SAMUEL PEPYS
Special to the Lampoon
‘Twas a Wednesday eve like any other, save that it marked, for many, the beginning of the Fredonia Festival — a tradition whereby the inhabitants of the small hamlet which bears the same name imbibe to excess, wear “tie dye,” and conduct the ceremonial blocking of the roadways. Through some means I do not recall, I had heard tell of small party of kings and queens who would be holding court in the ale house known as “Sunny’s” that evening.
So, possessed by a great thirst for ale and good company, I joined the throng of revelers there in the dimly lit ballroom. No king or queen could I see there, and when I inquired to the barkeep as to their whereabouts, my gaze was directed to the back of the room, where a vision in white was taking the stage, accompanied by a host of lesser angels who did dance most curiously around her.
As quickly as it had begun, the performance ended, and the figure, whom I can only assume was the queen, was lost in the crowd. There was ample time until the next royal would take the stage, the barkeep informed me. I thanked him and purchased straightaway a meager beakerful of frothy ale in a cup of such feeble constitution that I feared it would crumple in my hands.
This I downed before promptly ordering another. In this manner I continued for some time, and I will admit to having felt the ill effects ale has on one’s head by the time the king made his appearance. And Lord! What fine garments did adorn him, and of such fine material as to shine with the light of all the firmament’s stars! Like the queen before him, the king was accompanied by a host of similarly clad persons — though far surpassed in finery by the attire of the king.
After some time, I did endeavor to make my way to the chamberpot, where I found myself baffled by an inscrutable inscription etched above the door: “Outies.” Puzzled by this, I conducted my business lost in thought and emerged some moments later none the wiser.