What happens at RiversEdgeMusicFestival stays at RiversEdgeMusicFestival (and on the internet…forever).

Fuckin’ awesome weekend with my sister-in-law (known in blog-land as doodoomamajuju, or “Ju” for short) at the Rivers Edge Music Festival in St. Paul, Minnesota. First off, let it be said that she’s one badass sexy muthafucka. Ju, that is. And she was one of maybe six non-whities at the festival. Making her the sacrificial lamb of the Asian community of the greater Midwest. On more than one occasion I thought to myself, “White people at concerts. What the fuck?”  What is it with white people not wearing shoes at concerts? That’s so fuckin’ nast. The array of white shame thrust in my face was incalculable. Dear guy with the t-shirt with cutoff sleeves that said “it ain’t gonna lick itself”, we all know you have never seen a vagina. And you likely never will.

I also got to meet Satan this weekend. He’s no where near as intimidating as I expected him to be. He really just wanted to enjoy the Flaming Lips. Who put on a DAMN GOOD show, by the way. Even Satan was pleased. Look how he’s been inspired to share his water with his neighbor. That’s downright Christ-like.

May I be so bold as to offer up some fashion advice for all you sexy crackas that frequent summer concerts and music festivals? Please stop wearing fucking fedoras. That shit is not cool. The ONLY person in the land of the free that should EVER wear a fedora is THIS guy. No one else. Please stop wearing them.  Also, the only–and I mean the ONLY–person who can wear boat shoes and not look like a total douchebag is Sugardaddy. And that’s because he’s a serious geek and doesn’t try to be lookin’ all “boss” in fuckin boat shoes. Hooker please. Best t-shirt award goes to this guy, wearing the Vanilla Ice t-shirt. Well done, sir, for also not looking like a pretentious asshole at today’s show. You are one of the few, and you did well. With your “I don’t give a shit” attitude–if you act swiftly and strategically– you may just see a vagina at some point in your lifetime.  You know who else might get to see a vagina one day? This dude with the faux-hawk and amazing mustache, who was so kind as to have his picture taken with Ju. He stood mext to us the night before at the Tool concert, and his mustache was like a bright star in a sea of fashion darkness. Especially when a dirty little shirtless white dude with “dreads” pushed up behind me and started getting all up on my shit. We will call him Edgar, because he had a tramp stamp on his back that literally said “Edgar”. Either that’s his name and he tattooed it there so that the nameless stranger who would bend him over that night would know what name to call out, or that’s the name of the person who owns him, and has branded his name where he can see it when he’s making him his little bitch. Either way, to me, the bitch who yelled at him, he will forever be Edgar. Another little piece of advice… if you are at a Puscifer concert, leave your flowery parasol at home. Just a suggestion.

Also, may I wax a little bit on the whole VIP deal? Now, I understand that you have to pay a LOT more to be a VIP. So, unless you get something substantial out of that deal (which in this case you did not), you will only look like a huge fuckface by standing in the VIP cage… directly next to everyone else… as we roam freely on the less than crowded concert grounds.  I’m not kidding, you look like fucking tools.  So, it could not have been for any other reason than to punish you by drawing attention to this douchery, that this woman decided to hula hoop like a damned fairy in the middle of the VIP cage.  Oh, and 19-year-old girl sitting forlornly like a scorn hipster against the inside of the VIP cage wall, smoking a cigarette like fuckin’ Johnny Depp, I’m sorry that your parents decided to cut you off and force you to grow up and pay for your own shit like the rest of society… like VIP tickets to this music festival. Here, let me buy your poor entitled ass a beer. Oh wait, you’re 19. That’s not legal. Here, here’s a double-shot-no-fat-vanilla-latte. No whip. (*get a job*).

Ooooooooooooh wait a minute….!!! So THAT’S why you would buy VIP tickets to sit in that pathetic little cage. To stay away from THESE guys. The goth emo muthafuckas who love to feel the depth of emotion from the music, the trees, the earth, the sky, and from each other’s rarely washed bodies. HOURS later, we walked past them laying on their blanket, legs intertwined and arms around each other, listening to Flaming Lips. I’m sure they are still there, three days later. Because these guys would do some dramatic shit like that.

Douchebag Award goes to this guy with the ankle tattoo, wearing a polo from Abercrombie or American Eagle or some shit like that, sitting alone on a blanket he brought from his mommy’s house, smoking a cigar with his one little douchey knee up in the air. You, my love… I want to destroy you.

A very special “Thank you”  goes to Steve, the frizzy red-haired corn-rowed hippie from Minot, North Dakota, for sharing the Mike’s Hard Lemonade on a hot summer night, thereby keeping Ju nicely sloshed during the Tool show while she watched the love of her life Maynard James Keenan serenade her. Also, special thanks to the two large dudes (aka “Johnny Knoxville” and “Bouncer”) who cleared a path toward the front for us ladies at the Puscifer show.  You really deserve a little boobie flash from us, but you’re not going to get it. Thank you for your grace and sacrifice.

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2 thoughts on “What happens at RiversEdgeMusicFestival stays at RiversEdgeMusicFestival (and on the internet…forever).

  1. first off, thank you for using a flattering photo of the Ju. secondly, do you ever get into a situation and immediately afterwards you think of a bazillion things you could have said differently?! I had that with Edgar. “clean the cum out yo ears muthafucka! She done told you to step off, bitch!” or “Nice tramp stamp, I had one like that but then my mom got a job” and the list goes on!

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