Only three words can describe Lollapalooza, coincidentally they also accurately describe known nefarious Christmas thief/pervert the Grinch…Stink…Stank…Stunk. From the initial scalper scandal that wreaked conspiracy all the way to selling an event that was essentially standing room only throughout the entire park (ratio: 80% twelve year olds buying Molly, 19% bros, .5% sniveling Mumford fans .5% normal people) Who wouldn’t want to go with that split! Similar to the zombie apocalypse, but with worse company.
As of 8/3/2013 at 10:44 P.M. Lollapalooza was declared dead to me.
Closed casket given the brutality of its death.
As the day progressed and it was realized no stage could actually be seen through all of the hideous mounds of stale flesh, frustration and corresponding extreme intoxication settled in. I sat and wondered whether any bands were actually playing. There was no way to really tell. Mile after mile of the most insufferable dregs of society, Lollapalooza was the chum that aroused the blowhards of Chicago and sent them into a complete feeding frenzy, on overpriced Bud Lights and Churros and Mumford. Perry had also deployed a new technology that zapped everyone’s phone batteries in an instant, depriving everyone of even the simple enjoyment of finding or seeing friends. You got me Perry, but never again.
Oh you have a broken foot? Don’t care. You want to actually walk past me? Fuck no. You’re looking for your friends? Sit on it. Here’s a cigarette burn on your arm. Here’s some sour wind from my ring piece in your face. Oh you actually have to pee? 25 minutes.
Wallet plenty lighter and ears dripping with mud, both physical and metaphorical the remorse of a day not well spent sits in. The regret is immense mainly knowing that someone made money by taking a giant dump on Grant Park and we the foolish flies swarmed on command, paying hard earned money to ,if only for a moment, sit on a steaming pile. Too crowded and too young. Lollapalooza you need help.