Crazy Stories of Faire, Redux?

[Wakarimasen]

I would like to make my first post on these forums an amusing - and true (!) story (with a moral, no less)!  I hope it restarts a topic (Crazy Stories of Faire?) that's doubtless been started many times before. 

My wife and I have been camping at TRF for the last six or seven years, and over that time have accumulated a lot of gear, including a toilet ("bio-blued" bucket topped with seat) and tent-privy.  Aside from making the art of camping at Faire more comfortable (and more complex), such gadgetry eases the task of convincing friends - the vast majority of whom are NOT Rennies - to join us at the campsite for a weekend of carefree carousing.

One such victim, Patrick, had been to TRF before - some twenty years before, which alone was reason enough for my wife and I to insist that he go again.  When we heard that he had never camped there, we introduced him to our spare tent / air mattress / bedding (and the marvels of toilet-bucket, tent-privy, et cetera).  He relented, and so it was to be just the three of us.

The Friday night of our arrival and setup was wonderfully cold, and as we lounged about the fire with beer / bourbon in hand, some visitors (a couple, who couldn't have been much older than 16) entered our campsite to share the heat.  After some pleasantries, including my (necessary!) revelation that "not going to jail for giving alcohol to minors" was one of my lifelong goals, they continued on their way.  As the drum circle began to make an appreciable level of noise, we refilled our drinks, locked the beer and bourbon away (!), and made our merry way toward the bonfire, hoping to show our guest something memorable.

The bonfire was - as usual on a Friday night - less than incredible, so we soon wandered in search of another source of commotion and entertainment.  The first we found consisted of a small trailer, illuminated with tripod-mounted worklights, whose sole raison d'etre lay in supporting a stripper pole which groaned under the weight of several writhing female bodies.

Patrick was visibly amused.  I was sure he'd be back next year.

After about a quarter of an hour of my finding other things to look at (the wedding band, you see, she is heavy) and Patrick's unabashed ogling, our Wondrous mugs became empty and our bladders full.  We bade farewell to a collection of names, and made for our campsite to drain and refill.

Patrick and I found trees in short order.  My wife found something else entirely.

"THERE'S SOMEONE IN OUR BATHROOM!" exclaimed she.

"Huh?" I replied cleverly, despite a mind clouded by bourbon and the bliss of steaming relief long overdue.  A glance in her direction revealed a privy-tent moving of its own accord.  Was it ambulating?  I leaned closer and squinted - again, cleverly, pissing on my boots.

"THERE'S SOMEONE F***ING IN OUR BATHROOM!" she screams, now committing to the "pee-pee dance" of urgency.

"Huh?" says I - in perhaps my most memorable display of literary eloquence - as I think to myself, "was that expletive for emphasis, or did she literally mean..." With rapidly flagging confidence, I answered myself aloud: "Nooo..."  It simply couldn't be.

A voice from within the tent-privy began then to utter in slurred earnest a repetitive string of words: "I'mSorryI'mSorryI'mSorryI'mSorryI'mSorry..."  As I recognize the speaker as the male half of the couple who had visited us earlier, a female voice from within then conveniently muttered something incomprehensible, confirming the presence of the Beast With Two Backs.

While struggling to remember their names so as to address them with something more proper than "moron" and "moronette," the male Voice From Within uttered next The Three Magic Words, which stopped me in mid-flow, mid-thought, and mid-breath, leaving me gape-jawed and nonplused to a degree I struggled to remember visiting before:



"Can we finish?"



I began to take a deep breath to laugh (I laugh LOUDLY) but was shocked into silence by an event that occurred before I could fill my lungs.

Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote "[t]he fiend in his own shape is less hideous than when he rages in the breast of man," and thus it raged within my wife, whose theretofore amusing "pee-pee dance" became the ominous, mad gyrations of a (wo)man possessed, and from whose mouth escaped a string of foul expletives so furiously and rapidly hurled that it was only upon her need to gasp another breath that I realized I was involuntarily retreating from the campsite... soaking my other boot in the process.

My wife began to look about the campsite, likely for a weapon.  As I breathed a sigh of relief for the complexity of my peace knots, the male half of the Lavatory Love Machine fled the privy shirtless; the female stumbled out soon thereafter, clutching her shirt to her breasts and holding her hand over her face in humiliation.

Now I'm POSITIVE Patrick will join us again this year.



Oh yes, the moral.

ALWAYS BRING YOUR CAMERA(S).

[maelstrom0370]

LOL!! 

I used to install and clean Port-O-Potties and something similar happened to me while cleaning them out at 4am once.
Never underestimate teen-age hormones!

[Chianti]

"Can we finish?"

Priceless.

[LadyShadow]

Oh my that was good.  I'm sure they are very lucky for the peace knots.

[renren]

ROTF!

[Valeria Skyye]

That is just hilarious and proves my sound reasoning for bringing locks for my privy tent!!!

[Wakarimasen]

"Can we finish?"

Priceless.

And true.  I've had stories I've wanted to tell before, but this...

...this!....

[Tipsy Gypsy]

Mayhap you should hang a shingle over yon potty portal forewarning of video surveilance. Friends will share the jest, and others...

No, nevermind. With any luck, you'd have 'em lining up instead.

That was hysterical!!

[Breandan]

Not having camped in Patrons in years... hell, make that nearly two decades (damn I'm getting old), I miss a lot of the shenanigans that go on out there these days. That being said, back in the day we had quite a few of our own inside. I remember when I had first started there, running around with the Barbarians as an unofficial bear-pelt-wearing appendage to the horde, we used to camp behind the Drunken Dragon in the inner circle. Fate played a particularly amusing hand in the placement of my tent that year, wherein after night fell I realized that a neighboring tent was aligned precisely between my tent and a security light in just the right way so that the goings-on inside said tent were projected on my wall with crystal clarity. By clarity, let me simply say that the midnight interlude going on was so sharply projected that I could make out the hair on the arms of the male part of the ménage à trois occurring next door.

Not being the wisest of lads, I made the mistake of pointing this out to a friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, and, well, promptly found my tent filled with an audience of limbic voyeurs who actually started scoring and cheering, ruining any chance of sleep. Now, do not misunderstand my attempt to sleep through the silent theater of the carnal upon my wall as a puritanical bent on my part, but I had driven five hours from Corpus Christi that night after work and was exhausted, so my survival instinct of preventing sleep-deprivation around alcohol and sharp-and-pointies the next day overrode my libido. That being said, the appreciation of the trio of apparent gymnasts with inexhaustible stamina soon turned into a drinking game, wherein shots were taken at various points, and triple-shots (of some caustic substance that would be put to better use degreasing engines or fueling an F22 Raptor than imbibing, I might add) for dexterous exploits that none in attendance thought physically possible. I am ashamed to say I took part in this, having long since given up on sleep after a certain someone *coughSeancough* used me as a seat.

Alas, I do not recall anything that followed for a period of 36 hours, beyond vague memories of doing something untoward on a table whilst wearing a kilt, and something about sheriff's department protocols regarding launching bottle rockets from a moving vehicle. The trio were, apparently, quite agile.

[Gwen aka Punstergal]

Ironically, one of my crazy faire stories involves walking out of my tent only to find out that I WAS a victim of that projection screen effect, although it couldn't have been me, my stories all happened in the last 12 years!

And should you ever hear rumors about a game of drunken truth or dare in participants camp and "I'm a little teapot" in the buff in the middle of a freezing night, they're LIES I say, LIES!!!

(Oh, to be young and carefree again....)

[RenRobin]

One year a friend and I worked the faire so we had a camp set up in the participants camping area.  And it was quiet hour after 10PM.  As my friend and myself tried to sleep and hearing all the fun over at the playtron's camping area, it was raining a little bit and we kept seeing flares being shot off every few minutes or and drums beating in the background .  But finally drifted off to sleep close to 2AM I guess, only to awakened by carnal moans and groans...and that was when I found out that god was in a tent a few yards away from me.... or at least that was what some young lass (let's call her Laura) was calling him...all night long.

Well the next morning was up making coffee on the coleman stove and another young lady came by hollering a girl's name, and was heading straight for god's tent.  When she got up to my tent, she said "Good Morning, have you seen my friend Laura???"  Laughing, I told her "the only person I knew for sure was in that tent was god, but he did have a lady in with him."  Next thing you hear is the zipper of god's tent opening up and out pops Laura, who came over to her friend and then said to me "sorry if I kept you awake," you could tell she was embarrassed    Well, then god pops out of his tent and  her friend and I got a gander at god, and I told her..."if I would have met someone with god's chisled looks, I might have kept someone awake too."

[Wakarimasen]

Mayhap you should hang a shingle over yon potty portal forewarning of video surveilance.

Well put. 

Friends will share the jest, and others...
No, nevermind. With any luck, you'd have 'em lining up instead.

That's a good point.  To don a costume in the first place, you've got to be a bit of an exhibitionist...

You know, there are three kinds of luck: Good, Bad, and Dumb...

That was hysterical!!

Thanks!  Here's to more wackiness at TRF 2009 - to which we are already looking forward!

Edit: whoops; messed up the manual quote tags

[Wakarimasen]

Not having camped in Patrons in years... hell, make that nearly two decades (damn I'm getting old), I miss a lot of the shenanigans that go on out there these days.

Really; I'd heard the patron campground was comparatively sedate.  Now I suppose it makes sense that it wouldn't be, considering that none of the participants there need wake sober enough to, say, toss knives and juggle torches.

Reading your recounting of your pseudo-exhibitionistic exploits was fantastically graphic and amusing.  Thanks for your contribution - very well written.

My wife led me to these forums and said I shouldn't be shocked by the literacy of its inhabitants, but still... I get sent at least two YouTube links a day, and the comments there, well... I can FEEL IQ points leaping from my ears, convinced that the structure is aflame and that their existence is in peril.  Probably my cats have become their new home, for now I have one capable of opening the pantry...

[Wakarimasen]

Ironically, one of my crazy faire storie

The same thing happened to me, though I realized what was happening and quickly began to "ham it up," much to the amusement of our campmates.

And should you ever hear rumors about a game of drunken truth or dare in participants camp and "I'm a little teapot" in the buff in the middle of a freezing night, they're LIES I say, LIES!!!

I'll keep my ears open... 

[eloquentXI]

Not of the same caliber but still quite as amusing, at least as how I remember it...

Last season, Element of Air and I were on our ususal trot to find her boyfriend, Sir Jerrick Reyfe and as we were about to pass in front of Ravenswood, something dropped from the sky with a loud plop much alike something falling onto the surface of water. We both stopped dead in our tracks and much to our amazement, that furry little ball, unfurled to reveal a squirrel. It was only a moment, eyes darting from side to side before it zoomed off away from our feet.

I think I spent the rest of the day watching for above trees and any kamikaze squirrels.