Worst lineup ever. SoCal d-bags by the dozen. Hot sweaty smelly hippies everywhere. Expensive shit beer and cocky-ass hipsters and random old men and frat boys. And TRAFFIC.
I told everyone I'm too good for Coachella this year. 9 years and it's time to take a break. I convinced myself I didn't need all the hassles and that there's no way a weekend in the hellhole could beat a weekend at home in Oregon. I believed it all, too. Time to grow up and all that shit.
So what? I'm ditching my life and going to the desert again. Last minute decision. Got plane tickets, a weekend pass, a car rental, and a floor to sleep on in 15 minutes this morning. Funny how you make the best life decisions when you start the day with a wake and bake.
Gotta party with my UK mates and celebrate the death of the Iron Bitch. May she rot in hell with Ronnie Raygun.
I'll see you in the desert, homies.
I'M GOING TO COACHELLA AGAIN!
Flame away. You can't make it any hotter than it'll be in the tent this weekend. My sweaty Utili-kilt covered ass will be shaking like a motherfucker.