unfair part 2

Larry loved being the king of the San Bernardino County Renaissance Pleasure Faire and had worked hard to be a benevolent ruler. He made sure that the vassals and wenches were all keeping their food vending services within the county health code regulations but he wasn’t a dick about it. The real secret behind his popularity with his subjects was his passion for the fifteenth century. He could tell you more about the affairs of England in the 1400’s than he could about Southern California in 2009. The present was for him a drab and dreary affair. His brother Reggie was a programer for Microsoft and considered Larry’s luddite ways not just a quirky idiosyncrasy but rather a deep denial mechanism for avoiding certain unpleasant facts about himself and his life.
Reggie would call his brother and goad him.

"Guess where I am?" would begin a typical call.
"I have no idea." 
"I’m at J.P.L. They’re building the new Mars explorer and they needed me to help design navigation software for the advanced robotics. I’m calling on a cellphone that records six hours of video. I can email it to you."
"Reggie, I do not email."
"I know, you chainmaille." Reggie paused to laugh at his own joke.  "How’s the fair shaping up this year?"
"Good. Look, I gotta go. Some of my subjects are here. We’re working on a catapult."

And indeed he was. In his back yard, in his home in the suburb of Willow Creek Estates stood a thirty foot high catapult that he and his friends were building for the fair. There had been angry letters from the home owners association before. He could not leave cauldrons in his driveway. He was forbidden to leave burning torches unattended in the wrought iron sconces by his door. His petition to build a turret on the side of his home had been rejected because the board did not feel it would fit in with the overall Spanish Colonial theme of the neighborhood.  His neighbors had grown weary of him and when the giant scoop of the catapult first appeared, looming over his roof line, they were on it in an instant. 

His daughter, Carla had gotten the worst of it outside the Glamour Shots at the Willow Creek Shoppes of Distinction. Their neighbor Inpyo Hong flew into a rage at the sight of her brocaded and embroidered handbag depicting Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights.

"You tell your father to tear that shit down or I’ll get the city council on his ass."
"It will be gone in two months, Mr. Hong. Can’t you just mellow out?"
"Two months!? I’m having a family reunion in three weeks. My family’s flying in from Osaka. How am I going to explain that to them? There’s a fucking catapult casting a shadow over my pool. I want it gone!" Mr. Hong stormed back inside Glamour Shots to finish a photo shoot with a toddler dolled up by her mother to resemble a slightly desperate thirty year old temp worker on a Royal Caribbean Cruise.

Larry’s troubles weren’t limited to his antagonistic brother or the esthetic fascists who comprised his neighbors. These were mere annoyances compared to the awesome destructive power of super magician Criss Angel. Larry, being completely disassociated from all things 2009 had no idea who Criss Angel was. He had not seen his interviews on Larry King. He knew nothing about his juggernaut show "Believe" in Las Vegas. He was unaware of the playboy playmate girlfriends and the runaway success of his television show "Mindfreak." But he was on a collision course with the man himself.

In the rented offices above the Ladera Lane Curves, Larry and his staff ran the organization known as Elizabethan Amusements, LLC. This was the nerve center of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire and aside from the actual six weeks of the fair it was Larry’s favorite place to be. He was in the middle of a training seminar with some new hires. He was instructing them in the correct usage of the informal form of "thou." It wasn’t going well. The new hires, kitchen staff for the food vending service, understood the concept of "Tu" and "Usted" quite well but they didn’t have a good grasp on "You" so throwing another form of address at them wasn’t helping. Darlene burst into the session holding the dreaded "cordless phone."

"Larry, you’ve got a call-"
"My good lady, can thou not useth the informal with me, thine dearest friend?"
"It’s Bob Gunderman from the fairgrounds. He said it was urgent."

Larry retreated to his office to take the call. Sitting on his throne he listened as Bob delivered the news.

"No, it’s not that you guys have been any trouble at all. It’s just that they’re going to have a much bigger draw and that translates into a huge profit for us on parking. You all average maybe three hundred cars a night. That’s fine but Criss Angel… We’re talking twenty thousand cars, easily. Per night."
Larry could not believe what he was hearing. "So that’s it? You’re just kicking us out? We’ve held the Renaissance Pleasure Faire on your fairgrounds every spring for almost thirty five years."
"I love you guys. You’re reliable but let’s be honest here. The crowds have been getting smaller every year since the nineties, you don’t have the budget for television ads anymore and frankly you’re starting to attract a weird element."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know – it’s a mix of Inland Empire trash and the kids with all the metal in their face. I’m honestly impressed you haven’t had anyone turn up dead in the parking lot."
"Bob, that is not fair. Where am I supposed to go?"
"There are plenty of smaller venues. Maybe a state park? Something more appropriate for a small, niche attraction like yours. Look, I’d love to renew your lease for next year, but they’ve put a deposit down and have guaranteed a sold-out parking lot every night."

Larry slammed down the phone. Enrique, one of the new hires, timidly approached the door to Larry’s office or sanctum sanctorium as he liked to call it. 

"My eh-lord, I fill out my W-4 for thou."