Once there was a man named Clarence O’McFransworthinghamton’ach. But for the sake of simplicity we shall call him Clarence. Clarence loved hats. Hats of every shape, size, color, texture, frugality, and just general hattiness.

He had hats with hands, hats with phones, hats with computers, hats with air fresheners, hats with bakeries, hats shaped like whales, hats dotted with strobe lights (for parties), hats with mini-refrigerators, and hats with other hats on top. He wore at least one everyday. As you can see, he really did love hats.

So when he heard of the four week long super-mega-awesome-if-you-don’t-come-you’re-a-non-hat-loving-loser Hatapalooza, it was no surprise that he promptly booked a flight and packed his bags in about ten minutes and was out the door in eleven.

He was absolutely giddy throughout the whole 103 hour flight. In his haste, he had accidentally booked six flights that circumnavigated the globe twice before making a final stop in Iowa. But he didn’t mind, for he had a hat with an in-flight movie built in, which played a 103-hour documentary about hats.

As soon he got off the plane, Clarence was cornered by a seedy looking man with an extremely lumpy coat. Clarence eyed him nervously.

“Hey buddy,” said the man in an oily voice, slicking back his black hair with a greasy handkerchief. “You wanna buy a lamppost?” His shifty eyes glanced about nervously. Clarence stepped away quickly.

“Um, that’s okay,” he muttered, searching for an exit, or at least a window.

Considering they were several stories off the ground, Clarence decided it was best just to run.

“Please!” the man screamed. “Come back! There’s a special today! Buy twenty seven and three quarters and I’ll give you one free!”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of them!”

“That’s a good point,” said the man, stroking his unshaven chin. At that point, a uniformed man came up behind the lamppost salesman and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Hello, Jerry.”

“Wait, who’s Jerry?”

“Very funny.”

“No, really!”

Clarence didn’t hear the rest as he had finally found an exit and was hailing the first vehicle he saw, which happened to be a Hummer driven by a burly man dressed as a donut.

“Is this a taxi?”

“Does this look like a taxi to you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay. But if you want a ride, you have to answer the… uh… twenty seven questions… of… of honor!”

“Okay.”

“Oh, you’ll do it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay. Number one. What am I dressed as?” Clarence eyed the burly man sitting across from him.

“A donut?”

“Wrong!” he screamed, and drove away. Just before he was out of earshot, Clarence heard him scream “I am a bagel! Daah!”

“Touchy,” remarked Clarence. He tentatively hailed a cab. The driver appeared normal enough, and didn’t protest as Clarence climbed in the back.

They arrived at The Chaussure intact and relatively sane. “Those first two must’ve been a fluke,” muttered Clarence to himself as he walked up to the front desk. “I’m sure everybody else in Iowa will be much more normal.” A man laughed evilly behind him.

“But of course I like Cheerios,” the man hissed at a passing luggage rack.

Clarence finally reached the desk after a run-in with a slowly waltzing couple and two small dolphins. A duck sat behind the desk, calmly munching on a bit of corn. It wore a badge that said, “May I help you?” Clarence peered down at the duck. The duck looked politely back.

“Um, yes?” said Clarence, not quite sure what one says to a duck in charge of the reception desk of a hotel. The duck quacked serenely and pecked at the keyboard. Clarence was beginning to feel troubled.

Several minutes later, Clarence dumped his bags on the floor of his hotel room and decided he would just stay there for the rest of the day.