Every few years, I attend Bonnaroo, yielding to an unexplained allure. Bonnaroo is a fantastic series of concerts on a 700-acre farm between Nashville and Chattanooga, Tenn. It is like an annual Woodstock, where modern-day hippies and music lovers camp for four days and watch top bands play. I do not camp, however. As I came to discover, camping outdoors involves the outdoors, and I do not like discomfort in any form. The outdoors is best left outdoors.

I was initially told that Bonnaroo is a made-up word that means nothing, like “lollapalooza” or “congressional ethics.” Later, I found out that the word is Cajun slang for “fun.”

Bonnaroo is attended mostly by folks adorned with nose rings and tattoos, wearing bathing suits that they really should have reconsidered. Although I am steadfastly against more government, I really think some of these women should apply for a permit to wear a two-piece. Bill Clinton could chair the committee to review applicants; he’d like that.

A few attendees overdosed on drugs, while others were making out with another joyful soul, also with a nose ring. More STDs are passed around at Bonnaroo than at Kim Kardashian’s bachelorette party. Afterwards, it’s common to see attendees checking their crotches, hoping that redness is only a bug bite.

As you might imagine, the Birkenstock crowd promotes all their liberal causes. Kids seem more interested in talking about the world’s problems than coming up with any solutions. As best I can figure, they like to “raise awareness” in hopes that someone else will actually do something – perhaps their parents, who paid for their $250 tickets.

Apparently, it is more noble to be an activist involved in nonquantifiable, grand-scale issues, such as worldwide pollution, global warming and the environment. Clearly, that is easier than actually cleaning up themselves and their campsites. Besides, chicks dig someone who pretends to care.

Anytime music fans gather, there will be drugs. Yet, so bold is the drug use here that a kid could be arrested with pot found in his system, and he would probably ask for it back.

At Bonnaroo, the entrepreneurial spirit abounds, a shining example of the same capitalism that the kids seem to detest on a larger scale. Liberals are OK with making money as long as they act like they feel bad about it.

Vendors on foot offer a wide array of pot, cocaine and acid for a reasonable, market-driven price. Ironically, drugs are sold at more competitive prices than with the prescription drug benefit Congress “gave” us because, at least at Bonnaroo, the drug dealers are forced to compete.

The dealers operate by walking past someone and stating their product; so I hear passerby say “pot.” If one wanted to buy said product, then (unlike with our government’s drug purchases) one would engage the vendor in price negotiations. And by “one” I mean Scott. And, like almost all of my purchases, negotiations would begin with, “You ain’t no cop, are you?”

Being one of the oldest dudes there, I really don’t get many offers to “Rock the Vote” or buy drugs. I’m getting to the age that I’m starting to pay attention to those catheter commercials on TV. In fact, I am not sure that, when I walked by one dealer, he did not utter “Viagra.”

My crowd is so old, I fear that if one of us were introduced to Usher at a concert, we would ask him to show us to our seats.

They register voters at Bonnaroo because they know that the kids are going to vote Democrat, since they get most of their political views from people like the drummer for Third Eye Blind. The same guy who rails against oil companies’ 10-cents-per-gallon profit has no problem selling his band’s T-shirts at concerts for $45 apiece.

Another barker said that he supported Hillary Clinton because she would fight global warming. I told him that he might be on to something: Since there is nothing warm about Hillary, she really cannot be the least bit to blame.

Also, I always get the funnel cake, because, at some point, my hunger becomes stronger than my memory.

All in all, I really enjoy Bonnaroo. I would advise all of the forty-somethings out there to try it. On one hand, it makes you feel old. Yet, with its vibrancy and infectious, carefree atmosphere, it makes you feel young and rejuvenated. And it reminds us that, although getting old is inevitable, acting old is optional.

Ron Hart, a libertarian syndicated op-ed humorist, award-winning author and TV/radio commentator, can be reached at Ron@RonaldHart.com or visit www.RonaldHart.com.