Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Jester Michael Stebick avoids jail time for role in prostitution scandal

Here's more television footage from Buffalo's WIVB on the Royal Order of Jesters scandal. This one is about former law clerk and prosecutor Michael Stebick's sentencing.

If you prefer to read the news story rather than view it, click here.

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  1. The Fool’s Prayer
    The Royal feast was done; the King
    Sought some new sport to banish care,
    And to his jester cried, "Sir Fool,
    Kneel now, and make for us a prayer."
    The Jester doffed his cap and bells,
    And stood the mocking court before;
    They could not see the bitter smile
    Behind the painted grin he wore.
    He bowed his head, and bent his knee
    Upon the monarch’s silken stool;
    His pleading voice arose, "O Lord,
    Be merciful to me, a fool.
    "No pity, Lord, could change the heart
    From red with wrong to white as wool;
    The rod must heal the sin; but Lord,
    Be merciful to me, a fool!
    "Tis not by guilt the onward sweep
    Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
    ‘Tis by follies that so long
    We hold the earth from heaven away.
    "These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
    Go crushing blossoms without end;
    These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
    Among the heart strings of a friend.
    "The ill-timed truth we might have kept—
    Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
    The word we had not sense to say—
    Who knows how grandly it had rung?
    "Our faults no tenderness should ask,
    The chastening stripes must cleanse them all:
    But for our blunders—Oh, in shame
    Before the eyes of heaven we fall.
    "Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
    Men crown the knave, and scourge the fool
    That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,
    Be merciful to me, a fool!"
    The room was hushed; in silence rose
    The King, and sought his gardens cool,
    And walked apart, and murmured low,
    "Be merciful to me, a fool!’

  2. Nuptial powers hath fixed thy lot,
    Thy wedding knell hath tolled. Forget it not,
    And thou art done unto a rich brown state
    Thy wife and mother-in-law control thy fate.
    Hereafter that thou with us may not meet,
    They’ll either chide or guy, cajoling, sweet.
    But, "Hark ye not, lest thou should lose,
    A "Jester’s" banquet—minus booze,
    Mayhap our Steward has in mind
    A feast that pleases all mankind
    You Jesters worship at the "Shrine" of Food,
    Be there first at the door, or you’re no good
    The dark skinned savage who adores the sun
    And scalps his victim with no sign of fear
    Has nothing on a Jester in a run for food that’s free
    He’ll kill without a tear.
    The old guard, pats the stewards on the back
    Whispering sweet nothings, fearful lest the smokes
    Should get first to the candidates or visiting folks,
    Their wily fingers circling three or four,
    They change their seats that they may capture more.
    You veteran Jesters, crossed the heated sand,
    To strains from the sweet Chanters Band,
    Then did thy gentle nature’s sudden change
    To "Food Hounds," knife and fork in hand.
    Thou now dost talk the earth in fiendish glee
    Devouring Banquets, (where the food is free)
    Thy wife at home alone, in surly mood
    Will curse the ravenous Jesters and their food
    But thou wilt perish faithful.
    Girt with thick cutlets, chops and loins of beef,
    Will not these compensate thy martyred grief?
    Sniff now the censer’s ravishing perfume sweet,
    List to the sensuous music, sad, monotonous, deep,
    Appealing to the ear, to soul, to sense,
    To appetite so knawing and intense,
    Compelling all to follow as our Director drones,
    "Allah is God—virtuous love atones,"
    Stir thy sluggish souls, the food hounds path begin,
    Arouse ye, or forever starve,
    Go forth, and let the steward fill thy skins.


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