Mr. Welnick, we haven’t been introduced. I am Rutherford, butler to the Grateful Dead. Allow me to show you to your rooms.

It is not common knowledge, Mr. Welnick. Most of the fans are unaware of the masters’ devotion to keeping a properly staffed and liveried house. I am the Head of House, under me is the Brigadoon plus two Manjacks, an Argie-Bargie, four Fops, an armorer, the individual valets, and a falconer.

No, sir, you have nothing to fear. The falcon died immediately upon being introduced into daily life with the masters. It wasn’t legally a suicide, but that’s only because there’s no box on the form to check off ‘Bird killed itself.’

So: Dinner is served promptly at 8:00 PM. We dress for Dinner here, sir. I do not know what retirement village-adjacent Goodwill’s dumpsters you’ve been shopping in, but it shall not suffice.

Before dinner, there is Drinks. For the sake of brevity, sir, just assume it is always Drinks. The appellation seems rather redundant at this pont, but tradition reigns, tradition reigns.

You’ll find much to do here, sir. There is the garden with the hedge maze and when you go in there, please bring Mr. Weir back with you.  There’s archery down at the–I beg your pardon, sir, I…misspoke. There is no archery. No archery whatsoever Sir will find that the cable package is exhaustive and we do have a jacuzzi, but House rules insist upon a buddy system. No triples.

Yes, there are stables. Full stables. Mr. Hart has been dosing the beasts with LSD and they’re having the time of–I cannot lie, sir: it’s like horse Guernica down there. Under no circumstances go anywhere near the stables. If you see a horse, shoot it, because it’s going to eat you. Ah! Your rooms!

Well. It seems like Mr. Garcia has burned down another suite. Apologies. You will have to go back to your houseboat for the evening.

How did you know about my houseboat?