Shit directly on my cock. I just returned home less than 9 hours ago and after falling into an 8 hour coma-like state, I have the vigor and vitality to write about this shitty, mind and body destroying experience.
First I will explain to my readers that I went to the Firefly Music Festival for 1 reason only: Sir James Paul McCartney. Do I give a fuck about the Kooks? Not really. Do I want to see DJ Mustard? No. I Fucking hate mustard I'd rather see DJ Horseradish.
I have loved the Beatles since I found them at 6. I was watching cartoons on the floor of the halfway house my mom was living in, at the time, and a commercial came on for a new Beatles CD set.
I had never heard anything like it before because at this point I had grown up mainly in the ghetto and all my mom ever played was rap or the Grateful Dead. The Grateful Dead may sound awesome when you're stoned out of your fucking mind, but to a 4-year old its incredibly confusing and pretty awful.
Anyway, right after I saw the commercial I found my mom and asked her to get me that CD and a week or so later my grandparents and my mom had showered me in Beatles CD's. Ever since then, I have been listening to the Beatles, religiously, every single day for 13 years.
I have Beatle posters, vinyls, fucking dolls. I have motherfucking Beatles dolls. They were $35 each. There are 4 Beatles.
I am fucking crazy.
Anyhow, I wasn't going to go to Firefly until my friend told me she had a ticket to sell. I asked my mom to go halvsies with the ticket and soon enough I started day dreaming about seeing that old fucking Walrus.
So Thursday afternoon I ventured forth. Some of my friends were already there or also going but I didn't want to go with anybody else. Firstly, I really had no desire to have to deal with waiting for anybody else. I wanted to go when I wanted to go.
I didn't even get a tent, I just decided I would sleep in my car like a recently separated husband.
The drive to Delaware was okay but fucking fuck me in the ass were there a lot of tolls. The big issue I had was the amount of tolls, not the amount of money. There were literally 5 fucking times I had to stop and pay a bullshit amount of money like 50 cents.
How the fuck is 50 cents doing anything for anybody except successfully pissing my dick off?
In retrospect I should have just taken my grandma's EZ-Pass because I doubt she would have even noticed that it was gone.
Eventually, I pulled into the festival area and immediately saw thousands of white people as far as the eye could see. They were all loud and incredibly drunk and high.
The walk from where I parked to the gate was so long I felt like a Jew following the Hebrews and Moses to the promised land every time I walked over. I actually had to cross a fucking bridge- it was ridiculous.
The sheer amount of people I saw was insane. There were literally 90,000 people and looking at all the sluts in tiny bathing suits and white guys with no shirts on, I realized this one very fact:
I hate people.
They're so gay.
My first day I kind of explored the area and walked around by myself as I silently judged the strange human beings I passed. It's almost sad to see how badly people crave attention. Don't get me wrong, I was an attention-deprived slut when I was 15-16, but I'm an adult now and I can understand that the time for loud noises and stupid shirts are in the past.
I met up with some slutty friends and eventually ditched them to go see the Kooks by myself.
The great thing about the Kooks is the lead singer. Though every other english singer loses their accent when they sing, this fucking dude has a thicker accent when he sings.
They put on a solid show but the ground was so fucking wet and muddy that my shoes looked as if I had dug them deep into Kim Kardashian's asshole by the end of their set.
After the show, I immigrated back to my car and slept inside which was really hard to do because everybody outside decided they needed to be loud as shit and talk, very voluminously, about the drugs and alcohol they were doing.
One dumb bitch even came up to my car window and knocked to see if anyone was inside.
Yes you fucking idiot there is someone inside.
I was sleeping.
After a painful night, I awoke to the sheering sun shining directly through my car windshield into my cornea. This was a terrific way to start my day at 8:30am.
In the morning I looked for something to eat and somewhere to get coffee which took me about 35 minutes because nobody took fucking debit cards because we were in the middle of a bunch of fucking tents and a shitty forest.
Eventually I found a functioning ATM and got a 3$ cup of bullshit and an 8$ sausage, egg, and cheese burrito which tasted like it was crafted from the old pubic hairs of Bob Dylan and pieces of rat shit. I ate it anyway.
I waited on a line for 10 minutes to take a "shower." I use this term loosely because I would have much rather been showered in semen and used the jizzum of 300 men to clean myself than this tiny water pump on the side of the road.
I hate hippies.
At least a homosexual man was kind enough to be handing out free samples of Garnier-Fructis shampoo packets.
By 9:45 I decided I would head over to the gate and begin my journey to see Paul.
The gates didn't open until 12, so it was just myself and maybe a dozen other die hard fans getting ready to sprint to the front of the main stage.
I spent about 2 hours watching the clouds and talking to this guy from Connecticut who must have been about 45. I also met this guy named Bailey who was nice enough to actually help me get to the front of the check-in line.
Before we got to the check in, I was informed that I couldn't bring my sunblock because it was the spray as opposed to the lotion. This is a massive load of horse shit, if you ask me.
As soon as they scanned by wristband I ran as fast and as hard as my shitty lungs would allow me and made it to the very front of the main stage. I would remain at this exact spot for 12 hours.
To some people, they may think I am exaggerating when I say this.
I stood in this same spot.
For 12 fucking hours.
I spent 2 school days standing in the same spot talking to the people around me, listening to random bands, and fighting off crowds of people trying to get in front of me, just for Paul McCartney.
In the process, I suffered extreme dehydration, severe sunburn on my shoulders, a semi-ruptured eardrum, anxiety, rectal bleeding, strained calf muscles, and exhaustion just for Paul McCartney.
I had to sit through 4 other acts. I will now judge and review these performances.
The first was OK, at best. I don't remember their name but they were the group that sings that shitty song "there's no place I'd rather be." The violinist was pretty cool and you could tell he probably gets the most ass out of the rest of the group.
The rest of the group is also female so that may be why.
Manchester Orchestra played after and though I thought they would be an actual Orchestra, the band played pretty well and the lead singer/guitar player was great and kind of funny. He reminded me of myself even though he was about a foot taller than me and had a giant beard.
Following them was Cage The Elephant, a band I had known only because John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin had been in the band at one point in time. Unfortunately for myself, JPJ was not there but the lead singer dove into the crowd directly on top of me and I had to carry his skinny, sweaty body and hold him up like a loud, angry baby.
They were perhaps the most entertaining act of the day especially when you consider the asshole piece of shit faggot I'm about to tell you about.
I don't know if any of you know who Morrisey is, but this piece of shit was undoubtedly the worst performance I have ever seen.
First off, I would like to address these few things about Mr. Fuckboy.
1. He attempts to do this "haha, I'm weird and do strange things look at me I'm so weird" act by playing old and random videos before he started playing. This was annoying and contributed 0 entertainment value. He also did this act poorly.
2. Every fucking thing he sang sounded the motherfucking exact motherfucking same. His lyrics were terrible, actually awful. I like to think that I am not a pretentious person; but I could absolutely write better lyrics than this fucking retard.
3. His last song, "Meat Is Murder" is his pussy song about how we should all be vegetarians (a lifestyle that I highly disagree with). Accompanied with this song were videos of slaughterhouses with animals being cut open and be-headed. These videos were old as shit so they were incredibly gruesome and gory.
Listen, I get the whole idea of being a vegetarian. I get it. I don't agree with it- but I get it. But showing a bunch of fucked up videos to 90,000 people, who are all here to see Paul McCartney, is a low-class, pathetic attempt to get a reaction out of people.
Morrissey is an asshole and a shitty artist and I'm really pissed off that I have to go the rest of my life knowing that he exists. I'm going to be so happy when he dies.
After that final challenge, Paul McCartney took the stage at 10pm and I burst into tears like a little girl. I took a video which I may have e-mailed to Paul's Manager.
He still hasn't replied.
Nevertheless, It was a great moment in my life- the greatest, really.
The man may be in his 70's but he can still, sing, play, and perform like it's 1964 baby. He did a lot of Beatles music, some Wings, some of his new shit, and brought a fan on stage.
I was kind of disappointed that Paul didn't pick me out of the crowd to go on stage and get my phone number and call me after the show and invite me to hang out with him and travel the world with him as his side kick- but whatever.
After Paul ended I figured this would not be the last time I'd be seeing him. I also really, really had to fucking pee. It had been about 14 hours of me waiting in total, and since it was almost 90 degrees, I drank a shitload of water.
The piss I took behind someone's tent was perhaps the most glorious stream of urine my young eyes have ever witnessed extend from my penis hole.
While driving back home, I thought about how much I had truly spent on this fucking shit.
In total I spent:
$300 on a ticket
$40 on overnight parking
$25 on bullshit food and water
$20 on sunblock that I had to fucking throw out
$30 on tolls
So, if you add that all up, I spent about an ass fucking and a half. But, in all sincerity, I would have spent 2 ass fuckings and a jizz shower to see Sir Paul. It was a truly life-enhancing experience.
By the time I got home, it was 4am and I'n not really sure how I didn't crash on the middle of the Turnpike because I was so tired from the hours of standing in the roasting sun that it was incredibly difficult to keep my eyes open while driving.
To this day, I still have the fucking parking sticker stuck on my car and the piece of shit won't come off.
I leave you all now with a picture of the Beatles dolls I brought up earlier. I know you tried to ignore that information, but I am a crazy person and want to show you all that you have been reading the words of an insane person.