My friends and I may be a little old to be attending these three day shindigs, but I’m not going to ignore the fact that we are always interrupted by a menagerie of wild, angry spirits. Last year, Chad was dragged halfway to the gates of Hell by a tree that came to life. Since when are there trees of that caliber in California polo fields?
I can’t wait for the next festival, but I’m starting to think none of the girls I’ve invited will come along because of these bass-dropping banshees. It happens. Every. Single. Year.