Posted by Anonymous on June 25, 2001 at 12:51:22:
In Reply to: RatFest 2001 Win a trip to RatFest SOB Story... posted by Skotrat on June 24, 2001 at 08:49:43:
KIND SIR, HEAR MY PLEA!
I am a proud man, and not used to begging, you should know that above all.
Yet as even a strong man can be forced to his knees, toppled like an oak tree in a mighty wind, reduced to tears, sobbing like a small child, I am before you today, humbled, broken. My plea is a simple one. I must go to RatFest or I will die. It is just that simple.
Now one might ask, "Why so desperate a plea, surely the sun will rise in the east if you do not go to RatFest?"
And yes, so it might be so... For another man.
"But, pray, what could be so important about a weekend's carousing among a bunch of drunks, surely you could find that in any low tavern of the town!"
But if I must explain to you the relentless imperative that draws me, summons me with the force of an implacable glacier that will not be denied, then surely you would not understand; for certainly, it is clear, you cannot be a Rat. For a Rat would understand that RatFest is the drawing together of a brotherhood, a merry band, most ancient and honorable in their heritage, most sublime and mystic in their purpose.
For the brotherhood of Rats celebrates the power and glory of the malt, the hops, the mysteries of the yeast, and the purity of the earth's good waters.
We are a band of mendicant friars whose mission on earth is to bring joy and pleasure to others who imbibe the true spirit of the grain and hops and yeast. And if, in so doing we bring pleasure to ourselves, it is but small reward for the work we do to give a dreary world a modicum of joy, of hope and wonder.
For it would be a sad world indeed were there no beer in it, a world of gray and charcoal, of ash and despair. Good fresh beer and the joy that it brings is our mission in life, and so we meet, once every year when the condition of the moon is just so, the stars aligned in the heavens so that the cusp of the cosmos is most favorable. Then and only then can the magic of this most worthy brotherhood come to fruition, Then can we be brought together for the renewal and quickening that sustains us all the year through.
Would you deny a flower the gift of water and sunlight? Would you keep a babe from his mother's breast? Would you deny a young maiden the love of a handsome young man? For surely all of them would wither and die, unfulfilled, alone and in sorrow so black the angels would weep to hear of it.
Such is the case of a True Rat denied the collegiality of his Brother Rats, his brethren in beer at the time of the great conjunction we call RatFest, RatStock, the Congress of the Company of the Brothers in Beer.
And I, a poor wretch, through no fault of my own lack the coin of the realm to make this journey, this pilgrimage of renewal.
For I have used all my meagre savings to pay the demands of the heartless money changers, the eaters of souls in rich clothing who monthly send me their ever-higher demands for my few silver pennies. For I am a man and a man must clothe his children, provide a roof for his spouse who has borne him sons and daughters. He must see to their needs for food and drink, and give what alms he can to those even worse off than himself.
And thus, at the end of the day, when there is nothing left in his purse, not even the smallest brass, he lays himself down in his bed of weariness and says to himself, tomorrow is another day, perhaps we may lay a mite aside for the trip then. But the days pile up, one upon another and there is never a silver penny for the trip, which ever closer comes.
And then the day comes, and there is nought in the purse for the journey.
"I am a poor wayfaring stranger, wandering through this world of woe, and there is no sickness, toil or danger in that good land where I go..."
So sadly sings the harper, and I rend my garments, rub ashes into my face, pull out my hair and gnash my teeth to know that without the succor and aid of a kindly benefactor, I shall not see that good land. Shall I be doomed to wander the heedless desert wilderness until the pitiless sun burns out my eyes, and despair and sorrow at last set madness upon me to grant surcease to my torments of mind, body and spirit?
For my own part, as a beggard, I bow before you with open heart and outstretched bowl. Kind, fortunate stranger can you not find it within your most gracious heart to spare a poor wanderer a coin, even the smallest of coins so he can make this journey so magik? You have heard my tale of woe with great patience and courtesy, and I know one as fine as yourself will not turn me away, to walk the highways, trafficked with beasts and worse, wandering afoot to make my way to my destiny; for go I must, and so I will, though my journey be hopeless, and I arrive weeks too late, go i must. I have no choice; I am drawn by a force greater than my own power to control it. A force most holy and sublime. Go I must.
I am on a mission from God.