War at the Festival - What is it good for?
Festival D-Day is here.
Tickets were locked in, logistics were taken care of, and now you’ve arrived with your militia.
Reunited, and it feels so good…
Approaching the gates, you see Gorilla-sized men have allied with the police canine unit in order to scan your body for weapons of mass destruction.
You preferred to ‘delegate’ such weapons, so there’s no risk of any beast mauling that beautiful face of yours.
It's buzzing with summer season adrenalin - the kind you sorely missed in the office board room.
You find Female Warriors wearing Amazonian outfits - firing insta-selfies like an M16 Rifle.
OK now great. You've managed to score access to backstage rations - food, drinks and thumb wars with DJs.
Outside, the music lines up well, banter is glorious, while both stages and tent hopping keep morale high.
You're walking around like the prince of chill.
But it's getting late.
Whether you’ve ingested more colourful rations, whether you’ve generously quenched any ‘thirst’, or whether you’ve suffered heat stroke – things are now getting a lil’ bit rowdy.
Crowds are coming together. Sweat is plentiful as Air becomes scarce.
Beverages are flying overhead like violent artillery fire.
In your immediate view, about 28 clicks away, a woman holds forth a pink erotic toy, flailing it around like an object of religious idolatry.
Further away, a man with a DSLR is being worshipped by narcissistic soldiers.
An overzealous youth climbs the light and audio gear, looking to display alpha traits. He falls on his back, and the cheers which accompanied his rise, are abruptly stopped, only to be reignited when the individual raises up a mangled thumbs-up.
You look to your left - fireworks and lasers are blasting away. Smoke obscures the stage ahead - it's the fog of war. Sensory overload.
You can now hear a baby crying.
A FUCKING BABY.
BOOM. Then suddenly – it hits.
Like a surgical strike.
It’s that beat you’ve been waiting for, at the perfect time and place, with the perfect people.
Your spine tingles, everyone is smiling, and you seem to have a raging erection.
It’s a cosmic gift – an ecstasy of good vibes.
Whatever that beat brings, your body knows what’s up before your consciousness has time to catch up.
Life is good – but the music’s even better.
The trek from the battlefield is long and arduous. Tears flow alongside song and merriment. Some males boast with war stories, while others continue their D&Ms - all together in perfect harmony.
Though there is one man, found rocking back and forth in the foetal position after having miscalculated the extent and timing of his ‘indulgences.’
Not you however.
You have an air of contentment - an aura of chill. You fought valiantly and claimed your purple heart for creating a good fucking time.
But you didn’t just survive – you also looked brilliant.
So….are we kicking on?
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