Well. You don't dare show your face at the faire again. You feel a fool. You got drunk on that fine mead and you can't even remember much. You feel very sad. The place closes down seven weeks later to make way for that big glass glittering OFTL recreational center rich members only. Credit checks at the door. Your taxes went up an extra couple hundred a year to help pay for it. Your not allowed in though. Your favorite band, "the Combines of Virgin Mule vomit" is killed in a massive hippy van pile up. Oh yeah, and all your pubic hair has fallen away never to return and you don't know why.