It is impossible to tell the story of Lord Bedingfield IV without relating also the tale of his Magic Rod. For without the power, weight, and guidance of his magnificent Rod, it is quite possible that Lord Bedingfield’s story would have ended twenty-four miles off the storm-battered coast of western Denmark in April, 1831.

Born into the prestigious lineage of France’s “Fou De Roi” courtiers, Bedingfield quickly asserted his folly as superior to that of his contemporaries via a series of mescaline-inspired pornographic weavings, which he proudly presented to the Nuns of St. Menstrua on Christmas Day, 1830. Initially outraged, but then intrigued, many of the nuns began to comment on the common motif evident in the weavings, that being of the young man himself, brandishing a shining Rod of mythic proportions. In some images, Bedingfield could be seen fending off the advances of diseased harpies with his Rod. In others, he suspended his Rod menacingly over the upturned faces of the devout.  But it was the last in the series, in which Lord Bedingfield was depicted in messianic robes, blood gushing from his ruptured loins, and straining in the throes of exhaustion as he endeavored to maneuver his colossal Rod through the crowded streets of Jerusalem toward Golgotha, which finally brought down the wrath of the clergy.

Bishops were dispatched immediately, and having viewed the weavings for what witnesses describe as an inordinately protracted session behind closed doors, they emerged resolute (though strangely fatigued).

Lord Bedingfield was summarily tried and sentenced to exile. He was to board a ship bound for Denmark at sunrise the following day and be thence committed to the care of Durtehoor Castle, an asylum on the outskirts of Copenhagen.

Two hours after leaving port however, the ship was beset by a sudden and furious storm. Wave after wave crashed across the ship’s deck and all aboard feared greatly for their lives. Bedingfield remained calm however, and strode to the center of the vessel. The terrified crew watched in awe as he mounted the mast and climbed into the crow’s nest. From this position, the maligned exile could be seen fumbling briefly with his trousers, and what happened next, is truly miraculous.

Some say it was like seeing an oak tree grow from the side of a rake. Others speak of Nile crocodiles leaping from Bedingfield’s mid-section. Whichever version one chooses to believe, it was made apparent that day that Lord Bedingfield’s Magic Rod was more than mere metaphor. Lightning from miles around converged on Bedingfield’s Rod, depleting the storm’s energy in moments, and the ship sailed on.

Upon landfall in Denmark, the ship’s crew felt such gratitude that Bedingfield was granted safe passage to the New World, where he dwells in obscurity, concealing his Rod from society until the trials of stage life call for it to be unveiled once again.