It was a question so retarded, so disgustingly inappropriate, that I couldn't suppress the spasm in my brain and reestablish the motor ability to shape my gaping jaw into an answer. The question was, "Does anyone get laid at Bumbershoot?"

God no! And who the fuck would want to? Maybe the hippies, with their stinky tantric mojo in constant action--but put that image out of your mind or suffer my fate, which I'll discuss in a minute.

Bumbershoot is the unsexiest live rock event in the history of the genre. All those strollers, and people in pleated shorts and tank tops, and the fucking visors, and the dribbly food, and the sheer impossibility of getting a beer before turning to dust while waiting in line? Please. Sonic Youth is long since past the day when a screeching snarl and the novelty of bitchy chic caused heat in the pants of anyone but potato-shaped, aging rock geeks. Blonde Redhead is very sexy indeed, but the swarming hordes could not give shit one about sexy Italian twins when there's an Italian-style pizza stand right next to the Rhythm Stage. The stage, mind you, where someone's banging away on a djembe while a didjeridoo player administers aversion therapy to all who love giving and getting blowjobs. Is it the instrument or the circular breathing that induces my gag reflex? It's both, and here I am thinking about it again. One of these Labor Days I swear to God I'm not going to have a panic attack or go to rehab or take a nice vacation--I'm gonna just forget how to give a good blowjob, and you can blame it on Bumbershoot.

Does anyone get laid at Bumbershoot?! Forget that, and worry about this: I give a damn fine blowjob, but once again I've got a vision of a sunburned man pursing his lips around a big elephant's erection, otherwise known as a didjeridoo, and I'm just saying it's only a matter of time.