank personally and passionately. Furthermore, his lordship would also like to offer an additional dedication to his darling Kerry, who's birthday it is to-day, coincidentally! Please join his lordship in wishing her the happiest of days, as well as congratulating his lordship himself on his two-hundredth post. Hip hip! HUZZAH!
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: A Brand New Illustrated Indiscretion!
Hungry for more inter-net based fiction? Then may I suggest you peruse The Web Fiction Guide, Pages Unbound or The Blog Fiction Blog, all of which are thoroughly excellent, due in no small part to the fact that I am listed with them all. Huzzah!
Sunday
Lord Likely vs Lord Loathsome
September, 1857.
So there we were: Lord Loathsome, murderous villain and knob-end of the highest order, and myself - Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and all-round ruddy fantastic fellow indeed, facing off against one another in the bell-tower of my old school, St. Bumthrusty's.
Loathsome, being the utterly indefensible weasel that he is, had already gotten the first blow in, sending me flat on my back, leaving me now looking down the troublesome end of a pistol pointed at my handsome face by the cad himself.
Meanwhile, my dithering man-servant, Botter, had gotten himself kidnapped by Loathsome, and was currently manacled to the inside of the school's mighty bell, facing a gruesome pummeling from the bell's clapper when six o'clock came around, which was in less than four minutes' time.
Truly, things were looking distinctly shit-coloured for your noble narrator.
"Where shall I shoot first?" sneered Loathsome. "Shall I put a hole right through your face? I am sure the incredibly vain Lord Likely would not approve of that....no, wait! I have a better idea! Why don't I blast your precious cock-end right off? Let us see how popular you prove to be without a penis, eh?"
Luckily for me, Loathsome's inane prattling had bought me sufficient time to regain my breath, and so as he pointed his pistol at my proud Lord Palmerston, I swung a leg up and kicked the weapon from his hand, sending it ricocheting off of the school bell, before it disappeared down the hole below.
"Bastard!" hissed Loathsome.
"Lord Bastard, if it is all the same to you," I retorted as I clambered to my feet. "Now, shall we proceed? I am rather keen to kick your posterior into next week."
"Gladly," replied Loathsome, and then he charged at me.
Despite having been rather winded from Loathsome's earlier assault, I managed to deftly dodge the cad as he lunged at my good self, and delivered a most powerful punch to his face, which sent him crashing to the floor.
With Loathsome momentarily out for the count, I scooped my cane up off of the floor and headed behind the school's bell, where there was a rather large and rather complex clockwork mechanism, which I assumed operated the bell when the clock struck the hour. After deliberating whether or not my man-servant's miserable life was worth ruining a perfectly good cane for, I decided that seeking new help would be far more bother than seeking a new stick, and so thrust the cane inbetween some of the cogs operating the machinery. There was a low moaning sound as the cogs tried to continue turning despite the presence of my rigid rod, but happily, my cane held firm, and the entire mechanism ground to a juddering halt.
As I proudly surveyed my excellent handiwork, I was suddenly sent tumbling to the ground once more as that nefarious prick, Harold Loathsome, snuck up on me and swept my legs from beneath me. I was getting rapidly tired of being acquainted with the floor so regularly, and so kicked the swine in the knee, and then booted him in the chin. The cad fell to the floor like the sack of shit he so clearly was.
"You shall pay for your loathsome acts...Loathsome," I declared, rather inelegantly.
"Oh really? And who is the real villain here, Likely?" Loathsome coughed as he struggled back up from the ground. "Is it really me, just because I murdered a few people? Or is it you, for creating me by bullying and mocking me through all of my school years?"
"I would have to say it is you who is the real villain," I reasoned, quite reasonably. "Yes, yes. 'Tis definitely you, no question about it."
"Well, then...I shall feel no remorse about sending you to your grave then," Loathsome exclaimed, and then he was suddenly brandishing a knife, which he tried to plunge into my chest. I put up an arm to block such a move, and then roared in pain as the blade entered my limb.
"You cocking piss-hole!" I yelled. "That really rather stung, you know."
With Loathsome's knife still protruding from my stricken arm, I grabbed the fiend by his lapels and then hurled him against a nearby window, which had been boarded up for reasons unknown. The wood splintered as Loathsome's body slammed against it, but before he could recover I was upon him again, grabbing him by his lank, greasy hair, and slamming his head into the remaining boards.
"This...is...for...ruining...a...perfectly...good...suit!" I cried, each word punctuating a fresh attempt to batter Loathsome's bonce against the wood. "And...this...is...for...ruining...a...perfectly...good...arm!" I continued.
Loathsome, somewhat bleary and bloodied by now, somehow managed to struggle free from my grasp, and then he took me by my injured arm and flung me against the window. The rest of the wood broke apart, and I was left half-hanging out of the glassless window behind. I felt a chilly, autumnal breeze across my face, and saw the considerable drop waiting below. However, I had no time to observe the view before I was pulled back in by my enraged nemesis, who spun me around to face him.
"This is it, Likely!" he cackled, an evil smirk upon his lips. "This is where we must part ways, I'm afraid. I would say it has been a pleasure to see you again, but frankly, it has not!"
I tried to think of a witty retort, but I was beginning to feel rather queasy and light-headed as my precious blood seeped from the wound in my arm.
"You wanker," was all I could manage, before Loathsome pushed me back out of the window. As I fell backwards, however, I grabbed Loathsome's wrist, which took the cove quite by surprise.
And then we fell together.
*****
I awoke with a start, and saw nothing but sky. Where was I? What was going on? Was I in Heaven?
I moved my head to the left, and saw Loathsome lying next to me, seemingly unconscious. Clearly I was not in Heaven, then. Was I in Hell? Curses, I thought. I knew all that masturbating would catch up with me one day.
I slowly sat up, wincing as pain shot through every muscle in my body. Once I was sat upright, I saw that I was not in Hell, either. I was sat outside St. Bumthrusty's, surrounded by a group of shocked onlookers. Clearly, I had not been out cold for long.
"What are you doing down there?" a voice cried from above. I gingerly looked up, to see Inspector Spunkleford looking down at me from the bell-tower window from which I had just plummeted.
"What are you doing up there?" I shouted in return.
"I came up to help you out!" Spunkleford yelled.
"Well, better late than never, I suppose." I replied.
"What?"
"Oh, never mind! I shall talk to you when you get back down here!"
"What?"
"I said..."
"Never mind, Likely!" Spunkleford echoed. "I shall talk to you when I get back down there!"
I rolled my eyes in disbelief at the detective's deplorable dimness, then all of a sudden I found Loathsome back upon me, his hands wrapped firmly around my throat.
"I"m not finished with you yet, Likely!" the wretch snarled, his grip tightening. "I shall not be finished until you are finished!"
"Fucking hell!" I gasped. "Why are you not ruddy well dead?"
"I shall not rest until I've completed my life's work, and ended the life of the Lords Likely!"
"Luh-Lords?" I wheezed.
"Why yes," Loathsome grinned, his grip as solid as steel. "After I have wiped you off this earth, I shall go after your father..."
"I...I think yuh-you'll find muh-my father's already duh-duh-dead, Loathsome!"
"Oh no, Likely. No, no no. He's very much alive, at least for the moment. I saw him in - "
Suddenly, there was a loud cracking sound, and Loathsome's eyes rolled upwards in their sockets, and then he slumped off of me, unconscious once more.
"Apologies for the delay there, Likely," said Spunkleford, standing in front of me, proudly brandishing his truncheon. "We took a wrong turn and wound up in the toilets."
"Spunkleford, you anus!" I coughed, as air filled my lungs. "That bloody cock-bag was about to tell me where my father is!"
"Oh," Spunkleford said, evidently crestfallen. "Um, sorry, old boy."
"Well, I suppose you did mean well," I said, as Spunkleford helped me to my feet. "I shall refrain from kicking you in the plums this once."
"Jolly good!" Spunkleford brightened. "By the way, did you ever find Botter?"
"Oh!" I exclaimed, as I remembered that my man-servant was still shackled to the inside of the school bell. But then I also recalled the amount of uneccessary worry he had caused me, and decided that leaving him where he was might serve as a clear reminder that he should not get kidnapped again. "Yes...yes I did, Inspector. He is fine, we can retrieve him...later. Much later."
"Oh, well, huzzah!" Spunkleford cheered. "Well then, I sppose we should get you to a hospital, eh?"
"Not right now, my dear inspector," I said. "Right now I think I would very much like to have a rather more intimate school reunion with that delightful young lady I met earlier..."
Spunkleford raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"By that I mean I plan to pump her roughly," I added for clarity.
Spunkleford shook his head in weary resignation, and I staggered off to get my noble end away.
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Come one, come all, and celebrate the Likely Bicentennial!
humor-blogs.com is the real villain, of course.
Hungry for more inter-net based fiction? Then may I suggest you peruse The Web Fiction Guide, Pages Unbound or The Blog Fiction Blog, all of which are thoroughly excellent, due in no small part to the fact that I am listed with them all. Huzzah!
Wednesday
The Most Loathsome Man on Earth
September, 1857.
I could not believe that my arch-enemy, Harold Loathsome, had chosen to hold our final showdown in a bell-tower. It just seemed so very cliched. Honestly, I had expected more from him. Maybe it was time I found a better class of nemesis.
And so it was rather begrudgingly that I hauled myself up the winding stairs that led to the tower, cursing Loathsome's name as it quickly became apparent that there were far more flights of stairs than I had first imagined. Maybe that is how Loathsome intended to finish me - by wearing me out completely through such exertions, so that when I finally faced him he could cut me down without a struggle. That would be exactly the sort of twattish plan I would expect from the murderous cove.
As I continued my struggle against the stairs, another memory from my school-days bubbled forth from my brain. When I had attended St. Bumthrusty's School for Boys, there had been a long-running rumour that the school's bell-tower was haunted. Many people - staff and pupils alike - had claimed to have heard 'unearthly wailing and moaning' and some 'ominous banging' coming from the tower, with one teacher even claiming to have discovered some ectoplasmic residue in the room. The truth, however, was much less spectral and far more scrotal; the school's bell-tower had merely been my favourite spot in which to hide girls from the town, whereupon we would indulge in some covert coupling, hence the frequent moaning and banging. And needless to say, that was most certainly not ectoplasm found in the bell-tower...
I smirked inwardly at the recollection, and was further buoyed by the fact that I had finally reached top of the stairs, thus ending my terrible escalatory ordeal. I rested myself against the wall for a momentary respite, but did not get to relax much before I was interrupted.
"Well, you certainly took your time," said a rather snide, disembodied voice. Immediately I sprung to attention, my eyes straining through the murk of the bell chamber in an effort to locate the speaker. I soon picked out a top-hatted figure silhouetted against the early evening light which was snaking its way through the slats on the window of the room.
"Loathsome," I spat.
"Lord Loathsome, if you do not mind," the shadowy figure replied calmly. "Yes, I have a peerage now as well. I inherited it from an aristocratic friend of mine. Well, the dead have no use for such titles, you see..."
"You may call yourself whatever you wish, Loathsome," I sneered. "I shall still only refer to you as 'tosspot', if it is all the same to you."
There was silence from Loathsome, except for the sound of a match being struck as he lit himself a cigarette. I briefly caught a glimpse of one of his small, beady eyes in the match-light, before he lit his fag and discarded the match over his shoulder.
"Still the same old Likely," Loathsome finally said. "As arrogant and up his own arse as ever. It is high time someone bought you down a peg or two, Likely. And I shall only be too pleased to take on that responsibility."
I felt my muscles tighten as I readied myself for some kind of ruckus, but instead Loathsome slowly stepped forward into one of the few shafts of sunlight in the tower, finally revealing himself in all his foulness.
Loathsome still looked as loathsome as I remember him; he was a skinny and wiry fellow, wearing a long, dark-grey overcoat on top of a black suit, with a similarly dark top hat on his awful, greasy, straggly blonde-hair. He had a long, pointed nose, and his cruel, thin lips were contorted into some sort of wretched smile. The only change I could really observe was that he now sported an eye-patch across his left eye, leaving only one piggy eyeball free to glare at me.
In short, he rather resembled a bastard wrapped up in a cunt.
"I am glad you could make it, Likely," Loathsome grinned. "I rather feared you were going to be late. Why, it is already ten to six, you know..."
"Why don't you just stop wittering and make some sort of ruddy move, Loathsome?" I snapped, growing weary of his melodramatic performance.
"Oh no, Likely. No, no, no. I have been waiting for far too long to hurry this now," my enemy responded, drawing upon his cigarette and blowing a smoke-ring in my direction. "Twenty-five years I have waited. Twenty-five years since you publicly humiliated me in front of everyone at this very school. Twenty-five years since you got me expelled. Twenty-five years since you had me exiled to Africa, to spend two and a half decades toiling in the burning sun. Suffice to say, I fully intend to really, really enjoy this moment."
"To be fair, Loathsome, you deserved every bit of your punishment, You were, after all, a massive cock-end."
"Please, do keep the feeble insults coming, Likely. It shall make killing you all the more sweeter."
"You do not scare me, Loathsome. Not one bit. I have bested you many times before, and I dare say I shall do so again. You forget that I am vastly superior to you in every possible way."
"Oh, you think so?" chuckled Loathsome, his lips parting to reveal rows of horrid, yellowing teeth. "I do beg to differ, Likely. I mean, you have been rather slow to finally catch up with me, have you not? And I do not imagine that you have any inkling as to precisely how long I have been tracking you, and messing with your over-privileged life..."
I froze. The thought of Loathsome stalking me was terribly nauseating. Why could I not be stalked by someone decidedly more attractive, and considerably more be-titted?
"I thought that would get your attention, Likely," Loathsome jeered. "For you see, I have been following your progress quite closely...quite, quite closely indeed. And for such a long time, too! Right from the moment you opened a letter in which the writer threatened to cut you, early last year..."
My mind raced as I tried to recollect the moment in question, and then I remembered.
It was February, 1856, and I had received a mysterious missive from some lunatic threatening to cut me. The return address on the letter had led me to a house at Buckingham Place, where I had subsequently been drawn into an astonishing adventure involving murderous prostitutes and an evil old brothel-owner called Mrs. Dinklesuck. At first, I had assumed the letter had been a cryptic cry for help from one of her unfortunate clients, but this was later proven to be incorrect, leading me to dismiss the note entirely. Now, however, I could see its importance all too clearly. It had been written in the same hand as that used in the note which had been affixed to the first victim of Loathsome's murderous spree at St. Bumthrusty's.
"So it was you who penned that letter," I mused. "How extraordinarily dull."
"That was just the beginning, Likely! I had far more fun toying with you later that very day, when I took great pleasure in ramming your carriage off the road..."
"Egads!" I gasped. "I remember that! You made me spill some whisky, you utter shit-ball."
"Wait, Likely, because it gets rather more brilliant still. A few months later, as you boarded the HMS Bastard to sail to America, I sent an assassin after you, to rough you up a bit. You know, just for fun."
"Doctor Corkscrews!" I exclaimed, as I remembered my encounter with the murderous medic.
"Indeed, indeed. It is a terrible shame you offed him, Likely. He was under strict instructions not to kill you. I just thought his attack might keep you on your toes..." Loathsome stopped to draw upon his cigarette once more, before flicking the cigarette butt across the room. "And then - then! - I hatched a brilliant scheme to pilfer all the booze from the Likely Estate earlier this year. Oh, your face! It really was utterly, utterly priceless!..."
The news that Loathsome had a hand in many of my most notable adventures of the past couple of years set my head reeling, and I had to steady myself on the wall beside me. The fact that Loathsome has been manipulating me so made me feel rather sick, but above all it made me want to pound his putrid skull to dust.
"That just about does it, Loathsome," I hissed. "I think I have heard quite enough. Now, if you will be so kind as to put your fists up, I think we..."
"Wait a moment, old boy," Loathsome replied, rather too nonchalantly for my liking. "What time is it?"
"What in the name of shittery does the time have to do with anything?" I yelled.
"Oh, the time is very important, Likely. Very important indeed," Loathsome answered, strolling over to the enormous bell hanging from the roof of the tower. "For you see, at six o'clock, this bell here will chime the hour." Loathsome gently patted the side of the bell. "'Tis quite a size, isn't it? Apparently, this is the largest bell in the entire county, Likely."
"I think I am looking at a rather bigger bell-end right now, Loathsome."
"Very droll. Anyway, at six this bell will chime six times; and on each of those chimes the bell's huge clapper will strike the inside of the bell with quite considerable force. Imagine, Likely, if someone were unfortunate enough to wind up actually inside the bell when that happens...why, I would think they would be pulped to a mash fairly quickly, don't you?"
I slowly drew closer to the fiendish felon, knowing all too well that he was planning something awful.
"What have you done, Loathsome?" I demanded.
"Here," said Loathsome, striking another match. "Take a look inside, Likely."
I took the match from Loathsome's hand, and knelt down to look under the bell. And there, manacled to the actual inside of the bell, was Botter, considerably not-dead, but looking rather the worse for wear, his face badly bruised and his mouth gagged. Furthermore, he had been stripped down to his underwear, which I felt was not only completely unnecessary, but also incredibly revolting. Truly, Loathsome was a most twisted individual indeed.
I rose back up slowly, but before I could return to my full (glorious) height, Loathsome delivered a swift boot to my beautiful face, sending me sprawling flat on my back. Loathsome laughed maniacally as he withdrew a revolver from his overcoat, and pointed it at my head. Blearily, I retrieved my solid-gold pocket-watch from my waist-coat, and tried to focus on the tiny clock face.
"I would say your time was running out, Likely," Loathsome chuckled.
The blurring of my vision subsided, allowing me to read the time on my pocket-watch. Annoyingly, it seemed Loathsome was rather correct.
It was four minutes to six.
I had less than four minutes to save my own life, and to save Botter's.
In that exact order.
- Lord Likely
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Time runs out as 'A Lesson in Murder' reaches its nail-biting, pant-soiling conclusion!
humor-blogs.com is in no way loathsome.
Hungry for more inter-net based fiction? Then may I suggest you peruse The Web Fiction Guide, Pages Unbound or The Blog Fiction Blog, all of which are thoroughly excellent, due in no small part to the fact that I am listed with them all. Huzzah!
Friday
In Which Lord Likely Makes A Fist Of It
September, 1857."What in the name of all that is sacred and holy do you think you are doing?" bellowed Professor Ventricle, after I had punched him squarely in the face, strongly suspecting that he was none other than my arch-nemesis, Harold Loathsome, in some sort of shoddy disguise.
"Give it up, Loathsome! Your terrible charade is over!" I cried triumphantly.
"You have gone stark, raving bonkers, Likely! How on earth could I possibly be that Loathsome fellow? I'm considerably taller and older, for starters. And look!" protested Ventricle, tugging firmly on his long, grey beard. "It is all my own hair! Are you quite satisfied now?"
I grudgingly conceded that I was indeed satisfied that he was not Loathsome after all. It seemed that my usually faultless deductive powers were somewhat failing me, with this episode following on so closely from my earlier misapprehension about the caretaker being Loathsome.
"I say," said Mr. Bertrum Gumbumble, my old head-master. "Is this how you conduct all your investigations, Likely? By punching people in the face until you find the felon? For if it is, then I rather feel you had better leave before you incapacitate all my staff..."
"Yes, I suppose you would be happy to get me out of the way, wouldn't you?" I mused. "Having me completely and utterly out of your hair would suit you rather well, would it not...HAROLD LOATHSOME?"
With that, I delivered a fine upper cut to Gumbumble's chin, which sent the old fool tumbling backwards onto the ground.
"Egads!" cried Inspector Spunkleford, who was watching the events unfolding before him with a mixture of shock, horror and outright disgust. Meanwhile, I had set about Gumbubmle, and was trying in vain to prove that his balding pate was nothing more than a skin-coloured skullcap, worn to disguise his true identity.
"Bugger," I said, as I was once again proven to be incorrect in my assumptions.
"Get off me, you blithering idiot!" spat Gumbumble.
"Hmm," I pondered, as I disentangled myself from the exasperated educator. "I was certain you were Loathsome...damnation, what the devil is wrong with me today? Maybe I am over-thinking this whole dilemma...maybe the answer is staring me right in the face." At which point my eyes fell upon the glorious cleavage of a delectable female standing among the crowd of onlookers who had assembled at the crime-scene like vultures assembling at...well, a crime-scene.
I knew precisely what had to be done.
"You!" I said pointing to the pretty creature, a curvaceous brunette who filled her dress in a most pleasing manner indeed. "You aren't Harold Loathsome, are you?"
"N-no sir," the woman said nervously.
"Well, if you do not mind, I should just like to make certain of the fact," I said, taking her hand in mine and drawing her out from the crowd.
"Certainly, my lord," the cock-worthy creature replied. "Do whatever you have to in order to clear my name!"
"I appreciate your compliance in this matter, m'dear," I smiled, and then I quickly put my hands upon her breasts, to verify their authenticity. "Well, yes. These certainly do feel genuine...do you mind awfully if I just?..."
"No, no! Not at all!" answered the girl, rather excitably.
"Marvellous!" I cheered, and then I swiftly set about freeing the lady's filthy fun-bags. Happily, they were most assuredly real, and were a pleasingly firm and fulsome pair, to boot.
"Happy, my lord?" asked the woman, a coquettish smile forming upon her lips.
"Extremely," I beamed. "But I must just check one last thing..."
"Of course," the minx smiled back, lifting up her dress.
I tipped my hat in thanks, and then knelt down to examine the lady's lady-parts. I was gladdened to find myself looking at a beautiful bush underneath that dress, and not the horrid flaccid flesh-stick of my arch-enemy.
"Well, this certainly looks real," I said. "I wonder, however, does it taste real?..."
"Really, Likely!" Spunkleford objected. "I think that is quite enough!"
"Yes, you would, wouldn't you...HAROLD LOATHSOME?" I yelled, before leaping up and flooring the fellow in an inevitably spectacular fashion.
"Jesus Christ, Likely!" Spunkleford yelped, as he reeled back. "What the bloody hell do you think you are doing? This is getting ruddy ridiculous! You can't seriously suspect me, you fool!"
"No, I do not suspect you at all, Spunkleford," I responded. "I just wanted to clout you for disturbing me in the course of my... cross-examination."
"You bugger, Likely," Spunkleford cursed as he tended to his bloodied nose.
"I apologise, Spunkleford. It is just that I am rather on edge...I am not used to being wrong, and yet I have been wrong on no less than three separate occasions now. Furthermore, I am still not absolutely certain that this poor, dead fellow lying before us is not my man-servant, Botter. The only certainty I do have right now is that I would very much like to give this delectable strumpet a jolly good shafting," I added, indicating to the pretty thing I had just given a good going-over.
"Well, quite," said Spunkleford. "So we are right back to square one, then. We still have absolutely no clue as to where Loathsome may be"
"Indeed," I answered, stroking my magnificent moustache in deep contemplation. "Damnation, I know he is here somewhere, gloating..."
"Probably, old boy," Spunkleford agreed, holding his head back to curb the bleeding from his nose.
"I dare say that the cad is probably watching me right now, laughing at me...mocking me...."
"Oh! Wait a moment! Isn't that him up there?" Spunkleford exclaimed, pointing up to the school's bell-tower. I followed the direction of his finger, and saw a thin figure clad in a black suit standing atop the building.
"Oh yes. So it is. Well, that was considerably easier than I had imagined," I remarked.
And with that, I set off to go and pummel the bastard.
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Likely vs Loathsome!
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Saturday
Wretch in Peace?
September, 1857.
Getting a new man-servant is an awful ball-ache, you know. And I should know, for I have had over twenty different servants in my lifetime, of varying degrees of uselessness.
When my father, Lord Eustace Likely, disappeared from the Likely Estate, ne'er to return (and now presumed deceased), I was left in the care of the family butler, Philtrum. However, this arrangement did not last long, for at the age of one hundred and twenty-three years old, the useless bastard decided to go and die on me, throwing me into the most inconvenient predicament of having to go out and hire new help.
Luckily, I found a new lackey at a servant market in Dudsbury, who was on sale for the incredibly low price of one shilling. However, it did not take me long to discover why this particular valet was going for such a remarkably discounted amount - it transpired he was blind, deaf, mute and had wooden hands. Naturally, I was all set to return the defective domestic and give the vendor responsible for selling him to me a damned good drubbing, but before I could, my new man-servant unwittingly mistook the stove for the wash-basin, and went up in flames shortly thereafter. Clearly, one should always check the goods thoroughly before purchase.
My next effort led me to hire a man who seemed to be actually competent in his work, and was incredibly fastidious in his duties, especially when cleaning my various trophies, gold-plated trinkets and diamond-encrusted sex-aids. However, it quickly became apparent that this high level of meticulousness was not born out of a desire to see my valuables shined to the brightest of sheens, but rather out of a desire to steal the goods from under my very handsome nose. Needless to say, when I caught wind of his duplicitous scheme, I made sure he could not grab my assets (as t'were) by physically breaking his hands. No-one man-handles my treasure and gets away with it, dear readers.
Having been let down by quite so many man-servants, I next elected to hire a maid. Naturally, I hired the most attractive maid I could find; a beautiful, comely wench with 'come to bed' eyes and 'fuck my mouth' lips. After watching her frantically scrubbing the gussets of my trousers for a while, I could no longer control the wild animal inside me, and quickly set about pumping her for hours and hours every day. It soon became obvious that I was servicing her far more than she was servicing me, and when the mansion began to fall into a filthy, grubby state through my maid's neglect, I thought it might be time she was fired. When we both found ourselves stricken with cholera, I knew it was definitely time to fire her; and thus I had to (rather reluctantly) let her go.
On top of these few poor shows, I've also had to put up with illiterate proles, woefully inept workhouse children, wretched foreigners who did not understand one word of the Queen's English, infuriatingly smug butlers and - worst of all - a Liverpudlian man. I mean, well, really.
With such an unsuccessful record for hiring quality help, you can sympathise with my current plight, where I believed my current man-servant - Botter - to have been slain by my arch-enemy Harold Loathsome. I had just witnessed Botter's body pass by a window at St. Bumthrusty's in a worryingly vertical direction, as if he had been thrown out of a higher window to meet his doom on the harsh ground below. While I held no great affection for my simple servant, he had proven to be the least useless menial I had ever hired, which may not say a lot for the foolish oaf, but it did mean finding an equally adequate replacement would be a most challenging task indeed, and a task I was not entirely sure I could be bothered with any time soon.
It was with this dreadful burden hanging over my noble head that I headed outside to go and identify the corpse, accompanied by Inspector Spunkleford, my old head-master Betrum Gumbumble, my former biology teacher Professor Ventricle and a couple of my past classmates.
"Alright, alright," said Inspector Spunkleford as he cut through the small crowd of morbid onlookers who had surrounded the body. "Move along, please! Move along! There is nothing to see her