When I accepted the invitation to attend the Led Zeppelin/Pink Floyd tribute concert at the Nelson Ledges Quarry Park in Ohio this past weekend, I knew there would be risks. I had been to this private park some years before when I was young and innocent, and had met insanely stupid drunken ogres and spaced-out hippies that made me weep for humanity. Why, you ask, would I return knowing that I would have to come into contact with these most loathsome of characters? Three things: the park is really cool looking; the music is great; and the overwhelming stupidity of the inhabitants provides buttloads of comedy.
Today I will provide you with the highlights of my rock 'n roll experience into dark areas of the human psyche, along with a free small Frosty at your local Wendy's eatery. Just print out this update and give it to the teen working at the cashier. Once they become confused, jump kick them into the deep fryer and take your complementary Frosty, free of charge. At Something Awful, it's all about you, the customer.
Nelson Ledges Quarry Park has been known to be a hippy haven since the 70's when Richard Nixon constructed an army of large robots called Sentinels to hunt and destroy them. The site was a rock quarry that was created to rob Mother Earth of her raw building materials and mithril steel. But just like the dwarves, they dug too deep and woke some old evil that rose from the cracks and set upon the workers and their equipment. In the ensuing battle of the hippy wizards vs. the fire demon, a fissure in the earth hit an underground water table, flooding the chasm and vanquishing the demon. To this day it remains filled with placid, crystal waters lapping at the craggy hewn cliffs. The descendants of this ancient race of hippy elders still dwell at the quarry, although their blood line has thinned, their strength weakened with the rise of disco and hair metal.
The generation of new hippy children I encountered this past weekend is indicative of the fall of grace from this once noble people. To the right of our campsite was a group of 20 or so young tards that brought two campers and tossed multiple pallets on their unnecessary massive fire. Later on they all sat around and watched entertainment gossip news on a tiny TV hooked up to a generator. Apparently they were unable to even go a day without the soft glow of pretty colors and the latest scoop on their favorite celebrities. On our other flank we had some of the stupidest young hippies I have ever encountered. They invaded our site and set up their fire only 20 feet away from my tent. We decided not to be dicks about it and share the space with them, a big mistake. I guess the art of making a fire is lost on these people because I had always thought it was pretty simple. Like so:
Step 1: Get wood.
Step 2: Put fire on the wood.
Step 3. Enjoy.
Apparently "Step 2" all but eluded these young unwashed, for they struggled with their fire for almost two hours. Their master plan was to stack huge round logs on top of each other and pour gasoline on them. No smaller tinder or cut logs were used, only large portions of a tree and highly explosive liquid. We watched in horror and amusement, as these junior astronauts couldn't figure out why the fire wasn't starting after the gasoline burned off in 30 seconds, leaving charred stumps in its wake. They scratched their wild hair and wispy beards, coming to the conclusion that the fire needed more gasoline. 10 foot high flames shot into the sky, nearly lighting the dangling branches from the tree above. I ducked behind the cooler, expecting at any second a huge explosion that would send flaming hippy parts everywhere. Not that I would mind so much, but my tent was close and it was fairly new.
After a while, the bursts of flame stopped and we realized they had run out of gas. But failure was not an option for these determined lads, for they had girls with them and were being shamed for their fire building incompetence. They returned with another gas can, not altering their master plan of setting gasoline on fire. It was like watching a train accident. I wanted to look away, but I just couldn't. Finally some of the girls stepped in and started throwing some tinder and sticks in the fire. It took all night, but they had built a fire, and we all breathed a sigh of relief since we wouldn't be visiting a burn ward that night. The next morning when they left, the large log fire was still going strong and they did not even bother to try to put it out. I reported them to Smokey the Bear and he hunted them down and mauled them to death with his razor sharp claws and teeth.
Violent Shouting Drunken Inbred Ogre Hicks (Concerning)
Apart from the braindead, but mostly peaceful hippies, the other contingent at the park is comprised of a beer fueled loud ogre horde that never sleeps. All day and night they blast their 80's rock and rap metal, and howl for all to hear. It goes something like "YEEEEEEOOOOUUUWWW". When an alpha male of this nature lets out his signature call, he is met with similar responses from other males, declaring their position of power as well as their readiness to rock. I think this was how cavemen used to communicate back before the time of fancy letters containing gentlemanly babble in eloquent calligraphy. Most of the "yelpers" had sidekicks who were smaller and backed up the hearty yell with their own high-pitched style, letting the others know they rolled with a pack. It sounded like "YEEEEEOOOOUUUWWW……WHOOOOOOOO". As an experiment we tried out different types of calls, with various success. Mine were not respected since I lacked the hearty bass that only a large chest cavity can produce, but I played the role of the sidekick to my larger friend fairly well. We also found that they responded well to honking a car horn, or making moose sounds. A particularly goonish pair across the dirt road sported an air horn that they were very fond of using at 4:00 a.m. One wore a coonskin cap and drank out of a wineskin and the other donned a wife beater covered in grease stains. They played 50 Cent CDs the entire weekend. We were in the heart and soul of America.
There are alpha male shouters, and then there is Thuer. We spotted him at the Pink Floyd tribute show standing alone with his arms crossed. He was a large Aryan specimen, made only for crushing men with a large maul. At random moments during the concert, he would let out a soul-shattering howl that could be heard over the music and would shake any sane man to his very core. Many times when he screamed, it was at points that were not appropriate at all, and I started wondering what was going on his that thick skull of his. I imagined a collection of gears and wheels, powered by a single hamster that would set the machinery in motion with every revolution of his running wheel. But the hamster was sluggish, and thus the togs ticked slowly on, once in a while sparking a jolt through the giant that would send him roaring for no reason whatsoever. We named him Thuer the Mighty; king of the violent shouting drunken inbred ogre hicks.
Later at the campsite we shouted, trying to locate the identifiable Thuer call, but to no avail. My friend received a hearty answer nearby, but replied "No not you, THUUUEEERR!" and they shouted "OHHHHHH". The fact that this was a totally acceptable form of communication was an example of how our primal instincts kick in if you put us in the woods and give us some meat and fire. Sleeping in this racket was out of the question, so the search continued. Sometime in the middle of the night, our call was answered by the unmistakable shout of Thuer, who was 30 knots due south, roasting a whole boar over a roaring fire. Later on we toyed with the idea of dressing up in a pig suit we had along with us and trying to get Thuer to chase us, but we decided it was too dangerous and the idea was scrapped. If we had a platoon of Thuers and sent them to Iraq, our troubles there would be over very soon. But after they came back from war we would put them to sleep because they are far too dangerous to be let into society.
Dazed and Confused
Sometime during Saturday night when the party was in full gear, random people walked to and fro in the woods. Some drunk, some high, some just stupid. Then a black fellow started wandering near our campfire. He was the only black dude I saw the entire weekend. He had a Jamaican hat, backpack, and shirt that said, "dazed and confused". The shirt was an accurate representation of his current state, for he glanced at our fire and was mesmerized, but then started to walk away. I sighed relief since I really didn't want to deal with any really wasted druggie, or even worse, selling Amway products if that's what he had in his backpack. Then his eyes caught the dancing flames of our fire again, and he was drawn into our circle like a moth. He didn't even acknowledge our presence, and then started talking to himself in unintelligible babble. This guy was beyond high, he was totally out there.
For over an hour he jabbered, babbled, screamed and ranted, never completing a full sentence. We could catch some things, like how there was a girl in California and how he was having sexual problems with her. I tried to stop him by giving him a beer but he was not deterred and continued on to tell us about how when his penis had enough, it would "exit her". In a poetic line that would bring a tear to Shakespeare's eye, he shouted, "If the cock says no, then out like disco!" Then he stole my seat and screamed about Bill Gates or something. I'm not sure because I couldn't take it anymore and ran away, but I later found out he was on Special K, or ketamine hydrochloride, which is a powerful animal tranquilizer and hallucinogen. He left as quickly as he arrived, running into the forest, leaving his beer behind. My guess is that nobody will ever hear from him again.
Wanna Play D&D?
Later on that same night, a guy in a dirty red shirt from a couple campsites over joined our fire and asked for a free beer. Since we bought a couple cases of this really cheap beer (30 cans for $10) that I’d never heard of before called Genesee Cream Ale, I didn't mind giving him one. He talked for a bit about some manly stuff and left for a while. An hour later he came back but this time he wanted 2 beers. This time I had to charge him a dollar per beer and after about 10 minutes of fumbling around and getting distracted by the fire, he handed me a wad of bills that turned out to be $15. It turned out the guy was on a coke binge and was feeling like a million bucks. He went on to tell us all about his buddy's truck, and how it had tons of horsepower and can pull out tree roots and shit. He went on and on about this truck, and how powerful it was, and I wanted to blow my head off in boredom. So I did the only thing I could in that situation. I asked him "Hey dude, wanna play D&D?" He looked at me in a puzzled, coke addled expression, and then hurrily spouted, "Naw man, my roommate played that stuff but I'm not into it. Uh, I gotta go!" and he fled off into the night. We didn't see him again.
An Open Letter to the Guy With the Pen Laser
Who do you think you are? When you packed your bags for the Led Zeppelin/Pink Floyd tribute concert weekend did you purposely bring your pen laser so you could be a part of the light show? Did you think that you and your pen laser stylings would add a spark to the million-dollar laser light show and that you would become a star in your own right? Does the fact that everybody is forced to see that bright red dot dancing around the stage, distracting the eye from the overall scope of the light show make you feel special? Does it justify your existence?
I pity you, I really do. Your intentions are good, for you want to be a part of the show and for everybody to like you, but your only reward is undying hatred. I want to shove your $10 pen laser into your eyeball and hide your corpse in the fecal swill of the port-a-potty. You are the ultimate loser, somebody who wants to belong but only pushes themself farther away as those around you seethe with contempt. You are nothing.
Now in this late hour, I ask why? Why bring a measly pen laser to a huge laser light show? Why move the laser slightly at a jerky pace, trying to go with the beat of the music, pausing only to scarf down a hotdog? Why must you turn what should be an enjoyable occasion to one of focused wrath? Why do you cause me to think of various ways to mutilate and slay you when I should be watching the show? Why?
In closing, I hate you and hope you die.
(Take this as a lesson kids. Don’t wear the band shirt to the band you are going to see, don't play their music in the car after the show, and DON'T BRING A PEN LASER. Don't be "that guy".)
In fact nothing wrong in trying it..I mean Nose Sucking..sexy girls...I did it..Just lick the nostrils first and then slowly take entire nose in mouth and start sucking hard...till salty secretion starts coming out. It will make her sneez in Ur mouth..Lovely sparkles of tiny beads of her nose water. Insert anear bud in her nostrils till she sneezes and sneezes and U will find huge nasal snot dangling from her nose.lick it ..the creamy snot is sooo yummy. take nose in mouth again and suck all the creamy snot..very hard...lick her nostrils by entering Ur tongue...ask her to put the ball of thick saliva in Ur mouth..Thats extremely stimulating for libido
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.