Crazy Stories of Faire, Redux?

[Laird Fraser of Lovatt]

Honey, with me, EVERYTHING is a challenge...

And please, for everyone elses sake, don't challenge her.

Bad things happen, eh?

[eloquentXI]

Honey, with me, EVERYTHING is a challenge...

And please, for everyone elses sake, don't challenge her.

Bad things happen, eh?

It's all a depends on perspective, my friend.  You'll learn to know when to take cover and when its alright.

[Laird Fraser of Lovatt]

LMAO!!  You may have the right of it, lass.  I have found that ALL women can be dangerous...


Depending on perspective.

[FaeHollow]

blue66669-

OH LORD! I would have died right there. It'd be bad enough if he had actually been WEARING proper undergarments. But  stark weed puller? Thats one crazy beast of a story!

[Molden]

Hmmmm.... I'm giving this some thought. Many o' mine either incriminate someone here on this bonny forum or would risk causing th' thread t' get moved to John's Inn...

[Riot]

I'm with Molden, the cleanest story I have is about being towed into Excal the last year it was really Excal at one in the morning with a friend.  Not even a broken down car kept us from faire

[Blue66669]

Hmmmm.... I'm giving this some thought. Many o' mine either incriminate someone here on this bonny forum or would risk causing th' thread t' get moved to John's Inn...

LOL, just try t' incriminate me darlin.... just try...

[Lady Renee Buchanan]

blue - that one takes the cake!  All I can say is "Ewwwwwww." 

When one says "family jewels," I take that literally.  Family, not any stranger wandering around.

[Laird Fraser of Lovatt]

I'm all about going "commando" but i've found that people get more curious as they drink more... i try to wear something under my kilt, at least at TRF.  I don't want to scare the women folk or make men jealous. 

[dbaldock]

I'm all about going "commando" but i've found that people get more curious as they drink more... i try to wear something under my kilt, at least at TRF.  I don't want to scare the women folk or make men jealous. 

Three Hands?         

[Laird Fraser of Lovatt]

I'm all about going "commando" but i've found that people get more curious as they drink more... i try to wear something under my kilt, at least at TRF.  I don't want to scare the women folk or make men jealous. 

Three Hands?         

Then i'd be a liar by me own words... 2 1/2.  LOL.

[Breandan]

Breandan, I hope like hell, for all the future generations bereft of a significant quantity of literary talent, that you are in some way an author.

As a hobby, yes, but sci-fi mostly. I do some articles here and there for professional and cultural interests, but that's about it. Usually its because I procrastinate too much, but my wife and others have threatened me with dire bodily harm if I don't publish the trilogy I am working on now, so I am the victim of gunboat motivation 

And now, I embarrass and incriminate a few folks 

Three years ago I brought a TV with a built-in DVD player out to the blacksmith shop to entertain us after hours. One of the videos I brought happened to be a Happy Tree Friends compilation. During a post-demo break, I pulled Mark back into the back room to show him one of the shorts. At first, he had a puzzled expression on his face, wondering why I was showing him a kiddy cartoon... then the carnage began. This sparked a wildfire infection of Happy Tree Friends fandom throughout the entire crew of the forge and all the neighboring shops.

Two weekends later, after the fireworks on Saturday night, I ducked back into the back room to get my change of clothes and head into the shower. Now, before I ducked back in, Mark had produced a gigantic two-liter bottle of plum Saki. Five minutes later, as I gathered my clothes, I suddenly heard the entire crew of the forge, broom-maker booth, and a few other assorted folks singing the Happy Tree Friends theme song. I poked my head out back to discover that the bottle of Saki was completely empty, both plums in it had been fished out and eaten, and there were ten very sauced people dancing and singing the song. And this was before heading out to Patrons.

Needless to say, the night ended with Mark, Sharon, and a few others achieving epic levels of inebriation that would've killed lesser mortals, all accompanied by the high-pitched singing of that bloody theme song. 

[bellevivre]

Not at TRF, but the OLD Excal-

So, Mitch and i are cooking up some grub after a day inside- we're just minding our own business when out of NOWHERE this dude in monks robes shows up, plops down a 12pack of Michelob Ultra, and walks away...


The legend of the Beer Fairy lives!

(this was the same weekend we woke up thinking someone was robbing our camp but it turns out some poor drunk kid had gotten lost and decided to hug our hibachi to keep warm...)

[Breandan]

And now, for one of the classics: The Tale of the Atlantean Tent and Flying Drunkards 

Back in '98, in November, there was what could only be described as a torrent of biblical proportions. This was the weekend that DPS came out and ordered a mandatory evacuation of the faire grounds due to flooding. Well, not wanting to be arrested or drown, we decided to pack up camp and head back to Corpus Christi. As one might imagine, there were a few snafus.

You see, I had celebrated the nuptuals of my first marriage that day (and the events of the day pretty much foretold the rest of that stormy marriage, just as the wondrous day of my second marriage foretold the joy I have now), and my brothers had gone forth and become rather inebriated. Actually, that is being both kind to them and misleading to you... they engaged in the tractor-pull of hardcore drinking binges, and were forced to give wide berth to any open flames or cigarettes lest the alcohol vapor exuding from their pores cause them to spontaneously combust. The second ingredient in this recipe for amusement was the state of our camp. Our tents had collapsed under the drenching they had received, and had done so into the knee-deep river of mud that flowed through them. Thankfully, we had emptied them early in the day, so only the tents had been the victims of liquefaction. To appropriately set the scene, the row we were camping on had become a river as water flowed from the road through Participants to the EB downhill towards the rapidly growing lake at the treeline. Our tents had been caught in that flood, and as I waded through the water, I was amazed that it not only had a current- much like the fast-moving shallow river it was- but a surprisingly strong one.
And now, we bring it all together.

I foolishly enlisted the aid of the career alcoholics I call brothers, and their role model Ken, to assist me in trying to rescue our tents from a watery grave. I did not think that it was possible to make the situation worse, and drown the tents even more, but after an hour there was nary a scrap of tent to be seen, and one forlorn pole sticking up from the water like a last defiant spire of a drowned monument was all that marked their final resting place. At this point, the order became mandatory, and we were told to get the hell out, no arguments. Somehow this inspired my dear beloved brother Marty to leap backwards through the air into Ken's arms with a laughing cry of "CATCH ME! WHEEEE!", followed by a splush (not quite a splash due to the mud content of the now thigh-deep water). I turned to see marty laying on his back in the water-mud laughing and flailing as if making snow-angels, and saw a frantically waving hand emerge from the water beside him, accompanied by a torrent of mead-scented bubbles.

We pulled my sauced brother up, but could not find Ken. Somehow, he had shifted under the water, but was mired in the mud and unable to pull himself loose. We grabbed his hand as it came back up and pulled, and with a sound I can only describe as pornographically grotesque he splorched to the surface, a rust-red mud golem of drunken glory. Thus began the haggling, threats, pleas, and rock-paper-scissors games to decide who's car mud-boy was going to ride in. In the end, it was decided that he be hosed off and stuffed in Marty's car, as he was the party responsible.

We never did recover the tent. I did come back later and found where it was, the tip of a pole sticking up from the hard-baked ground, but I figure it will give some future archeologist something to ponder 

[Laird Fraser of Lovatt]

LMAO!    Your talents are wasted doing anything other than writing, my friend!