Every year, at TRF, as the season draws to an end, the performers throw a party. The name has changed over the years. It used to be called "Bad Culture Night." After several of the skits went a bit overboard, it was necessary to tweak the event a bit, and change the name. It's now known as "Naked Jester."

The various players all perform skits and songs, virtually all of them bawdy, satirizing the events and people of that year's festival.

Two years ago, though I'm not strictly a cast member, (in that I don't get paid by the faire) I wrote this skit for the event.

I only steal from the best. The style of the skit was lifted straight from Moliere, the greatest French comedic satirist and playwright. It contains some inside jokes that won't make sense unless you know the faire and the cst quite well, but in that, it resembles Shakespeare and Aristophanes. Most all good satire contains references to contemporaneous events and personages that don't age well.

Nurse Bonocorpo - D'Orafus' Assistant

Lord Wigglesworth - Courtier/Fop

Guardsmen to Wigglesworth (2)

Rex - D'Orafus' Labrador Retreiver

Puss 'n Boots - D'Orafus' Pussy Cat

Barbarians (2) Aides to D'Orafus

The Worm

Aah, there you are, my lovely Queen? We present to you these bawdy scenes. T'is in honor of your Silver Masque, We have taken up this task. We too, must slay a dire beast. An evil one who's name is legion, from a dank and noisome region. We therefore hope to earn a Queenly bus... Presenting "As The Worm Turns," by Yours Truly, Hippocratus T. D'Orafus

Enter Nurse Bonocorpo, a very sexy Italian nurse

Bon: Bonjourno, Dottore.

Dr. D: And how are your humours this day, BonoCorpo?

Bon: Perhaps the good doctor should see for himself... hmm?

(The Dr. reaches under B.'s skirt, feel around a bit. The nurse reacts appropriately.)

Dr: Both the warm, and moist humours most advantageously mixed, dear nurse. I predict a MOST pleasurable day. But first, to work. How stands the patient roster?

Dr: (aside to audience) The women all call me Doctor, 'cause I make 'em feel so good!

Bon: (likewise to the audience) The men all just CALL me, honey.

Bon: Lord Wigglesworth is in, complaining of an unusual ailment.

Dr: Oh, WIGGLESWORTH? (Shimmies) This should be interesting. Do bring him in.

(Releases her with a final squeeze)

(Enter Wigglesworth, a foppish, nelly, nobleman, in a veritable eruption of distress, almost in tears...)

Wig: Dear Doctor D'Orafus, you simply MUST help me! I am completely on my last nerve, I don't know what else to do!

Dr: There, there, good man. Tell me your problem.

Wig: For the last few weeks, though I eat and eat and eat, like a very PIG, I am forever famished! I am losing weight, LOOK at me, all this beauty simply melting away... (bawling)... And the worse thing is, I have this UNBEARABLE itching in my nether regions...

(As if to emphasize it, he begins to scratch his ass QUITE deeply)

Dr: UmmHmmm... well, first, we must perform an examination... Nurse!

(D'Orafus and Bonocorpo proceed to quickly perform a cursory examination of the patient, in the process stripping him of all his valuables, rings, jewelry, pouch, etc. They work smoothly and as a team, evidently well-practiced. Bonocorpo is quite useful at using peeks of her charms to distract Wigglesworth...)

Dr: I begin to see your problem, dear Lord, but we must be thorough... Nurse - bring out the Endoscope!

Bon: The Endoscope!

Wig: The "Endoscope???"

(D'Orafus rolls Wigglesworth over, facedown on the exam table, as Bonocorpo goes to the bag and removes the Endoscope. It is a helmet with a long phallus projecting from the forehead, with a large glass eye on the business end. Two half-coconuts are attached in front of the helmet over the eyes, giving the overall appearance of two testicles hanging below the phallic projection.)

Wig: Oh, my!!

(D'Orafus dons the mask. It is clear that he is totally blind with it on. Bonocorpo further positions Wigglesworth on the table, pulls down his tights and spreads his legs. She then leads D'Orafus and directs the end of the endoscope to Wigglesworths' ass, who squeals appropriately)

Dr: Now, nurse, turn it on.

(Bonocorpus begins to stroke and lick the Endoscope)

Dr: No, the light, woman!

(she flicks it on...)

Dr: I see, ummm, interesting... 'tis difficult to tell with all the obstructions here...

(D'Orafus reaches down and removes, in no particular order, a used condom, a dead rat, and a small twig doll that looks like one of the Blair Witch dolls, save that this one has on the hat of a court lady, name to be detirmined later)

Dr: Ah, I can now see the problem...

(Removes the Endoscope, and tosses it down...)

Dr: I am sorry to tell you this, but you have a tapeworm, my good man.

Wig: A tapeworm? A TAPEWORM! Impossible! That is such a low-class ailment! A PEASANT problem! I demand a second opinion!

Dr: Nurse?

Bon: It's a tapeworm, indeed. (Nodding)

Dr: See?

Wig: I demand a further opinion!

Dr: (sighs) Very well. Nurse, call Puss 'N Boots and The Royal Retriever.

Bon: Puss 'N Boots! Rex!

(Enter Puss 'N Boots, a slinky sexy, feline,and the Royal Retriver, a big, happy doofus of a dog. D'Orafus points to Wigglesworth, who is now standing. PNB slinks over and and begins to sniff and lick all over the patient. After a time, she works his way over to his ass. Then with a sharp reaction, perhaps a sneeze and a few spits, she ends the exam. PNB walks over to D'Orafus, entwines herself around him, and meows in his ear...)

PNB: Wooorrm! Wooorrmm!

(D'Orafus reaches into his pouch, and hands PNB a treat, which she licks off his fingers, then exits...)

Wig: Bah! What does a mere pussy know of things medical!

Dr: Rex!

(He grabs the dog, who has been sniffing and trying to dry-hump Bonocorpo, and points him to Wigglesworth. In a similar, but much more sloppy, doggy, manner, he examines Wigglesworth, then gallumphs over to Bonocorpo.)

Ret: Woorrmfff! Woorrmfff! (trying again to hump her leg)

Dr: There you see.

Wig: (crestfallen) Oh, dear me, what can I do?

Dr: Fear not, I do know just the remedy for your malady. Many of the nobles have been afflicted recently.

Wig: (brightens) Really?

Dr: Yes, indeed. It seems that many of those dining at the Feast Hall of late have been afflicted. It would seem that in their haste to serve, some of the pork dishes were too rarely cooked. My good Lord, you have been porked by the pork!

Wig: Well, the cure, doctor, the cure!

Dr: Tis quite simple. Each day, for the next seven days, after each meal, three times a day, take a hardboiled egg, and then a chocolate chip cookie, and put them up your ass.

Wig: WHAAT!

Dr: You did hear me correctly. One hard-boiled egg, one chocolate chip cookie. Up the ass. Then return to my office for the rest of the cure.

Wig: Oh dear me. But Doctor's orders, I do guess. (Turns to leave.)

Dr: Oh, my Lord (reaches into his bag to produce a bill) There is the matter of my charges. 400 pounds, to be exact.

Wig: 400 Pounds! For an office visit! Prepostorous!

Dr: Quite reasonable, actually. The office visist was in fact, free, but it 'twas 200 for the Cat Scan, and 200 for the Lab Test!

Wig: (takes the bill, grumbles and exit)

Seven days go crawling past, Pity the patient's tender ass! Twenty one orbs the hen has laid, Twenty one treats the baker made, One by one, Into his bum, A cramming they did go...

Wig: (in the background) OOOH!

Wig: Doctor D'Orafus! I have faithfully, PAINFULLY, followed your prescription, and have only gotten worse! I continue to waste away, I am ravenous with hunger, and my poor arse is on fire, though it is packed with more eggs than a henhouse! I will have you arrested for malpractice!

(The Guardsmen seize the doctor)

Bon: Oh boys! (snaps her fingers)

(Enter the Barbarians. In addition to their barbarian finery, they wear small white nurses caps. They each walk up to a Guardsman, and emit a fierce growl. The cowering guards quickly release the doctor, and make a hurried exit.)

Dr: Please, please, relax, good Lord. As I did say, your cure is at hand.

(He reaches into his bag, pulling out an enormous leek, and a hard-boiled egg the size of an ostrich egg.)

Dr: Prepare the patient.

(The Barbarians, and Bonocorpo sieze Wigglesworth, and restrain him, facedown and again spread-eagled on the examination table. Bonocorpo pulls down his tights.)

Wig: Oh Dear God, NOOOO!

(D'Orafus shoves the egg up Wigglesworth)

Dr: Steady, boys!

(What follows is the climactic moment of the skit. After a few moments, something strange begins to happen to the patient. A look comes over his face. He groans. Then, with ever-increasing frequency, his limbs begin to shake, his hips buck up and down, and waves of shimmies convulse his body. Then finally, he emits a might burst of flatulence - which is the cue for the worm, who pops his head out, looks quickly about in all directions, turns to D'Orafus, and says...)

The Worm: Hey, where's my COOKIE? (The worm has the Face, Beard, and Hat of King Henry, and the Voice of Cartman from South Park)

(Both Barbarians swing their clubs and miss, but D'Orafus manages to stun the worm with his leek, and grab the Worm about the neck. What ensues is a 15-20 second tug of war between the Worm and the Doctor, with the other players assisting. The Worm curses, screams, and mocks them all at once, as the others yell back at each other)

All of the following lines are uttered in one mighty Brawl:

The Worm: I want my cookie, and I want it nyow! Fuck you, leave me alone, it's a good gig I've got here! OWWW!!!, you're killing me! This sucks ass! Don't you know who I am? Get away from hyeah! You were late! You'll never get me! I am the mighty King!

Dr: Oh, NO! Tis the Royal Worm, the mightiest parasite in the body politic. Tis never before been dislodged in the history of the state. Woe is us!

(The Barbarians and Bonocorpo generally scream and grunt and growl, as their character befits)

(Finally, the Worm makes a last desperate pull back, pulling the Doctor's arm all the way back into Wigglesworth up to the shoulder, his face hitting him in the ass. The effect on Wigglesworth is, to say the least, electric. )

Dr: Help me, boys!

(As Bonocorpo holds Wigglesworth down, near the head of the exam table, the barbarians physically lift the Doctor, and begin to pull - after one last mighty tug, accompanied by sreams form both Wigglesworth and the Worm, they manage to pull the entire 10 foot length of the worm, and with repeated blows of club and ax, kill it. D'Orafus brandishes it in triumph)

Dr: Victory! The Evil worm is dead! Long live the King!

THE END

And now our lowly skit is done, The beast is slain, the battle won. The mighty beast has been defeated, The parasite has been... unseated. If our skit did cause A laugh or smile Do but applaud A little while. And did you like it NOT, Here's what to do,

(Entire Company)

LINE UP! WE'VE GOT AN EGG FOR YOU!

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I was having dinner at the restaurant where CG works a few days ago. About the middle of our meal, my subconscious pulls me away from my blackened tuna, crabcakes, creole veggies and salad to bring to my attention a conversation, err, monologue, going on at the table behind me. A deep male voice is intoning is sort of a rapid sing-song rhythm. I can only make out snippets, as it's not that loud.

"Unless by the name of Jesus... It's his promise to us... it says in his word..."

This goes on for a bit. I hear a matronly female voice adding an ocassional murmur of assent. I'm thinking to my self this guy's not too scintillating a dinner conversationalist, if he has to resort to reading born-again tracts to his friends.

But then I hear a young male voice making uncomfortable replies. like "Yes sir, I am a Christian..."

Finally, I turn around to see just what the hell is going on.

This guy is preaching to the waiter! His waiter, our waiter. Who is standing there, shifting from foot to foot, obviously unable to think of a decent way to get out of this, so he can get along with his job.

I suppose in theory I don't have a problem with people espousing their religious beliefs to others, free speech and the freedom to be an obnoxious wacko loon being part and parcel of our dear constitutional rights that I once swore to defend until death, if need be, an oath I took (and take) seriously.

But there's a right and a wrong way to go about things, and snaggin' a server on a busy weekend afternoon at his work, when he's got other folks to wait on, and he's clearly not in a position to tell your Bible-beating dumb ass to go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut were he of a mind to, without getting at the very least, stiffed on the tip, if not complained on to the management, is clearly not the right way to go.

I listened to this old man drone on. He was dressed severely in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, tall and gaunt, looking for all the world like an undertaker. His plump little Hallelujah chorus of a wife was all spiffy in her flowered dress and poofed-up, welded into a helmet hair. I listened until, as Popeye is wont to say, "That's all I can stands, and I can't stands no more."

Meanwhile, CG, who'd been blathering on her own self about something I don't recall (like the Connecticutt Yankee's Sandy, she can motor on solo until further notice) notices the storm clouds gathering on my face, snaps to what's happening, and reaches across the table to take my hand.

"Marcus, don't you say a thing!"

She knows me, and didn't want a scene at her job.

"All I was gonna do was turn around and tell him when he got done with that poor trapped kid, he could start in on me, 'cause I garan-goddam-tee I am the Devil Fucking Incarnate compared to that little itty-bitty baby sinner of a waiter, I've logged more hours drunk in whorehouses than that kid has in school, and maybe he'd like to debate theology with someone who's not a captive audience. I chew up Jesuits and pick my freakin' teeth with their bones. "

As that sentence went on, I tried to gradually up the volume to the point where old Ichabod behind me might could hear.

"Don't you dare."

(sigh)

Thankfully, about then, the impromtu sermon ended, and the couple left, no doubt congratulating themselves on having struck another blow for the Good and Righteous and earning a higher place in heaven. The kid ran around catching up on his tea glass refilling, etc., and finally made it back over to our table.

I told him he had a lot more patience than I did. He just shrugged and said the guy was a weirdo, and that they didn't tip worth a shit anyway.

This has got to be the sort of thing that drives my less insane Xian friends like Macker crazy. It screws it up for the more subtle, set the good Xian example method of conversion.

I guess that's the sort of overweening certainty you get when you've convinced yourself that you've got a T1 to the Truth soldered into your soul.

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One of my favorite dubbers, the one and only marya, was heard to say today:

"Moderation in everything, including moderation."

She'd gone out the night before and had a little more to drink than is her usual practice. :-)

What a great axiom.

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