I Don’t Like the Electric Daisy Carnival and I Urge Everyone Not to Attend!
The third annual “Electric Daisy Carnival” is happening this coming weekend in Las Vegas.
Talk about a fucking freak show.
Something like 320,000 dopers with no fucking taste whatsoever in music or clothes will head out to the Las Vegas Motor Speedway, scorch themselves in the baking sun for three full days, act like total asses, and get off on the worst music perhaps that’s ever been created.
Sounds like something created by the Marquis de Sade.
I have a message for all the thousands of Electric Daisy Carnival attendees who follow me. The message is as follows.
I’m not going.
That’s right. I’m staying the fuck away. And I urge you to do the same.
Go ahead. Ignore my advice. Stick your asses out on the blazing asphalt of a motor track, fry your brains with ecstasy or cocaine or whatever dope your generation snorts nowadays, groove to your fucking garbage, and blow hundreds of dollars of your parents’ money to brag later that you were part of the assfuck circus.
I want no part of it whatsoever. None.
In fact, if I’m invited, I will not come. If asked, I shall decline. So, don’t bother surprising me with a ticket, strong as that temptation is to have the pleasure of my company.
You want to know something else? I hope it’s hot as scorpion’s stinger out there when you’re parading around like jokers. Anybody who stays out in the sun for eleven hours a day for three straight days deserves to have his brain fried like a skillet of scrambled eggs.
And another thing. You don’t know what good music is. None of you. It’s not like the Beggar’s Banquet Rolling Stones or Joshua Tree U-2 are showing up. The “star” of your freak festival is some bonged out faux thug with tats wearing a fedora, who spins records for a living. And with advances in technology they don’t even do that anymore since the entire shit show can be put on a USB thumb drive full of junk songs, amped up with sound mixer, and then basically blasted out to the clueless crowd like passing gas.
Let me tell you something else. A DJ should be making $15 an hour, plus all the keg beer he can drink. And, he should also provide his own fucking equipment — including the speakers. On the subject of speakers, the music is too fucking loud. Turn it down!
Tell you what. For a cut of the gate, let me negotiate the contract for one of these little prick DJ’s. I’ll handle everything. Trust it to me. If they think they’re getting paid more than a buck-twenty-five a day plus lunch at the concession stand, I’ll tell them to take a fucking desert hike. I’m sure we can find someone else off Craig’s List. The crowd zonked out on dope won’t know the difference.
And one more thing. You wanna’ know how much tickets cost? You won’t believe it. Keep in mind this is a motor speedway with ass-scorching metal seats out in the middle of fucking no where next to an Air Force base. Their idea of bathrooms are rows of temporary shitters you’d see at a construction site.
How much do you think tickets cost to this nut cruncher?
TRY $375 FOR A THREE DAY PASS!
Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously? If you paid me $375 and threw in a blowjob by Lady Gaga, I wouldn’t spend an hour in that madhouse. No way I’m going.
And if you decide to ignore my advice and go, here’s my perspective. I hope you have a miserable time.