YOU'RE NEVER TOO OLD TO MAKE A SPECTACLE OF YOURSELF IN PUBLIC.

I will never pass up the opportunity to cause a scene, public or private.  Preferably public.  Give me the chance to sink my canines into the jugular of socially acceptable behavior and I pounce like a feral cat.  Rude, crude, lewd and socially unacceptable is not just a saying to me, it's a freaking motto.  A lifestyle if you will.  Oh, come on, you know what I'm capable of!!!

Last weekend I was given a glorious opportunity to shine and I went for that bait like a hungry shark.  Good friends were throwing another of their wonderful theme parties and this one had my name written ALL over it.  They threw a Medieval Banquet based on The Age of Chivalry and said come dressed appropriately.  Of course, I did.  I dug out one of my old Renaissance Faire costumes from the storage locker and spent two weeks shopping at Hobby Lobby to get all of the accessories that I needed to make it just right.  You know, you just can't have enough velvet ribbons and feathers, can you???  Let alone rabbit fur wrapped boots and tights.  And an onion (Plague, don't you know) and a large wooden spoon (useful for both eating and disciplining the occasionally unruly Pope or surly peasant).  Let me tell you, that spoon came in REALLY handy since I was seated at the head table next to a rather annoying Pope.  I hope he still has a couple of welts on his miter.

Anyway, half way through this fiasco we were divided up into teams, given a bag of stuff and told to go create our family crests.  Luckily, my team was fun.  One was dressed as the Evil Queen from Snow White, complete with apple and another one had a purse full of pot.  Fifteen minutes later, down in the basement I have somehow managed to damn near permanently adhere myself to a counter with a hot glue gun, sear off a couple of my finger prints and get drunk as hell on homemade mead.  Yeah, surprise, huh???  By this time one of my other Renaissance Faire personalities has bubbled to the surface:  Dirty Peter, The Rat Peddler.  Trust me, he's horrid and needs to be beheaded.  Or at the very least whipped into some some sort of silence.   Needless to say, the Evil Queen and I joined forces and soon our family crest was laden (overrun???) with rats and bleeding onions.  I LOVE that queen!!!

So, back upstairs, in between the smoked salmon and meat course we are suddenly obliged to explain our family crests.  Keep in mind, I'm wildly up to my tights in mead at this point and am starting to have out of body experiences.  Which, btw, was all the better because the Pope was starting to wear on my nerves.  And his miter was starting to look a bit tattered at that point, thanks to my trusty spoon.  So, I am urged to hall myself upright.  So, there I am, teetering on a chair, flagon of mead in what was left of my fingers and launch into my rant.  Lord, I am amazed at how easily I can blow smoke at mirrors out of my ass at a moments notice.  Ah, yes, the Noble House of Peter.  A fine family, an old line family of rat  peddlers.  Yes, we introduced rat in a cup, rat on a rope and rat on a stick.  For the privileged few with a PayPal account we even offer the availability of the Rat Of The Month Club.  Only two pieces of gold a month.  With automatic renewable monthly billing.  What can I say, we're literally up to our ankles in the little fuckers!!!  Yes indeed you can trust the House of Peter!  We're all about family.  Cause nothing is more fun than a house full of Peters!!!  HUZZAH!!!   At this point Dirty Peter seizes what is left of my brain and I decide to introduce my family.  My lovely wife, Iswalla...Peter.  And our charming conjoined triplet daughters, Ineeda, Iwanta and Icrava... Peter.  The Pope blanched.  And I struck him once more.  Ladies in waiting courtsied and counts bowed.  I have no idea why.  Perhaps because I was finally done and the rambling was over.  My family just threw bread at me and wished a pox to descend upon the head of the Noble House of Peter.  omg, who the hell wants a Peter with a pox on it???

Then as we sup'd on sweets to clear our palettes we were summoned to sing before her Majesty, Queen Iris.  Of course by this point the entire House of Peter is up to their eyeballs in mead and decides to to do some Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons.  Do-wop style.  We won!!!  Thank god for alcohol!!! 

Now, the kicker to this cluster is that I was actually named King of the Festival.  Lord, talk about a rigged election.!!!  But the crown is FAGULOUS!!!  But I did get the opportunity to decide next years theme:  "Spy vs Spy".  Luckily, I'm good with explosives...  I wonder if Hobby Lobby has detonator cord???