This was one for the ages. Toad, Jojo, and Dots showed up to Playa Ponderosa ready to Frick — and instead had to build. We were in a mad dash to put up our own installation, light it, get sound running; anything we could use as shelves we screwed to the wall and called it a day. The remnants of that build became The Color Block, a mini stage and seating area where patrons painted and drew to their hearts’ content.
After putting out a few fires with the fire marshal, we set sail and Fricked the shit out of our install. Got lots of compliments on the rig. Friday night was a little low-key, but a fine start to the weekend.
As Saturday rolled around our cast trickled in and started to find their rhythm. Our sponsor Playa Wipes stopped by, vying for a branding experience hitherto unknown in these parts — raining down wipes for these assholes so you can cleanly cuddle up. If this asshole wasn’t Playa Wiped, don’t eat it. She made a run for our treasured crocheted pink assless chaps (all chaps are assless, my friend!) but lost after a triple push.
Honeybun stole the show with the dare of the weekend — the infamous egg drop: 24 eggs dropped on a banana-suited hippie, supervised by none other than Trash Depot’s own head honcho, Grommit. With the new audio setup running, Dots took to the airwaves like a bat out of hell and laughed the night away quoting Faust, Mephistopheles, and Aziraphale.
By Sunday night our crew was a well-oiled machine. It’s times like this — when you’re on E, running on fumes — that you find out what you’re really made of. And our crew is made of something special. We listened. We spread our awareness as far as the eye could see, hearing the depths of each soul and the jingle of each trinket, and we scammed the hell out of y’all. My own souls were gambled, stolen from under my nose. The hair of every staff member. Our very own Instagram handle, gambled and lost. And Soul Daddy himself claimed the double middle name of an unborn child — signed and sealed in the devil’s own blood.
Much is afoot for these gamblers. Soul Dad’s gots a lotta plans in store. Oh, it’s just getting better, baby. Stay tuned.
— Frick Frack West