Why I'll Never Go To Burning Man
|Flickr: Mark Iverson|
|You can't like, "own" a bike, man.|
Then someone got a scratch on their Lexus RX 450 Hybrid or something and Johnny Law came in permanently. Now, undercover officers with night vision goggles have broad powers to interpret your gift of coke to a college girl you're trying to lay as "trafficking." Seriously. The Burning Man website carries a warning. Nothing makes a ten strip of acid go down smoother than undercover cops and some of the strictest drug laws in the country. Cut loose, brah!
Believe me, I get it. I'd love to be naked at a Hawkwind show tripping my balls off on mescaline, sexing on some college dropout dressed in nothing but a python I just met. Sadly, however, the '70s are over. More to the point, who needs to dress up their predictably safe petty-bourgeois debauchery in "cosmic" trappings? I have no problem getting so high that I shit myself. I just don't need New Age mumbo jumbo about "gift economies" and "the TAZ."