Every few months, I get the bug to surround myself with people who say things like "Huzzah!" and address me as, "Young master." Around these times, I know I can find a decent renaissance faire, just as a junkie will find a dealer no matter what town he moves to in order to start his life over. However, in this highly populated area that I’m living in, stinking with geeks for its snobby masses to oppress and ridicule until they need tech support for their c’yeeeeeeell phone, the nearest chance I’ll have to cosplay it up is a five hour dinner in January. Which sounds like it will be awesome. But still, I need more than this distant, kick ass crap.

Any members of the SCA, lend me your wallets, and then tell me if you had good times and were surrounded by huge bosoms. This is looking really sexy, but I have only heard little murmurs that the group is fun on top of a few weeping shouts that it’s bureaucracy for theatrical gays. I could run naked through some suburban woods chatting up squirrels about how the solstice is going…

…yeah, let’s make that happen, OR: I could start a LARP group, start recruiting at the local Dairy Queen, and slowly yet surely usurp Kindergarten Cop as the King of Kahleefornya with my virgin army.

Meh, so lazy… getting tired just thinking about dealing with greasy people whining about "their" stats… must avoid having to hug fat manchild after he gets hit with a styrofoam sword too hard… just gonna join the SCA… In the meantime, there’s going to be either sexy or hilarious Morris dancers at a unitarian church on Saturday, and I’m going to be there. This is why I’m hawt.

Further adventures shall be documented with the cheapest, least skin pore revealing digital camera I can find in the trunk of my car. Good morrow, saucy plebs.