|No really, I have a job and everything.|
|Owning a phone with a camera doesn't|
make you a photographer any more than
wearing a cape makes you Batman.
|Above: a literal cricket, not to be confused|
with the figurative cricket which this is not.
|What? They work very hard at whatever|
the hell it is they do. Like, four, even five
hour-days. Sometimes three days a week.
|Police are searching every malt-shop|
and drive-in in the tri-county area.
Anyway, the hooligans cut power cords, stole shit and even flooded the place with 200 gallons of water, which, ok, nobody deserves to have their shit wrecked up. Sure, it's natural to be a little jealous of glampers and their hot water, air-conditioning, catering and, I shit-you-not, sherpas, but keep in mind this whole thing is just a party.
|Again, just to compare, on the left is White Ocean and on the right: my camp.|
Do I want their life? Of course I do, but we had booze and a solar shower, so we did alright.
|Above: Another victim of social inequality.|
This underprivileged burner can't even afford
the LSD she needs to enjoy a week-long festival.
Look we can all agree that the super-rich are a parasitic blight on this world and soon there shall be a reckoning that will make Bastille Day look like a Church picnic, but until then, can't we all relax, put on our ridiculous steam-punk hats and furry vests and dance to terrible electronic music as equals?
|So I guess we have that to look forward to...|