Scariest Projections!

A$AP Rocky

Photo by Philip Cosores

Note: This entry was written by 56-year-old guest reporter, Gunther Guthrie.

Reader, I have a confession. I did a bad thing. A very bad thing.

On Sunday night, I needed to find my daughter Jordan, who spent all weekend at this place called Perry’s (for my first mention of Perry’s, see my writeup on the inappropriately named band The War on Drugs). I wish I could have let her stay later, but her aunt and uncle were in town, and my wife, Gilda, was making her world-famous pot roast. It’s a long drive back to Arlington Heights, and we couldn’t miss it.

So I finally found this place Perry’s, which was actually pretty easy to find because there is a big sign in front of it that says “Perry’s.” I walked in, and I gotta tell ya, it was something else. Think Sodom and Gomorrah but with more dust and half-naked teenagers. Basketball jerseys and Native-American halter tops and kids jiggling themselves everywhere. In other words, bad news.

Photo by Philip Cosores

Two clean-cut gentleman on stage spun records and emitted a bunch of heavy bass and Robocop farts (Seriously, this was the opposite of Sam Smith. These guys were not performers, but button pushers), and the crowd went wild, crying and vomiting, often at the same time! Needless to say, it was impossible to find Jordan.

She’s a good kid, and I knew she’d make her way back home, but I was depressed. My little girl was growing up. I hung my head and walked out of Perry’s, when a nice young lad asked me if I’d like to buy a Tab.

“The soda?” I asked him.

“Yeah, sure, man,” he replied.

Photo by Philip Cosores

It had been a while since I hit the press tent, so I was pretty thirsty. I happily paid him his $15, which seemed a little pricy for a soft drink, but oh well. But when I looked down at what the enterprising young man had placed in my hand, it wasn’t a soda at all, but a sticker. What the heck was going on here? He was gone in a flash before I could ask him. The sticker had a Smurf on it, and it looked a little wet. Maybe I had to lick it for hydration? So I did.

Now, I’ve listened to ELP’s Brain Salad Surgery almost nonstop as a teenager, but I have never experienced anything like this. Everyone soon looked like a paramecium (a globular-looking protozoa, for all you laymen aka parameciums out there ;), and when I made my way towards the park exit, it felt like I was ice-skating on Jell-O. I figured I should review one more act on my way out, and the act I caught was A$AP Rocky. Not sure why he has a dollar sign in his name, but okay.

Photo by Philip Cosores

Reader, I’ve gotta be honest — I don’t remember much about the music. It was rap — I know that — and I didn’t really like the way he shouted and sang about violence and what not. What I do remember are the projections, a horror show of money falling in rainstorms and women bending over with their butts touching so they looked like demonic Rorschach inkblots. I screamed. When I looked down at my pants, I realized I had pissed myself.

I knew I was in no shape to drive, so I took an Uber home, which ended up being pricey since I live all the way out in Arlington Heights. Jordan, Gilda, and my in-laws were all already there, and they didn’t seem to notice anything strange as I quietly ate my pot roast.

That night when I went to bed, I kept seeing the money storms and Rorschach butts doing their monstrous dance on the ceiling. When I woke up the next morning, I had wet the bed. That’s two pants-pissings for all you keeping score at home. I am afraid for my well-being, and am never going to Lollapalooza again. –Gunther Guthrie