All save Mason… who remains just as awake as Stanford is. They’re all still wearing their fezzes, too. He tiptoes through the RV, smiling weakly as he realizes everyone else had fun. He groans, moving gently out of the top bunk so as not to wake his brother. He solved the riddles, got his nice fez, and then sometime later Stanley found it and was just as disappointed as Stanford now is in realizing it’s simply a tourist trap and nothing else… and yet that nagging thought is still in his mind. Stanford does have a vague recollection of his father spending a pretty penny on taking Shermie, their older brother, on a vacation across the country. But his dad must have just been making it up, having found the place on a vacation before Stanford and Stanley were born. This mystical place where scholars and philosophers would gather to figure out the truth of the world, a meeting of the minds on all things supernatural and out of this world. Oh, the ways his father would talk about the Royal Order. Urgh, damn it.” Stanford tosses and turns, but sleep never comes. “Well if you actually said anything substantial maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much money on it, you shyster. “Told you so.” Stanford repeats his brother’s words bitterly. It hurt him, and then Stanley returned the favor. Not to mention the argument he had with his brother after his snarky comment. But still, the lack of anything… substantial has left a bitter taste in his mouth. He even got his ol’ noggin working again on some nice puzzles. He spent some quality time with his niece and nephew, he figured out where Stanley got the hat and the props from the Mystery Shack from. If not for his obsession, the place was actually really fun. The only one who seems to have some sense of satisfaction is his brother.ĭefeated, dejected, and dead tired, Stanford sighs as he moves in under the covers of Ol’ Bessie, parked inside an RV lot in the middle of the night. Not only did it take him much longer than the others, the prize for him wasn’t even worth it. He walks past Stanley, wearing his new fez like a crown of shame. Stanford grumbles all the way back down and out the door, ignoring a smug wave from Average Joe on the way out. Mason and Mabel at least seem to enjoy the hat, though even Mason is wondering if that’s all there is.
He swore he was about to make the discovery of a lifetime, only to be gifted with such a cheap hat. Just another tourist trap in the middle of nowhere, or something like that.
Why couldn’t his brother just tell him this place was pointless? And then Stanford realizes Stanley did. “Yep, the UK,, Damn it! This can’t be it, all my life I’ve thought about this on and off! This can’t be… damn it!” They wasted all that money on a bunch of cheap fezzes likely made in a sweatshop of some third world country, like China or Vietnam or the UK. Stanford barely registers Mabel’s silliness. “He said the naughty word! The forbidden curse! Now we’re doomed!” “EEP!” Mabel cries, jumping into Mason’s arms.
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