Scholars at Kent College Pembury, an all-girls preparatory school in England, recently unearthed an astonishing discovery in the rectory directly below the women’s faculty quarters: a dusty trunk filled with the long-lost journals of the mildly retarded Lord Daniel Chelly-Ladbourne.
Chelly-Ladbourne was knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1602 for discovering a beverage that could generate a seven-hour equine hard-on, after which he lived indulgently on an estate known for having a lawn shaped like a cocker spaniel. Long considered merely a very fortunate idiot, rumors have recently that Lord Chelly-Ladbourne was also a poet, one with a unique flair for the randy and tumescent. Scholars of the Elizabethan period have been hoping that Chelly-Ladbourne’s journal would serve as the “missing link” between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson; scholars of contemporary fiction cite his influence upon Henry Miller and Bob Guccione.
By all accounts, Chelly-Ladbourne appeared to be little more than a fool, who did not even learn to speak until puberty. Later, however, he became known for witticisms and quips, not to mention a body odor that Marlowe described as ” a muttony kind of floral musk.” “Itching,” he once said to the queen, “is more profound than scratching and constitutes a kind of aesthetic virtue.” Rumors have it that none of Chelly-Ladbourne’s work was based on experience, as he was married to a woman who felt it was enough simply to lick postage stamps in the same room with one’s spouse. Perhaps because of this, Lord C-L’s erotic work is chock-a-block with pent-up desire and too-frequent references to return addresses.
None of the poems found in the Pembury journals have been published before.
Ode to Maturity
I don’t wish to whiff
The decrepit old quiff
Of a paramour long past retreading
Or the rubbery gap
At the back of her lap
As she snores in her moldering bedding.
I prefer to aver
The correctness of myrrh
And anoint at each point until scented
And then mount thereupon
With my well-tempered dong
As of all other smells I repented.
Lord C-L’s rivalry with Will Shakespeare was thought to be based on an incident in which Chelly-Ladbourne put too much paprika on Shakespeare’s stew during a cast party for the original production of As You Like It. Lord C-L was not an actor, but he frequently “performed” at The Globe, usually as a divan, a brick wall or one of those annoying, stubby pencils used in miniature golf.
That Damned Shakespeare
Fancy Will Shakespeare can
Pen a fine comedy
Surely he can
Ask him to “write” with the
“Quill” in his jodhpurs and
Then you’ll see laughter from
Elizabethan lords were said to be fascinated with female homosexuality; Chelly-Ladbourne’s first title for this poem, inked over with a new title after he sobered up, was “Girls Gone Wilde.”
Though rank desire is normal in a man
The fairer sex is thought to be denied
Of dreams that rose when human time began
Like buttocks made to bulge by food that’s fried
But foolish was my thought that only gents
Might tremble at the sight of comely muff
For—yes!—I’ve met a woman who relents
To yearning aches for lovelies in the buff
I spied her through the keyhole after dark
Adjusting sister’s cami with her teeth
When, lo, her tongue did quiver and embark
To sister’s furrowed pleasure trench beneath
To think I’d lived so long yet did not know
That sister could explode from down below!
Late in life, Chelly-Ladbourne traveled to the orient in search of enlightenment, spices, and an “Orientickal Countess” named “Ralph.” These are excerpted from his Haiku Pokémon notebooks.
My bulging stiffie
Gives off odors unpleasant.
Perhaps a check-up?
She beckons to me
Then winks and parts her great thighs.
Is the dog hungry?
Counting backward by
Sevens while picturing Ralph.
Despite this, I spooge.
The limerick is known for being the lowest form of poetry, but Chelly-Ladbourne considered the form sacred because, according to his diary, “only limericks make me want to eat pork.” Unfortunately, Lord C-L ultimately succumbed to burns suffered in a bacon-smoking incident. At his funeral, his widow read aloud this limerick just before cranking up the Kool & the Gang.
Upon Physick Geometrickal
I once knew a woman whose vaginal
Could best be described as diagonal
I gave her a prick
with my eight-sided dick
and rendered a pleasing octagonal