I like the idea of getting drunk in interesting locations. This is the only reason why I’ve purchased a ticket to this years’ Parklife festival in Melbourne, which is on tomorrow down at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl, or as I refer to it after a memorable Parklife several years ago, “My own personal Hell on Earth.” I actually like what some may refer to as ‘dance music’ (probably an out-dated term by now), it’s just the other people that like it more openly than me that I find abhorrent. It really does ruin my whole experience. If I’m at home, in a car or doing exercise (when this occurs, which is rarely), I’m more than happy to indulge in a spot of Chromeo or the like. Put me in the middle of a crowd with a bunch of muscled-up, hardcore-pinger dropping fuckheads (who take it as a personal insult that could potentially lead to the infliction of violence upon your person if you don’t outwardly display the same level of enthusiasm for the day’s proceedings as they do by dancing like nobody is watching and putting your arms around them in an embrace strategically executed so as not to appear homo-erotic) and it’s a different story.

Case in point.

Seriously, what a bunch of vacuous self-involved cunts! I’m actually convinced that a fairly large majority of them don’t actually go to watch the bands/acts that they supposedly are looking forward to at all; instead, the spend the majority of the day wandering around the festival grounds with their chests puffed out, finding mirrors to peer at themselves in admiringly like perplexed budgerigars whacking their beaks up against the mirrors hanging in their birdcages…

The only thing working in my favour for tomorrow’s festivities is that it’s forecast to be overcast, a bit cold and potentially rainy in patches. Perhaps this will mean that I’ll be spared the site of a bunch of fake-tanned, steroid-pumped, flat-brim American sports-team hat wearing douchebags bouncing around the festival with those really loose, tiny singlets on that don’t even cover their (assumedly pierced) nipples properly. An overcast day would also mean that the chance of these fucks taking off these sheer tops in order to rage more freely is greatly diminished, saving me from the abject horror of being subjected to their horrendous arrays of tattoos e.g. pictures of their family, flaming 8-balls, Latin script (even though they don’t speak, write or read Latin), Kanji (same deal), Koi fish and Southern Cross tattoos.

Pray for rain…

/end communication

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