That’s it. It’s over.
I’m officially all about making money and being the most powerful comedian ever.
That’s it, fuck any dreams of consciousness and art and money is just paper, and art and words can make the world a better place and and art and music is life, and math, and science and so on and so forth.
Fuck that.
I’m like Biggie Smalls now, all about the Benjamins.
Cream, get the money, dolla dolla bill y’all.
That’s officially the revolution to me now, because I realize the only hope I have of happiness is to MAYBE just someday buy a house on a lake, a gun, and a sign that says “All fake ass hippies will be shot on site.”
The hope for anything communal or in society is lost, probably for ever in a bowl of MDMA punch, that was sucked into the guts of anyone willing to take it, and washed down with a Big Mac at the first rest stop after that amazing (smell that sarcasm) film project festival thing I got sucked into on Saturday afternoon.
Thank you Mind Pirates for being the bad trip that makes me realize that experimental art and film is a bunch of self indulgent wankery, and thank you to my own mind for being intrigued by anything and everything enough to go along on the trip! (smells like even worse sarcasm or doo doo, can’t tell.)
I made some great new friends, but after this weekend I finally realized that I don’t want to ever again be associated with, or sucked into being a part of anything that has to do with anything pseudo hippy, or pseudo experimental, art, film, music, festival bullshit ever again.
EVER!
I need to slow down here and explain what the fuck happened to me this weekend, but the smell of camp fire bacon is still lingering on my mustache and it’s hard to even think I’m still so scarred mentally by almost being stabbed and also getting raped in the mind by a flying pile of audible shit called music which mixed with so much ego and then stirred up with even more film maker ego it became a toxic combination, which when penetrating my eyes and ears made me want to commit genocide to anyone who wears crocks, has dreadlocks, climbs trees then turns around three hours later and eats a Big Mac and or threatens to sacrifice me with a wooden spear and the eyes of demon being who’s possibly eaten too many drugs or drank too many whiskeys.
There’s a line for sure when things just aren’t for me anymore, and I’ve crossed it when everyone around me is super mangled on drugs and the music sucks and there’s no way home and someone wants to stab me with a wooden spear and if there’s someone filming it, they have the right to use that without me saying anything.
Not even ouch.
But it’s Monday, and I’m home, and no ones dead including me, so hey, since I got you this far, let me tell you the whole story. The whole gloriously, depressing story of how I became a corporate scumbag.
And as of now my blog is free, so enjoy it while you can.
It all started Friday afternoon, on a boat, at the Soundcloud party.
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2……
Mother Fuckin David Deery 
yes i was high
yes i like to drink
but dude music was shit still me beeing high and me beeing drunk
+ i saw your face naked in morning dont tell me that you didnt drink that whiskey .. . its sounds like come down story /
That was the face of a man knowing there was nine hours to go until the ride home, not whiskey face.
So let me get this straight:
You signed a waiver saying that in exchange for a free party, you would grant a television commercial production company your audio-visual rights for the duration. Hmmm.
You also knew from the description that random people would be jamming with other random people. Come on, we all know that rarely works.
Somebody better call you a waaaaaaaambulance in advance of the next time you naively blunder into another obvious organizational mess.
Or did you think the 3-hour wait for the buses to leave was a way to build excitement?
*Summary: self-professed edgy guy gets shocked when disorganized but free *corporate* event shatters his gullible sensibilities.
Yes Don. Kind of correct, and by no means am I crying. I’m a little white boy in the first world, with insurance and without cancer or AIDS, so believe me, I’m happy and I don’t think anything I do or say is changing the world, I’m just giving my commentary on it, kind of a review. I’m terribly sorry you wasted your time reading. It could have been worse. Now you know, my blog is ripe full of my opinions, which weren’t exactly what you said I said, but whatever, you probably work for a television commercial production company anyway, because lets face it, only people who work for television commercial production agencies don’t use the words scum bags instead of television production commercial agencies.
Actually, it’s pretty cool that you let me post my snide claptrap.
In all fairness, I’d love to have seen a much more coherent attack and I was surprised that you missed the worst aspects and only went for the low-hanging fruit.
Nope, haven’t sucked Satan’s Corporate Cock. I just came to see the tits.
Yes. Tits. Hard to believe I didn’t mention the tits. I must be growing up. I enjoy the Banter. I really do. Thanks for goin in on it. In the end I actually got a lot out of this, surprisingly. Would I do it again this Saturday? YES! LET’S DO IT!