Thursday, January 26, 2006

A Majestic Day at Blimbly Bow

During Pope Urban II’s summons to a crusade at Clermont in 1095, he reportedly said "let those who go not put off the journey, but rent their lands and collect money for their expenses, and as soon as winter is over and spring comes, let them eagerly set out on the way with God as their guide. Additionally, since I have your attention, I just wanted to say that every rich person has the right to pet a koala bear occasionally. Yeah, God told me that. And since you’ll already be out of town, maybe you could look into bringing some koalas here. They’re adorable. So yeah." Urban II’s words rang true with our modern day Parliament and in 1987 the Koala’s Are Seriously Adorable Act was passed. Since 1987 each member of the aristocracy has been allocated one koala bear. Typically, when some begrimed common person learns of this law he and/or she usually lashes out in a fit of jealousy fueled wrath. Being the liberal lord that I am, I consider this to be a perfectly understandable reaction and sympathize with their koalaless plight. I’m sure that the middling and poverty-stricken classes would absolutely adore having a koala to cuddle or take bubble baths with or have ride on their shoulder as if the koala were a parrot and he and/ or she were a pirate from olden times with an eye patch and a peg leg and a bottle of rum.

At any rate, the McTallyflan koala is called The Shaman and has hair as beauteous as the freshly driven snow, if driven snow is grey and made of koala fur. The Shaman is fed the finest Eucalyptus leaves this side of Slovakia and we cloak The Shaman in black satin sheets. Here in Northhamptonshirefordsher we bring our koalas to Blimbly Bow fields on Thursdays and pit the wee snuggly bastards against one another in intense and athletically grueling relay races. This particular morning as The Shaman was doing his pre relay race calisthenics, we had the great misfortune of being addressed by Lord Flannegan who quite frankly is an epic arse. He is rather pompous and is ceaselessly on about how scholastically inclined he was whilst attending Oxford or how tremendous his testicles are, or how his best mate is legend of stage and screen, Rick Moranis. Despite the fact that adjacent to the word "obnoxious" in the dictionary is a picture of Lord Flannegan (and that’s because he is so utterly obnoxious that he’s actually pasted passport sized photos of himself on every page of our dictionary), I was quite intrigued when I saw the idiot. You see, Lord Flannegan, or Lord Flatulence as the more cleverer of our set refer to him, has not come round Blimbly Bow since a scandalous incident involving his koala, a drifter, a bit of mustard, a copy of the Communist Manifesto, and several post-its. As Lord Flannegan struck up a bit of small talk with myself and The Shaman, I noticed that the entire assemblage of rich people and their koalas were giving me the evil eye or eyes as it were. I was obviously being unfairly judged as a result of being spoken to by a social pariah. I could not stand for this and politely asked Lord Flannegan to fuck off.

The Shaman was anchor on the 440 relay and won the race for his team. We all rejoiced at the splendid victory and made him a magnificent crown of laurel and daisies which he then proceeded to eat.

That is all for now.

Cheers!

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Introducing Lord Seamus (also known as Me)

My name is Lord Seamus McTallyflan of Northhamptonshirefordsher. I’m exceedingly wealthy and exceedingly idle. I’m a Lord. Not the Lord as in God, but I consider myself to be a very close second. Ha ha ha, just a bit of tom foolery, I’m merely jesting. (No I’m not). My father was not a haberdasher as many people believe. Although his name was Haberdasher. Anyway, I’ll get on with it then.

I awoke early this Thursday morn with the most splendid erection ever. It was a treasure to behold! I then proceeded to drink the most glorious glass of orange juice ever to be manifested in the human world and then swallowed by the human throat. Every sip was slightly more agreeable than its predecessor. Is there any greater joy in this life than a sublime glass of orange juice and an elephantine erection? The simple answer is no. The more complicated answer is nipple play. My wife, Lady McTallyflan, is in a perpetual state of envy whilst in the presence of my protruding John Thomas. In my honest opinion this is complete balderdash. Her bosom is ample and so is her estate. She has absolutely no reason to be covetous of my prick, regardless of how impressive it may be or how many times I’m complimented on its nobility whilst walking up the high street.

Around midday my erection finally subsided and I decided to read a Harry Potter novel. I’m so cunning and influential that I tricked the bloody thing into reading itself and then threatened it into transmitting the information to me through telekinesis. Harry Potter dies in the end. Ha ha ha, how clever and rich I am! Fuck! I then decided that the novel would be a perfect money weight. A money weight, for you poor common individuals, is a Harry Potter book that a rich person uses to prevent their stacks of money from blowing in the wind.
Later on it was tea time. Lady McTallyflan and I had a bit of tea.

For dinner our cook made us sausages. I enjoyed 23 sausages whilst the Lady of the manor gobbled down 22. We absolutely adore sausages here. At McTallyflan Manor we breed our own sausages and then eat them with our own mouths. In fact, we are so fond of sausages that we named our eldest son Sausage. We named our youngest son Pencil. We are also quite fond of pencils.

Bedtime has come and my nightly erection should quickly follow. Oop, there it goes! I usually have the household staff do etchings of it and then choreograph an interpretive dance about it, but I’m severely exhausted at the moment.

I wish you a pleasant night full of intercourse and various nipple pleasures!

Cheers!