Everything feels vaguely off. It’s not the mind altering drugs. It’s not the fact that I’d competed in two hot sauce eating conversations during the afternoon. It was because everyone around me looked like they had been arrested at some point for stealing Catalytic Converters.
No, I wasn’t at a penal colony. Or a job fair for Port-A-John workers, or a Kid Rock cruise. I was at a Limp Bizkit concert. Desperately trying to figure out how I got there, and spastically trying to figure out how to leave if all the cans of Zyn go empty in this joint.
Continue reading “So You Don’t Have To: A Limp Bizkit Concert”
Fancy Boys Club 