Castle Freak

So I was talking to an Uber driver earlier today who was talking to me about how there’s a castle in napa.


Brick by brick, it was torn down in Europe, relocated here, and reconstructed. A fucking castle! Like:

Eh, what do you do if you own a castle? Do you just stand on the top edge of it, look over the side, and say “Yeah, I got a castle.” Presumably sipping wine out of a reproduction of the Holy Grail from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade that you bought off of Amazon. Which, now that I’ve just said that, I will go determine the existence of and/or order.


“He chose…stupidly.”


Do you think there’s a castle underground? Like, a castle clique? Maybe people who own castles have a forum online ( ? ?)  Or, magazines. “Castle Aficionado Quarterly”? “CastlePro”? “CMM (Castle Maintenance & Management)”? Castle people are like motorcycle people: They see a guy next to a castle, or someone with a suit of armor, and they just strike up a chat. “Oh bro, that’s a sweet moat. What do you use to clean the water? I use X company to supply gators. Gusts of win are a bitch at night, bro.” You try to talk to them.


“Castles are pretty cool, I guess.”


“YO MAN, back off. I was BORN in a castle. You don’t understand the life.”


Really, if I had a castle, I would spend my entire time walking around with a candle, or checking to see if paintings were staring at me. Knocking on random stones or accidentally breaking torch holders while looking for secret levers to unlock passageways.


I have to confess: Everything I know about castles comes from Scooby Doo. There is a solid chance that I’m functionally retarded.



I’m such a casual castler. Casuatle.


“Bro, Does anyone else have problem getting Wi-Fi coverage in their dungeon?”


I apologize if anyone mistook my “castle owner” voice for Vince Russo.



I wonder if there are castle posers, easily identified by traces of gray spray paint on their fingers.