This one time, at faire camp...

[Mouse]

I want to see how prophetic Fraser is:

"This one time at Faire, we got royally toasted and rocked the deck, similar in fashion to the scene in "Pirates of the Carribean", until it collapsed.  A mass exodus of frightened 'danes screaming as they scurried into the lane, wide eyed and gawking as we brought the inn down around us.  We mostly escaped with our lives, Bonnie never spilled a drop of mead, Fraser successfully executed a duck and roll, landing on his feet in the crowd of 'danes, like he had been there the whole time.  Yeah, you should have been there (o:"

[KiltedPrivateer]

I want to see how prophetic Fraser is:

"This one time at Faire, we got royally toasted and rocked the deck, similar in fashion to the scene in "Pirates of the Carribean", until it collapsed.  A mass exodus of frightened 'danes screaming as they scurried into the lane, wide eyed and gawking as we brought the inn down around us.  We mostly escaped with our lives, Bonnie never spilled a drop of mead, Fraser successfully executed a duck and roll, landing on his feet in the crowd of 'danes, like he had been there the whole time.  Yeah, you should have been there (o:"

You realize this was hypothetical/imaginary post based on the post above it in the forum from which is was pulled from, right?

[Mouse]

Hence the inclusion of the disclaimer and the usage of prophetic...

[Bonny Pearl]

Yes this will be the greatest tale that never was 

[Mouse]

I have one story...yet it happened about a decade ago and I've never told it outside of my main faire-going group..and having read all your stories..I am sure I shall never tell it....This year, I hope to experience something noteworthy....oh do I.

[Breandan]

Okay, you asked for it, but remember- this tale is named the Port-a-Potty Of Doom for a reason, so be ye fairly warned...

We arrived at the participants entrance late one Friday night on opening weekend back in '94, only to find our passes had not been left for us, and the rather surly ogre- spawned not from the shallow end of the gene pool, but from its splashings on the edge- at the back gate informed us in a chewing-tobacco-spittle-laced tirade to remove ourselves from his presence, that we would not be allowed to leave a driver's license behind and send one of our members to retrieve the passes, and that we had best be on our way before he got angry. I am glad to say that said individual was never seen again on faire grounds, as he had the manners of a boor and the hygiene of a rabid fecalpheliac baboon. That rant aside, we were forced to find alternate lodging in Patrons.

Now, we we were tired, had endured another of our epic trips up from Corpus Christi- this one involving a hypervelocity sleep-deprivation-spawned mouse (which is another story entirely), and a plastic bag of death (which is yet another story that would get us locked up in a padded room wearing hug-me jackets)- so, we parked at the first available spot and dumped our sleeping bags onto our tarp on the ground, no tent. Along the way up, however, we had stopped at a truck stop that shall remain nameless (however, tis on 59 between Victoria and Sugarland) where we had foolishly eaten some of the local cuisine. My brother being the more daring, had three breakfast taquitos and a corn dog to my cheeseburger, and had- as one might expect- been visited by the food poisoning fairy.

As luck would have it, our journey had ended with our encampment being a stone's throw from a port-a-potty, which Marty made prolific and copious use of throughout the evening. I shall spare the audience the details of the noises that emerged from said tabernacle-of-excretion except to say that at some point I swear it sounded like an octopus trying to wrestle with a bobcat in a tub filled with jello and whoopie cushions. I covered my head and tried to sleep. Alas, twas not to be. At around 0330, some poor soul- besotted out of his mind by pre-opening ritual binge-drinking- chose to use that particular port-a-potty. In my half-asleep state, I heard the creaky springs of the door as it opened, the slam of the door shutting... and a sudden and quite loud scream of "OH MY GOD!!!!", promptly followed by the sounds of the door being thrown open and someone running and retching simultaneously. Marty did not wake to this, which proved to be his downfall the next morn.

Dawn woke us with it's demonic sadistic little fingers of light stabbing through our eyelids. When we could suffer the noise of the horde of hangovers-on-feet crawling out of their tents and moaning like the damned, and the stabbing of the Day Star's daggers of light crowbarred our brains awake, we arose. Marty stumbled to the port-a-potty and opened the door, stepped in, and literally fell backwards out of it and crab-crawled away from it so fast my drill sergeants at Fort Benning would've wept with pride. He got back to the camp, shaken and somewhat green of tinge, and asked me what the hell happened in there. I pointed at his backside and said "You unleashed the seventh, eighth, ninth, and the unexplored, undiscovered TENTH levels of hell, followed by a legion of shyte demons from Tarterus out of your backside, defiling the heretofore undefilable, and couldn't even give humanity the decency of a courtesy flush since it was a portajohn. The CDC is on it's way to declare your arse a superfund biohazard site and begin cleanup."

I had no sooner finished chastising my younger brother than another poor soul walked into the port-a-potty. Like knowing bystanders who had seen a bomb in a building, we rushed towards the doomed man yelling "NO! DON'T GO IN THERE!"... alas, too late. With results identical to the night before, including the appeal to a higher power at the top of his lungs, the man stumbled from the port-a-potty gagging and running for the treeline by the train tracks, though whether to finish his business in communion with nature, or throw himself onto the tracks in the hopes of a merciful demise that would erase what he had just witnessed with all of his senses I know not. We tacked a note on the door labeling it the "Port-a-Potty Of Doom! Do Not Enter!" and left for the back gate, where we found our passes waiting (finally), and entered, holding to plausible deniability of any further events involving the portal to Golgoth we left behind.

[Autumn Blaize]

Breandan your stories are really making the passing time til faire enjoyable! 

[maeven]

That's insane, B! lol...

[Mouse]

And much credit to his lineage, the stories get better with every telling. I wonder how vaulted story tellers are in Ireland and if they still merit free room and board for a good story....

[az]

Breandan. i was laughing so hard i had tears in my eyes.

[Breandan]

I had an interesting one happen this weekend, but... well, it's very adult, and involves some elements some folks will find offensive, so I cannot share, alas. I CAN say that the stories continue to pile up

[Laird Fraser of Lovatt]

I had an interesting one happen this weekend, but... well, it's very adult, and involves some elements some folks will find offensive, so I cannot share, alas. I CAN say that the stories continue to pile up

Hmmmm... you had "Breandan" kind of fun, eh?