For those of you who are like me, living a sad, trivial existence revolving around what sort of pot pie you will be consuming on a particular evening and watching reruns of Remington Steele while masturbating into a napkin, the Renaissance festival is the most exciting event of the entire year. History and fantasy enthusiasts alike crawl out from their black lighted basements to partake in the merry festivities where the air is filled with laughter, the smell of dung, and the ring of cash registers.
Many of those dressing up see the festival as an outlet to express themselves through frilly clothing and horrible British accents. Personally I think it's all a little silly to dress up like a harlot or foppish gay swashbuckler, so instead I show up dressed as a mythical centaur along with my magical bow "Roger", and whenever I see somebody dressed like an elf I scream "WELL MEET FAIR ELF, CAN YOU SHOW ME TO THE NEAREST WATER TROUGH FOR I AM QUITE THIRSTY!!" I doubt you get it because it’s really just an in-joke with festival goers, but sometimes the elf tries to flee after my affront, I have to trot after them and if I can catch up, pummel them underneath my hooves and let out a booming neigh over their broken body. The great thing about the Ren-fest is that you can totally immerse yourself into the spirit of the event, and any murders committed are considered “crimes of passion” because sometimes you can get a little too caught up in all the hoopla and horseplay and strangle a jester with short piece of rope and then stuff his body in the hay tent until his corpse is found next year and put up as a spooky prop. In my eye, jesters are on the same level as mimes, and fair game for Malnok, the centaur guardsman of York
The large motley rabbles of pseudo-historical exhibitionists freely roam the grounds of the fair, losing themselves in the atmosphere of wonder and awe. Indeed most of the festival-goers are fairly ignorant of any real history of the age, and as such think that 14th century England was a cheerful wonderland of dancing and dwarf tossing. There's no mention of war, disease, poverty, and death. Yes, it was a great time for all, even with the infant mortality rate at a healthy 50%, and goblins eating all the May Day pudding. You could walk down the street and be sassed from all directions for not spending money on games like "throw the piglet in the bucket", or watching a knight in his shiny armor seductively eating a corndog before the big joust. But there are many other highlights to the Renaissance as well that are located directly under this paragraph you are currently reading. Use your scroll button you idiot.
These guys have never seen a real vagina.
Nothing is better for getting into the spirit of the Renaissance festival than looking for a parking space for 2 hours and then wading through a sea of blubbery wenches, 90lb nerds in studded leather, and baby carriages filled with bawling feather-capped snotlings just to get to the ticket booth. By the time I actually get inside the festival, I’m ready to go home and hide from the brutal reality of stupid, fat hobbits. Last year I couldn’t find a parking spot on the roped off, never-ending grassy field of cars, so was forced to park near some apartment building with a bunch of other angry folks. After I was all blustery and sweaty from the day’s events, I returned to my car with my arms full of useless tickets only to find that I was taken away by Ye Olde Tow Shoppe, and I was totally screwed, along with all the other fools that shared my fate. In the Renaissance days, stealing a man’s horse would warrant a trip to the King’s gallows, and the victim was even given a complementary hen for their troubles, but now you have to pick up your car for an outrageous fee and then give a hand job to the tow truck owner because you spent all your money at the festival. They call this progress? Also, I think every obese person should be issued a Rascal scooter by the U.S. Government to keep a steady flow of pedestrian traffic.
Spending MoneyThe knights relax after a long day of "jousting".
If you plan to fully enjoy the Renaissance festival experience, I recommend that you mortgage your house and sell your plasma for at least 6 months so you’ll have the necessary funds for your enjoyment. This includes parking, price of admission, food, drinks, and the multitude of homemade crafts that are marked up 300% because they’re made by authentic nerds in a tent. Something funny happens to you once you get to the festival and see all the crap that's for sale, and that 6th ale starts kicking in. I still don't remember buying that huge pewter dragon candle holder that is currently sitting in my basement with socks draped over it, or that $200 dagger that is sitting my junk drawer next to my emergency shoelaces. It has gotten so bad that when my landlord spots me going off to the festival in my centaur outfit, she makes me pay for rent on the spot because she knows I'll be cleaned out by the merry brigands before the day is out. It's no wonder that most of the common citizens of this age were crippled with poverty when a mere sausage costs $3 and a public flogging costs $5. I need to get a piece of this action and learn how to make wooden mugs or some shit.
The one thing that is most abundant at a Renaissance festival is unbridled sass. If there is a history lesson to be learned here is that everybody back must have teased each other mercilessly, probably because there was no TV yet or something. Every hired drama student/sandwich engineer that works at the festival belts out personal insults at the passerby so they feel like they are really living in the Renaissance. I know if I spend $10 to get in, I expect a thorough sassing and will demand a refund unless I get called a "scrawny freckled rapscallion" at least 5 times during the course of the day. Words were harsher in those times, and it toughened your hide so you could withstand arrows and vampire bites. Feelings are for 21st century wimps.
Step 1: Buy soup served in bowl made entirely out of bread.
Step 2: Consume soup.
Step 3. Are you ready for this? EAT THE FUCKING BOWL!
The bread bowl is the greatest invention known to man and the cornerstone of civilization. If I could find a local bakery that made bread bowls, I would never have to do dishes again.Give a Scotsman a blowjob, only $8.
Many think the highlight of the festival is the knights reenacting the most chivalrous sport of the era: jousting. Freud once said that "jousting is a metaphor for men that suffer from extreme penis envy, and have an innate desire to knock other men off horses with their penises." I don't know if I agree, but one thing is for sure, the fake jousting at the festival is really boring. I have a feeling that these guys don't have insurance, and are extremely overcautious when jousting. If you were an insurance company would you have a knight policy to cover these guys whose job is getting knocked off a horse with a large stick all day? So it always ends up with the two knights coming about five feet from each other and then running away. Watching my nephew play the Nintendo game Joust is more exciting than watching a couple clowns on horses just pass each other for an hour.
Some of you may be asking "Hey Frolixo, why do you go to this event every year if you hate it so much? You are a stupid faggot." Well that is a valid point. I must admit that I have the memory of a goldfish and always buy a ticket without remembering what a horrible time I had the year before. Also, I can't stand to have money and will automatically spend all my hard earned savings on any shiny bauble or trinket that happens to strike my fancy. Like I said, all I have in life is watching Pierce Brosnan solve crimes with his confident swagger. The festival is all I have left, and nobody can take it from me. Hopefully I will see you there next year, and please don't run from me. I WILL take you out..
This tuna ain't working, bro, and this gross hot dog needs a one way trip to go live on your uncle's Flavor Farm.
These millennials have no idea how it feels to really work. They would never think about spending all day in the hot sun with their carapace baking and their dung drying out.
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