Unofficial Story of how TriaDCon came to be, III of IV, part 2


(this completes the portion of the previous post that was truncated)

Suddenly the Hatter stopped and said in his Oatmeal-inflected nasaltone:

“I want a clean cup!– Let’s all move one place on!”

He moved on as he spoke, and the Sphinx followed him: the Ratsass moved into the Sphinx’s place, and I , rather unwillingly took the place of the Ratsass. The Hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change; and I got off a good deal worse than before as the Ratsass had left his place littered with empties, spilled stale beer, and randomly flying bits of innuendo and insults. The Hatter took another hat from the clean plate and flopped it on top of the already teetering pile, the hat of Grand Master Convention Director
of All Policies and Keeper of the Keys to the Bank account and called out “YAHTZEE!– Spin the magic twanger Ratsie!”

The Ratsass bent down and spun again and his daggle-toothed grin was plastered on his face. “We’re BROKE!” he announced tiumphantly!”

The Hatter slammed his fist down on the table. “Right at Last! O Lord Right at Last! Raise the fees, raise the dues, change the location!”

At this the White Rabbet to my right, who had at least a clean plate, as I had not a thing at all, said to me “Seen enough sport?”

“Definitely!” Was my immediate reply.

“Then let’s beat feet!”

And so we trotted off down the road – over the river and through the woods, past a gingerbread house with two young juvenile delinquents tossing a senior citizen into a flaming oven, an old man molesting a goosey-goosey gander in my ladies chamber, and past a black sheep doing the dirty work for his Master and his Dame and pimping off his sister “the little girl who lives down the lane.”

(Continued in the exciting conclusion!)