I wonder what Lord Ellpus is doing right now?

...as we speak he is putting his g-string back on.

Following a thorough cleaning, the cat has an uncanny resemblance to Dagmaraka:

Pussy Willows, the cat, decided to get revenge. As Lord Ellpus hid in the garden shed, pardon me, the conservatory, Pussy crept up to the bedroom and climbed into the four-poster. Using nose and claws, she found the exact section that his Lordship slept, or rather where his nether regions rested. She shredded the nice linen sheets and started work on the mattress beneath. Meanwhile, the thimble-cosy in place, Lordy was having at the turpentine, having been unable to find the key to the liquor cabinet. Having twice whacked his goolies into the handlebars of the bike stored in the shed, he decided to retire to his room and read some picture magazines. Her ladyship was settled in for a good gab-fest with the mothership and they were making a big dent in the choccie biccies and on their twenty-seventh cup of tea. There would be no chase-the-cosy round the room tonight! Ellpus powdered his what-not, grabbed the latest magazines from the false floorboard hideaway and jumped into bed, ready for a bit of self-action. Getting into the swing of things, Lordy bounced a bit too hard, heard a sproing, and discovered a bed-spring becoming far too intimate with his pooper-shute. Cross-eyed, Ellpus was in a quandary what to do. Should he yell for the missus and have them laugh at his short-comings again? Should he try to reach for the cell and call a friend? Who to call? He only knew the 1-900 numbers off my heart! Just then, LordE heard the sound of help arriving. Someone was approaching! The bedroom door creaked open and who walked in? …..only the cat ……

Pooper-shute?

poop shute

That's right.....mock the rich!


Very amusing, I'm sure. There I was, up at the crack of dawn, then Dawn made breakfast before I returned home to the Missus.
A quick peck on the cheek, another cup of earl grey, then it's off in the Bentley down to the local charity massage parlour, in order to do my bit for the poor orphans of lower Kensington, by appearing in the live webcam project that we have had going since the beginning of December.

You have all heard of those charity calendars where office type women take off their lower class underwear and pose for a naughty photo. Well.....we've gone one better.

Unbeknown to you lot, I have been involved with the "Skiing holidays for the offspring of the only slightly rich" campaign, and so far we have raised £35K and a lucrative film contract with a fellow from an American firm called Hustler.

In essence, having started the thing in December and all that, we took a Christmas theme, and re-enacted the twelve days of Christmas, but with a saucy adult twist, on live webcam......I'll run you through it.

You see, first of all, we obtained a Pyrus calleryana, found a willing lady who would dress up as a wood fowl and perched her in it. She gyrates for five minutes or so, in a manner that one would call erotic, in a woodfowl sort of way, before a bloke and a woman, covered in turtle dove feathers, get lowered on a cable and start a bit of billing and cooing at the base of the aforementioned Pyrus.

Three french hens (well, chicks actually) then arrive, and join in with the fun, much to the delight of the male turtle dove.

For the calling birds, we acquired four gorgeous creatures who are talking on mobile phones. They generally mill about, shouting "Hello!" a lot.

Five gold rings gets a bit personal, and involves the assistance of five freemasons who remove their undergarments, bend over and have a small amount of metallic paint applied.

Owing to the inordinate amount of females already in use, all of the geese are male, and they roam around "a laying", if you get my drift. As you have now realised, the eroticism of the whole thing is now reaching fever pitch.

A pool is then dragged into camera shot, containing seven more females covered in plumage, who are simulating the breast stroke with each other. This further excites the geese, who demonstrate a marked increase in their particular activity. This reaches a climax when eight maids arrive, and proceed to milk anything that twangs.

Nine lap dancers then make their way onto the stage, and basically dance their way around the throbbing heap of geese, swans, maids etc.

This is when I do MY bit (purely for charity, I'll have you know). Me and nine other Lords, prance onto the stage, and leap on anything that moves. This has involved lots of practise on my part, and several packets of blue pills.

Eleven Scotsmen in kilts then appear, and pipe for all they're worth, including the five gold ringed masons who weren't shrewd enough to straighten up in time.

Twelve drummers then slowly gather on the edge of the stage, and beat their implements in a rythmic fashion. At this point, the bouncing of the stage normally causes the Pyrus calleryana to fall over, smashing the pool and sending cascades of water over the geese, who are just about to finish their laying. The masons are complaing loudly in a screaming sort of way, and the maids have nobody else to milk, so it all descends into chaos, really.

We usually all make up at the end, and bugger off down the Pub.

Marvellous!

If you wish to catch this live, the next show is at 4pm EST, and can be found on ..........

naughtiesatxmaswotwot.com

...Got excited when LordE mentioned calendar something to do with offspring. Hmm, off-SPRING, geddit?...

Heeven packing up camera and hailing cab to airport>>

Wonder if I could get a flight tonight. Am thinking of great scene for alternative calendar, especially with his lordship sprouting a twelve inch spring out his ass (jealous?)

<applause!!!!>

Now that is a tour de force!!

And I don't mean the leaping.

Or maybe I do.

<APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE!>

Take a bow, LordE!

On second thought....

jinxonetwothreeyouowemeaCOKE!

or some gourmet chocolates. That'd do.

I find that the spring, when secured properly, helps somewhat with the leaping.

Can anyone recommend a soothing balm? Penbury applied some WD40, in order to lessen the squeak, and it stings like buggery.



Well......worse than buggery, actually.

Just then, Peggy walked in.

Or, crawled, rather.

I don't give a rat's what Lord Ellpus is doing.

Nor bloody Peggy neither.

What, Owl eyes?

You OK, Deb? It's unlike you to be wearing grouchy pants.

Gus, are you also wondering what Lord E. is wearing?

I woz kiddin'.

I woz sleepy. I have woken up now, after a large froffy coffee. I can now see that you were kidding....sorry.
It's a funny thing, this internet. There I am, thinking that the whole world has just woken up as well. That's why I immediately thought you were a grumpybags, 'cos the only female I wake up with is like that for at least the first half an hour.

She is not what you would call a morning person, really.

Good lord, do you ever get any sleep?