The HullaBoard - the WEMF story

Keep in mind when you read this...I'm American. :-) lemme know whatcha think.

On a certain August 2nd, 2002, thousands of happy ravers descended upon East Bumfuck, Ontario (conveniently located only minutes from West Bumfuck) for WEMF 2002. But ney, this was no ordinary WEMF; this was the COORS LIGHT WEMF. And with prices like $20 for parking and $6 for a beer, I must say that I'm ecstatic that commercialization has finally been purged from the rave scene. Thank God. But all complaints aside, all was well as we cleared security and dragged our 165 kilograms of shit 1.5 kilometers (remember, this is E. Bumfuck, ONTARIO) to set up camp. After finding our own 1 square meter plot, we put up the tent and ventured out to see what WEMF had to offer.
As night descended, so did the drugs. Dealers purring like Dutch whores in the red light district, trying to peddle their goods....E's? K? acid? crystal? blow? crack? peyote? absinthe? If you want it, it's there. Here, eat a pill...or 5. Whatever you like. And now, it's off to the stages. Yeah!!! Any kind of music you want, you can find. Funny though...the line-up looks suspiciously similar to last year, except without Dieselboy and DJ Funk. I guess picking up a sponsorship from a little mom-and-pop business like Coors isn't too lucrative.
Anyway...as the night goes on, happy little ravers go from stage to stage searching for the perfect musical high...or go back to their tent, do a line of K, and discuss the intricacies of not being able to feel their legs. Whatever. What, time to smoke a joint....or 3? ok! It's kinda hard to tell when you're smoking though, seeing as how you see as much "smoke" when you're just plain breathing, since it's 3 degrees out (Fahrenheit).
After a full evening of substance, music, dancing, and dilated pupils, the ravers head back to their tent to catch up on their sleep. Better bundle up, it's cold!!! Too bad you'll wake up 2 1/2 hours later sweating your ass off. Who needs modern amenities like a microwave when it's 300 degrees (Celsius, not Fahrenheit) in your tent. Well, now it's time to go potty. And of course, i pick the porto-potty with a large mound of what looks and smells like shit sitting on the seat. Wonderful. I guess someone's chili dog, fries, 5 E's, lines of K and coke, and 6 pack of Coors didn't sit well in their stomach. Go figure!
As the sun rises more, as do the temperatures, the need for water is more vital. And of course, they don't have any in the camping areas; instead, you walk across to the other side of the grounds. And as much of a pain it is, you make this walk 15 times during the weekend. Don't let the FDA fool you...water is the most addictive substance here.
So you're still tired from your 2 1/2 hours of sleep? Put a few of these on your tongue. You wont be falling asleep when you're brushing away flies that aren't there. Now out to the stages! But it's not exactly the big name DJs spinning at 2 PM. It reminds me of my grandmother's complaints with cable TV; 60 channels and nothing good on. However, amusement is found by seeing just how fucked up almost everyone is at this stage in the afternoon. Everyone's either completely squinting or has their eyes WIDE open like deer caught in headlights. But seeing as how the temperature has risen to 350 degrees C, it's time to find some shade, so it's off to the chill tent. And during Saturday afternoon, the chill tent is the home of the crack baby's crack babies. The look on their eyes suggests that you just grew horns and turned red. Yeah. Time to smoke a joint? ok! Anything to forget that you haven't been dancing today yet you're still soaking wet.
Now the atmosphere at this point, at least from these eyes, is one of unease. The vast variety and amount of substance has the masses teetering between full scale riot and hug orgy. But whatever it is, something's going to happen tonight. Now it's just a matter of killing time before then. Smoke a joint? ok! Need to find some goods for the night? You should ask the guy snorting K 5 feet away from a security guard...something tells me he would know.
It's around this time that you probably realize that you are absolutely filthy and sweaty, smell bad, and your tent is a complete mess and likely has ants crawling all over it. Yet, you don't really care. It's WEMF, and you are past the point of no return. The only thing you can do is keep going; to keep pushing the bounds of your own sanity.
As the sun starts to set and the temperature cools, the mood turns electric. The people know that the shit is about to hit the fan. One great thing about WEMF is that you never know what's going to happen. As much as you think you have your game plan lined out, there's always a suprise around the corner. Case in point: right after his set in the Hullabaloo tent, Anabolic Frolic proposed to his girlfriend, and everyone lost their shit. There it goes! Puddles of feces flying everywhere....it was awesome! And judging from the number of wide eyes and pacifiers, I'm a bit suprised a full scale hug war didn't break out. I can only imagine what I would have seen if I could have been at all 7 stages at once. What, you're getting tired? I'm sure there's an amateur pharmicist around that can help you. Everyone else around is letting loose, why not you, right?
Mmmmm, Phlux house. Ya know, as much as Josh da Funky 1 is overbooked around Buffalo, he still spins a fucking solid set. Ooooh, nice break. *arms pumping in the air* Whee! And then DJ Assault...mmmm, booty house. As much as I'd probably be a tad offended by hearing "Ass and Titties" in normal life, somehow it seems more appropriate on a dance floor.
But damnit, it's getting cold again. Time to crawl into the tent and attempt sleep. 3 hours later, after waking up drenched in sweat, it's about time to go home. Cracked out, broke, hungry, with sore legs and jaws, tired ravers file out under the hot morning sun. Time to go back to the real world; shitty jobs, parents, people that just don't understand you. But somewhere deep in the recesses of your memory, although the details are foggy, you know that on that weekend in East Bumfuck, ON, you had a pretty damn good time.
Time to smoke a joint? ok!

Joe - Narfchild@aol.com