Dogstock: A drunken ninja’s review.
Dogstock probably rocks, hard. If you were listening a recording of the event and you were like me (i.e. awesome metaller) you would say: “Pfff, what a gayass music fest,” most of the times. But that’s not the case since Dogstock had a bar, diarrhea-inducing food, hot babes AND a drunken headbanger screaming and moshing (alone) in front of the stage, embarrassing himself while provoking awkward feelings inside the audience’s sensitive ass; me. That said, I rock pretty much harder than anybody else does and that’s, at least, admirable. No, thank you world.
The road trip to the music fest was noisy, then great, and then it was silent. Three women were in my car, bearing talkative mouths with the nagging option turned to max. One of them was my ex girlfriend. Yeah, she came crawling back. I wasn’t paying attention to her explaning why, but my FAT DICK was mentioned, which makes total sense. After that, I sniffed her banghole for hostility tints but I sensed nothing and we are friends again.
The one thing worst than an ex girlfriend’s bitching in your car, is her two friends on backing vocals, feedbacking her bitching. Apparently, my music was “too crazy” and it made their eyes water. In addition, they constantly had to pee and one of them was menstruating from the ears. What a douche-bag. They asked me, no, they demanded I changed it to a benign radio station. I was refusing politely until the gas station, where I would blackmail them into paying my gas share. I pull by a gas pump and stare in front of me, vacantly. Five minutes and many confused and unknowing headshakes later, I turned to my ex and say: “The car is not going to fill up by itself now would it? Oh, and by the way it’s 7 pounds each for the gas.”
“But you said it’s 20 pounds for gas, round-trip, so it’s 5 pounds each,” spewed one of them.
“I guess you would like to drive us there, with your beautiful car huh?”
“I don’t have a car,” she said, lowering her eyes, lips trembling.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Now pay up and shut up! AHAHAHAAA.”
Zakk Wylde’s Black Label Society was tearing my speakers apart, but I turned it up juuust a little bit more, establishing my rule over all.
After about 10 minutes, they started complaining again, non-stop, demanding I changed BLS and put something softer. Their nagging was almost overpowering, coming out of everywhere, surrounding me in Dolby 3.1. I started screaming the lyrics, blocked my ears, and turned to see if they went away but they didn’t. Suddenly, they attacked me simultaneously. The one sitting diagonally from me called me a freaking idiot, the one behind me punched my shoulder and pulled my hair, while my ex managed to replace Zakk with Peggy Xena on the radio. No no no. This would not go down in my car. I started cussing at first. I don’t remember exactly what I said but my dick in their moms' ass came up. Then I elbowed my ex’s chin in, turning her into a Simpson, pulled the backseat adjuster lever and rammed the backsitter’s nose, slicing it open, roundhoused punched the foulmouthed bitch’s lip, busting it, and slammed on the breaks. I pulled them out, tied them up and peed on them while chanting our country’s national anthem. Ok maybe I didn’t do all that, but things turned pretty quiet after my-dick-in-their-moms story, so it’s possible the urine smell came from me. Suffice to say, the rest of the trip was nagging-free.
I parked my car on a cat and got off. It was obvious my ex and her friends wanted to sulk over my rude behaviour and discuss with me their feelings so I headed to the bar.
“Hey!” I said to one of the barmen.
“What it will be, man?” he asked.
“What what it will be and when?” I asked quizzically and stared at him for at least 30 seconds.
“What if I give you a beer and you go away, ok?”
“That would rock, I guess. ”
The barman was awesome; seriously, getting paid with stares is sooooo cool. So after I downed my beer, I went to play some more stare games with him. Only this time he grabbed my T-shirt’s collar and told me to beat it. I thought he meant to “beat it” as in “jack it” or “masturbate”, but that made the vein on his forehead to jump and throb. Even though my public masturbation stunt made me very popular with the ladies, he was furious. Pulling out £30 and handing them to him, mellowed his mood.
“Listen,” I said, while trying to hide some of my semen on the counter, “why don’t you take this and hit me with whisky until the money runs out. And when it does, I’ll come and give you more. Ok old-timer?”
He grunted affirmatively. I bet the ladies watching wanted me, hard.
I drunk a lot after that.
Peeing and shitting suddenly became my top priority. The toilets were fucked up pretty bad. They were small and smeared with shit all over the seat. You couldn’t sit and you couldn’t bend to shit standing up either, because the door was right in your face even when you stood straight. Bending would mean your squinting face had to protrude out of the open door and THAT is not my style. Basically, one had to bare his ass, avoid his crumbled pants hitting the floor or touching the seat, bend backwards to support one’s self with one arm on the back wall, while the other still holding the pants AND aim your ventilating butthole over the shithole in pitch black. So here it is… my Dogstock’s crapper review: zero (0).
Well done Dogstock.
the end.
PS #1: Don’t take my words verbatim. Overall, I had a great fucking time at Dogstock and I highly recommend it. The musicians were all great but all that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the booze (and drugs), the hot babes and the people. Seriously, what makes Dogstock such a blast is the audience. Iluvu.
PS #2: After some of those frequent whisky hits from the barman, my brain was so intoxicated that everything blurred. All in all everything was cool... I think. I remember liking the belly dancer. She was so hot. Some girl band was hot too. The familiar faces from college treated me nicely, so thank you, (even my sociology professor smiled at me, disregarding completely my flashing ass in his face, which I totally did and I’m being thankful I’m done with his courses, hahaha). I remember laughing a lot.
PS #3: Midway, I turned into a ninja for some reason (J&B). I was screaming and telling everybody how good at ninja-ing I am. I hid in trees, threw rocks and attacked randomly. It was awesome. Next day people were laughing at me while I was throwing up… in their shoes. Joke’s on them.
PS #4: During my ninja fit, my best female friend jumped in front of me, maintaining a fighting stance. Big mistake! I kicked her in the stomach so hard I felt some stinging pain too. Her boyfriend was very cool towards me and I applaud his reaction.
PS #5: I danced!!! With my ex, her friends and many more. I was sweaty and vomity so they didn’t really dance with me, most probably they pushed me around in disgust. Who cares? I thought I was dancing with everybody.
PS #6: I love Dogstock and it loves me.
PRS #7: Looking forward in throwing up on you next summer. See ya there… you candy ass banghole you.
Me, trying to drape myself with the stage:)