Ren Faire. It's always best not to describe too much about a Renaissance Faire. Otherwise you run the risk of pitying the people involved, followed by a deep, lingering depression about the state of society. Liz tells a couple of wenches how her leg was fractured in three places, and were it not for the bravery and chivalry of her fine brother, she'd lose her place in the Faire of Renaissance, surely. My mom fractured a finger two months ago and she's still not bending it, so I think that might be a rushed timeline on the bed rest, but I don't have no fancy doctorin' skills. Maybe Liz fixed it Ren Faire style: three leeches and a turkey leg applied fortnightly. Huzzah!
Luke talks to a knave named Henry, who inexplicably laughs whenever people ask him about his beard. He tells Luke the latest gossip o' the land. It seems Haybale Bill got caught in a tent with Annie, the grog girl, who is engaged to the fruit ice guy. This would seemingly mean absolutely nothing to anybody, but they're going to keep this tertiary storyline going through the episode, so I had to write it out. Due to the belligerence of Annie's bethrothed, the grog people are currently enslaving the poor girl in a fort made of kegs. Let's Godspeed to the next scene, shall we?
What ho! The camera just swiveled on its base, keeping us in the land of yore, as Luke applies trinkets of pewter and fairywinkles upon a tree of dreams. Nearby, not-too-young T.J, afflicted with the plague of shattered limbs, calls out to fair Luke, thrashing his jewelry-laying skills left and right. Oh, 'tis a pity, how Luke's new brother-in-law does bandy about instruction, without showing any signs of wanting to improve in his own condition. 'Tis true, what they say, that this husband of Amy does like much discussion around the issue, and not much of the issue. We spend three hourglasses' worth of sand watching Lord Danes offer navigation to a lost, fair maiden, prompting the failed jester T.J. once again to knock our beloved diner proprietor for his lack of Ren-Fairian dialogue, such as which I am thusly demonstrating. Thusly. By the by, I am annoying myself most horribly at this moment, and am wishing the speedy conclusion of this humble play. Zounds! It appears the afflicted has come down with a case of heavy-television, which has sprouted from his groin as he rests in his anachronistic lawn chair. Comedy, dear friends and wenches of the land, ensues. Someone says "Deepak Chopra." Prithee Luke soon leaves this prairie of the loon. Sister Elizabeth unleashes her brother's collar, much to the chagrin of Duke Gimpy. The man of much flannel stomps away to find mead, first absconding the electronic storybook. Exeunt.