KINGS AND QUEENS! Maidens and wizards! Knights and ladies! Busty wenches! Welcomme to the verie firste King Kevin's Renaissance Faire, held in this, the year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Fifteene, in my backyarde.
As some mighte recalle, there was a matter of somme dispute at last midsommer's Troutdale Renaissance Faire, when allegations were madeth regarding mine personal habits, which maye or maye notte have involved soliciting busty wenches for hand-jobbes near the porta-potties.
Such rumores were moste untrue, of course—I doth swear it! Alas, Troutdale's rulers and their dastardly sellswords in the Troutdale Police Department forever banished me from their enchanted land, thus forcing me to arrange mine own renaissance faire here, in my backyarde, provideth said faire doth endeth no later than 10 pm, so as not to incur the wrath of neighboring kingdoms.
Even Merlin himself wouldst be bewitched at the varietie of activities I hath made available! Beholde the Range of Archery, set to test any brigand's skill—so longe as said brigand supplie his own weaponnes of Nerfe! Loosen thy inhibitions by tipping back a flagon of Olde English ale at Lancelot's Tavern, which ye shall finde at the card table nexte to the garage! Then removeth thy constricting garments and taketh a dip in the Lake of Avalon, painstakinglie created from a poole of wading I purchased for a faire amount of golde at True Value! Hark! Who doth be that handsome man who doth crosse the parade grounds? Why, 'tis I, King Kevin, frollicking with his beloved common folke!
Please noteth that due to allegede eventes in the moste distant past, and due to wise counsel from a moste loyal barrister, there are no porta-potties at King Kevin's Renaissance Faire. Insteade, both royal and commone folke are welcomme to useth the king's own chamber potte, located just inside the castle, past the kitchenne. Busty wenches may note that the king's luxurious waterbed doth lie but a few short steps awaye!
So go forthe! Be merrie! Also, whilst it paines me to even have to maketh such an announcemente, I muste aske whatever scoundrel wrote "King Kevin Sucketh" on the garage to banish thyselves. That is notte coole.