Posted by NL on October 05, 2004 at 14:17:35:
You Must Excuse Me
I say, I don't believe you even know whom you be addressin', Miss Buttfuss, for it be none other than the Lord Bucktoaster Wamplestick, the renowned and much adulated explorer, missionary, and cock's man of the Queen's Realm-- ahhhhh, that Island, that Britain! That Home! Not only do I, madam, spread the pleasures of civilizaton about me where 'er I roam, I entertain the natives with tales of Gospel times and tales of the great saints and the great heros of this, our realm, Britannia! Ahhhh! That Island! That Land where of old the Saviour trod, and the likes of Lord Nelson ate his bread and veal! Only the past week I was at sea, and only the other day it was, I encountered a civilization so foul and ill-favored it liked to inflate my socks and send 'em sailing, sirrah, long past the grasp of any man born, but not, of course, past the starry reach of Our Lord. A strange thing about this people: you could not carry on a conversation with any man of the tribe without inserting a finger up the nostril of your auditor, and in a mutual manner, taking their filthy finger up one of your own nostrils. In this manner we conversed for hours and sorely tempted I was to assay the experiment of thrusting a finger up each of my auditor's nostrils and of clamping my free hand over the chap's mouth, but that it were the chief of this scurvey tribe and we did so desperately long to bring these scum the wonderful words of Our Lord and discover what it was of value we might steal, you see. The tribe I refer to has become known as the Paukoney-Pokeytitty but don't ask me why, as it seems most illogical. And of their comely brown chocolate-skinned naked women, who were very very friendly it must be said that the custom, if you desired to speak to one was to thrust a finger into the lass's bellybutton, producing large smiles on the naked beauty's part and her rapt attention. By the way, if I seem a bit incoherent in my accounts I must apologize. On the last voyage but one my head was ripped clean off my shoulders by a giant salamander, a most unpleasant and ill-mannered fellow I must say and it was only by the quick and fearless actions of my merry men that it was rescued. I owe my life to my ship's surgeon, who, with an application of pine tar and oakum and a bit of plug terbaccy restored my head to its rightful place, though I have not been the better for the experience. Now, where was I? Oh yes, well, it seemed to me then that I ought to make a few experiments among the tasty beauties of that dismal people and fortunately I always carry about my person on these epic voyages of discovery my trusty malacca sword-cane. I have it with me at this very moment! See? I, myself, do not see so well so take care I do not stick the point into some unfortunate bodily orifice of yours, Miss Buttfuss, for I must apologize-- on my last voyage but two, as I bent over the taffrail to puke a giant sea anemone from hell leaped out of the steaming brine and fastened its poisonous tentacles upon my face, quite plucking the very eyes from my very head. Fortunately, my ship's surgeon is well-versed in all varieties of magical voodoo medicine, and so was able, with the aid of a bit of rotten maggot-infested ship's biscuit and a plug of terbaccy and spit and pine tar, to fashion for me these eyes, with which I currently behold your delicate cleavage-- yes, the appearence is strange and even unnerving and I do hope you are not standing here before me because you are frozen stiff with absolute fear, although I couldn't blame you. At any rate, my "eyes" do not work as well as they once did. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the experiment. Well, having caught the attention one evening in Boola-boola land, that place where the unfortunate tribe of Paukoney-Pokeytitty dwelt-- a far cry from our noble and luxurious Britain, let me tell you-- of a naked maiden of exceptional beauty by poking my finger into her bellybutton, I quickly unsheathed my sword cane and substituted its point for the point of my finger, pressing lightly into the lass's belly hollow, which elicited some delighted titters. I believe she enjoyed the novelty. So very interesting! A sudden thrust full and deep of the point, deep into the buxom wench's bowels brought a very different reaction, and I must say, that the sight of the blood pouring out of her gravely wounded belly as she sank to her knees, the sound of her plaintive groans and gasps, her exquisite death at my feet, brought an interesting reaction from me, in the form of a magnificent erection. But you know, I must apologize, for on my last voyage but nine, I believe, my penis was devoured in my sleep by a colony of ravenous Picky-Packy ants, those swine! They work very fast and their venoms serve as an excellent anaesthetic, which is why I failed to notice the insult to my person prior to awakening and reaching down, first thing, to grasp my member and jerk-off. I grasped nought but the Void. Fortunately, my ship's surgeon, an excellent fellow, really, applied a bit of his arcane voodoo medicine and with the aid of a bit of pine tar, oakum, a belaying pin and a plug of terbaccy was able to fashion me a very acceptable tool of passion, worthy of any English gentleman. And I assure you, in case you are interested, my sweet lady, that it works better than the original. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I had just murdered one of the native women in the interests of science. Well, the natives turned so hostile after that, I felt quite justified in calling in the Royal Navy to shell the land of the Paukoney-Pokeytitty into an absolute wasteland, for the greater glory of Britian and of course, our Lord. Hmmmm. You know, in this gloom and fog, you truly begin to resemble a sort of clothed version and a sort of pale version, of that native girl I had the pleasure of murdering. If I should happen to stab you in your belly with this sword-cane, well, I must apologize. On my last voyage but seven, I think, I had the misfortune of sitting upon a keg of gunpowder booby-trapped by my merry men, jolly and good-natured pranksters all, stout-hearted Englishmen! and getting blown to absolute smithereens. Fortunately, my excellent and ever resourceful ship's surgeon, with the aid of a bit of oakum, pine-tar, and a great many plugs of terbaccy and a bit of handy grocer's twine was able to reconstruct a fair facsimile of me, and by means of some vile spells animate the thing and make it perform a fair imitation of that great explorer and even greater Englishman, Lord Fuckbucket Twickenham (though I must say I have not quite the excellent moral quailities of that gentleman), or, wait, is it not rather Lord Bucktoaster--WHOOPS!-- well, you must excuse me. It seems I have indeed run you through. Ahhhh! So very, very, beautiful!