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Crazy Stories of Faire, Redux?

Started by Wakarimasen, May 25, 2009, 12:40:19 AM

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Laird Fraser of Lovatt

 :D  Your talents are wasted swinging a hammer, my friend.
Cha togar m' fhearg gun dìoladh
Alba gu brath
Laird of Dunans Castle
Warrior Poet/Loki God

LadyShadow

I do say that I have to agree with that.
May the stars always shine upon you and yours.

Royal Order of Landsharks Guppy # 98 :)

Breandan

it's not my fault I missed, I was distracted by boobie magic! Tis like fairy glamour, only prettier :D
Author, bladesmith, and fuzzy teddybear.

"I've fought my wars and drank my mead in this life, the afterlife for me will be one endless renaissance festival with an old-school tabletop game store the size of a Costco next door ;D " - me

Hercules

#78
One thing I love about Scarborough is it's NEVER the same. Something crazy is always bound to happen.

This was at Scarborough this past year. As with North Texas weather in the spring we had a good downpour early in the day which kept most folks away from the Faire. Only us hardiest who didn't mind the mud attended.

The area where the young ones try to whomp each other off logs with sponge swords was one large cauldron of mud and the young man working the section was bored out of his gourd.

Afternoon gave way to sunshine. It also brought two intoxicated young ladies to the new mud-pit. The young lad stood (with a few of us lucky ones who were in the right place at the right time) stunned as these two stripped down to their lacey boy-short undies and t-shirts and then proceeded to wrestle in the mud. One of the gals was not only taller but also outweighed her petite and timid opponent by ~20lbs.  So we were amused to see the large gal go down in the mud with a large "Spluuut" sound as her smaller friend proved to know the laws of physics better. However the new mud queen was not happy. Her pint size adversary could tell and offered an apologetic; "Ohmagawd. I'm sooooooooooooooo sorry".  The larger gal stood up and stuck out her arms and charged the smaller gal like a linebacker. Once again the smaller and more agile gal simply stood to one side and the mud-queen went "spluut" into the mud again. Only this time face first completing her mud bath front to back and head to toe.  The smaller gal was getting worried about what wrath she might face. So as a peace offering she offers a lovely swan dive into the deepest part of the mud and is also covered head-to-toe. They then embrace in playful wrestling.

About the same time my brain tells me 'Hey stupid...shouldn't you be getting pictures?' Someone yells FEMALE MUD WRASTLING! OVER HERE! Wives were left at shops, girlfriends abandoned at food stands and all males came to see. Unfortunately the two gals gathered their clothes and sprinted off. Wrong time to get a case of shyness if you ask me!  
Save the Earth (it's the only one with beer)!

Breandan

lessee....

*checks statute of limitations*

Nope, the rest of the stories will have to wait a bit :D
Author, bladesmith, and fuzzy teddybear.

"I've fought my wars and drank my mead in this life, the afterlife for me will be one endless renaissance festival with an old-school tabletop game store the size of a Costco next door ;D " - me

Rapier Half-Wit

#80
It's 1980, my second time at faire and my first time to camp. I've hitched a ride with a "buddy" that another SCA'er had arrainged for me. I've had a fantastic day of working the games, and enjoying the day. After gate close and night has fallen I've found myself very tired after doing "adult" things such as ogling the women dancing at the bon fire and getting sips of Revenge (Loki).

So I stumble back to the tent that I was to share with my "buddy", only to find it not only occupied, but very carnally busy, as my tentmate had obviously found his one night soulmate. All my clothes, belongings, spare change and food was in some way involved in the throws of what sounded like their athletic attempts to "get to know each other". Not knowing how to find anyone else that I might know there, never having seen or heard anything like this (first hand, at the tender age of 15), I stood there. For what seemed like an hour. Stunned. Confused. Curious. Horny. Til she squeeled for what was probably the 19th time, and the occupants of the surrounding tents started yelling for them to HOLD IT DOWN!!! The angry yells brought me back to my senses.

Not knowing what else to do, I wandered back into the faire grounds, trying to wrack my brains to think of a place that I could lay my head, under cover. The open air chappel had only just been built and I knew that it at least had benches that I could lay on. So that's where I headed to. Anyone else ever tried to sleep on a concrete bench? In November? Yes. It's cold. So that lasted all of about 5 minutes.

Leaving the chappel, I figured that I might just spend the night, enjoying the grounds all to myself. First stop on the way to an all night walk about? The privy. After shaking the dew from the lilly, it occured to me that I had, in the past, had occasion to sleep sitting up. Like that time I had had one too many margarittas and had tried desperatly not to throw up everything I had eaten for the previous 2 weeks.

So I check out each stool to find the cleanest one, cover it in as much toilet paper as I can reel off, and try to settle in while trying to forget where I was sitting.

Anyone ever spent much too long sitting anywhere, on anything? Yeah. I couldn't feel my legs either, when I woke up for what must have been the hundredth time. Dead from the weed puller down. An anesthesia couldn't have done a better job. What body part do you need to use to get up from a seated position? Right; your legs. I was seriously screwed. Following that realization, I spent what must have been several hours trying to hoist, wiggle, wriggle, beg God, and shift my dead weed puller off that toilet. Being a teenager (meaning not much more intelligent than my shoes) I didn't realise that when the feeling did finally come back I really should have made every attempt to be seated on the floor because when the feeling did come back like a freight train, that's where I landed. First was the pain, and I would have been happy enough had it only just remained as pain. But no, I've never been lucky enough for bad things to remain, simply enough, bad. Because, in this situation what follows after the pain? The tingles. You know the feeling; the one when your foot falls asleep and then "wakes up". From the weed puller down.

It's pre-dawn. You can (almost) smell the morning air, past the smell of the over used urinalls. I've spent the better part of the night trying to move my legs between each sob. No one has come in to find me sitting on the floor. Not yet, anyway. I've managed to get most of the feeling back into my legs and weed puller. I'm moving my legs without too much cringing.

Stumbling from the mens room to the camp site, I arrive at the tent just in time for my tentmate and his "new best friend" to emerge. She smiles shyly and scampers off. He's got that Cheshire cat, $hit eating grin on his face.


I still hate him.
If her eyes aren't sparkling, you didn't do it right...

Mouse

#81
 He's got that Cheshire cat, $hit eating grin on his face.


"Haste makes waste, so I rarely hurry."`~Cheshire Cat

Doesn't sound like your friend was in a hurry either...

                   
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie

"MOUSE,n. "Animalistic man-child which strews it's path with fainting woman"....less so these days :)

Mouse

#82
If you see either of these men walk up to your campsite...







invite them in so they may share your rum, stories with you, wakarimasu ka?

(maybe not the one on the right...never trust a contact juggler with your rum)
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie

"MOUSE,n. "Animalistic man-child which strews it's path with fainting woman"....less so these days :)

Laird Fraser of Lovatt

Good Lord!  Man the barricades!  Hide the loki and the women!  TO ARMS.. TO ARMS! BLADES OUT! Repel the invaders!


*just kidding*  :D
Cha togar m' fhearg gun dìoladh
Alba gu brath
Laird of Dunans Castle
Warrior Poet/Loki God

Mouse

No, my friend....You have the wrong strategy. Use the women ARMED with Loki as barricades...they would never make it past the fortifications.
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie

"MOUSE,n. "Animalistic man-child which strews it's path with fainting woman"....less so these days :)

Laird Fraser of Lovatt

Lol... right?!  :D  Stop by McLotofus, hail the camp and be made welcome...
Cha togar m' fhearg gun dìoladh
Alba gu brath
Laird of Dunans Castle
Warrior Poet/Loki God

Mouse

I shall take you up on that offer sir, and bring my Lady with me..she will be the one wearing all the sexiness like it was 1599...Wish to meet the rest of the clan as well, what with as much as they post on these forums. Also need to track down this Messyn McCleavage from the McCleavage clan....for obvious reasons.
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie

"MOUSE,n. "Animalistic man-child which strews it's path with fainting woman"....less so these days :)

Mouse

#87
I meant to ask, and sorry to take away from the topic...put it back on track after this digression...Are there any other Clan Mackenzie folk out there? Hit me with an aye if you are....
Mean this as actual blood clan


Means, I shine, not burn...I'm sure Breandan might the origin of that phrase
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie

"MOUSE,n. "Animalistic man-child which strews it's path with fainting woman"....less so these days :)

Laird Fraser of Lovatt

When you come by our camp, ask about The Order of Culloden Moor....
Cha togar m' fhearg gun dìoladh
Alba gu brath
Laird of Dunans Castle
Warrior Poet/Loki God

Mouse

#89
Should there be ominous and foreboding music playing in the background whilst other people who know what this vague and cryptic sentence portends wrack their hands in glee?

*edit* After searching around, I found the historical preface for what you said..aye, I shall definitely ask for them. I am on the lookout for my clans abroad...I'm half german, scottish, irish (those can be switched, doesnt matter), and a palty amount of cherokee...Galloway, Martin, Mackenzie, Clark, Carlock (german), McGowan....its like looking for a Smith, Jones, or James...(which sadly is the last name my family married into 50 years back, otherwise I would be a Martin.) This history lesson and further digression from topic brought to you by a very bored adult.
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie

"MOUSE,n. "Animalistic man-child which strews it's path with fainting woman"....less so these days :)