Phish – Festival 8

10/30-11/01/2009 – Empire Polo Fields: Indio, CA

Word/Photos by Justin

Writers note:  All encounters as told below are true.  Names are changed/made up to protect the not so innocent.  It is suggested that you make a strong drink or eat some paint chips before reading this report on Phish fans, as it is NOT to be taken seriously and does not reflect the entire Phish community (I am talking to you PHISHMEAT). 


Phans #1 – Kid A (and Deb)

I met Kid A Saturday afternoon as I drank a Sierra Nevada FOAM Pilsner and attempted to charge my phone at The Overlook.  If it was not for the inability to grow facial hair, Kid A could be a dead ringer for a young Wook #17.  Kenny had hitched a ride to Festival 8 from Minnesota with a woman named Deb.  Deb was suffering from Menopause, and was at least 400 pounds.  While I have no problem with 400+ pound women with a case of Minnetonkapause, I do take issue when they wear daisy dukes.  Kenny was struggling big time with the California heat.  He was also very upset with Phish, who was charging $1 to fill up water bottles inside the concert venue (it was free if you purchased the $10 phish water bottle).  When I informed him that other festivals held at the Empire Polo Field charged a lot more for a lot less, he didn’t care.  Phish was out for his money, and he was not happy.  He asked where I was heading post show, and if he could get a ride.  He seemed upset about Minnetonkapause and her ignorant views on life or some shit, I don’t really remember.  With Deb having wandered off to God knows where, he told me he had planned to hitch to San Francisco where he would play guitar on the street for cash to get a bus ticket home.  Intrigued, I asked where in the City he planned to play.  He told me Haight/Ashbury was his ideal location and I just laughed.  Sad, I informed him he should go to the Tenderloin district to earn cash.  When he asked if there was a good music scene, I was honest.  I told him there was not, but he could sell his body to a variety of junkie, perverts and or law enforcement officers and make cash for a bus ticket in half the time.  Confused, he said he was going back to camp to play guitar and asked me to watch Deb’s phone.  I never said I would, but when Deb came back five minutes later, she thanked me and told me her plans to ditch Kid A as he was not worth the gas money.  I agreed with Deb, and thought happy thoughts as the California sunshine reflected poorly off her white cellulite filled legs.

Phan #2 – Polar Bear

Polar Bear camped next to us.  He seemed nice, shared a name with a famous polar bear, but didn’t have much to say.  You could tell Polar Bear was an OG Deadhead, and never gave up on that 60’s dream.  He also had a super sweet van.  I tried to talk about the good old days with him, but he’d much rather just eat all of our Halloween Candy (which is fine, we had plenty and we were willing to share).  I will say it was pretty sweet when he cruised by camp and played along to the Hunky Dory record with his Clarinet.

Phans #3 – Leroy and Steve

I spoke to Leroy for one reason and one reason alone.  He was black.  In fact, he was the only black fan I saw all weekend.  I asked him about Phish, and he informed me he could care less.  His pal Steve was the fan, he was just there for the drugs.  At least he was honest, but I am still looking for a Phish phan that is not white or Jewish.  Hit me up if you are out there.

Phans #4 – Wook Families

By now, you have probably caught on that I have a mild obsession with Wooks.  They manage to bring a smile to my face, much like midgets.  Sometimes, God smiles down on you and blesses you with families of Wooks.  I saw at least five wook families over the weekend, including a family with two Mama Bears (they were selling rocks and jewelry out of the back of their van) and a Ginger family of wooks.  My pal had to pull me away from the last one, something about my behavior being inappropriate as I laughed hysterically at them.  I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. 

Phan #5 – Darling Nikki

We met Nikki right after the third set on Halloween.  It was obvious from the get go that Nikki was a sex fiend.  After all, her costume was a white T-shirt marked in Sharpie pen.  It read “What Happens in Vegas Didn’t Stay In Vegas”.  She tried to convince us that she managed to get to the front of the stage because people actually believed that she was pregnant.  Her baby bump was a couple of t-shirts stuffed in a bag from the local supermarket Ralph’s (the only form of ID that “The Dude” has for those keeping score at home).  For as far gone as my two pals and I were in that very moment, it was clear that Nikki was far deeper in a trip than us.  She had lost her friends, and decided to invite us back to her Orange tent in the MGMT campground for beers and group sex.  I informed her I was married and offered to video tape my two friends pounding her holes in glorious HD and she agreed.  As we walked back, she kept stopping folks to feel the baby kick.  Most just smiled and obliged, realizing how twisted out of her mind this gal was.  During the small talk that occurred during our journey, we discovered that she and I were neighbors.  She mocked me for living south of the 10 freeway, I mocked her for renting.  Then before we knew it, she was gone.

About two hours later, after we walked around looking for a party that didn’t seem to exist, we ended up watching the last 10 minutes of Rob Zombie’s Halloween.  Coming down from our various trips, we decided to head back to camp and cash in on that extra hour of sleep.  As we walked past the Ferris Wheel, we saw Nikki with two frat boys.  They were both taking turn touching the baby and other parts of her body.  It was for the best my friends and I decided, as the general store didn’t carry penicillin.    

 The Crowd at Festival 8: 11/01/09

A direct descendant of the outlaw Jesse James and star of a 1983 Kilpatricks Bread radio commercial, Reverend Justito has taken his gift of ADHD and put it to good use by creating one of a kind concert reviews. A bootlegger at heart, the man lives off Whiskey, Taco Bell and the love of San Francisco sports teams.
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