That Time We Played Oregon Trail On The Side Of The 747 And Other Burning Man 2019 Shenanigans

As regular readers of this blog know, I'm a big proponent for keeping the weird, quirky, and subversive in Burning Man. Last year, a group of us in my camp started Weirdout Wednesday as a day for people to let their freak flags fly and escape the bonds of Instagram coolness. Granted, it's hard to be truly weird at Burning Man, but think of it as a call to embrace your quirky side rather than DJ chase or pose for Instagram shots on big art or whatnot!

So, here's how some of us from our camp - Friendgasm - celebrated Weirdout Wednesday this year. My hope is that others feel inspired by these kinds of antics and are moved to shenanigans themselves!

Why, yes. Yes we are.

Diapers and Vuvuzelas

Last year, we threw on adult diapers and went and photobombed people. This year, we added onto the diapers with irritating instruments, such as vuvuzelas, kazoos, and even a squeezebox, though it's difficult to beat the vuvuzela for pure irritation value. They're surprisingly potent! We also had a couple campmates dressed as a low-rent Daft Punk carrying a piece of fencing like the trash fence around with them, and a female campmate who made a surprisingly passable Weird Al Yankovic rolling with us

Porcelain, as Weird Al, on Weirdout Wednesday.

There wasn't much photobombing to be had at either Duck Pond or Distrikt (that's a good thing imo!) so we mostly just danced, played our instruments cacophonously, and generally tried to make spectacles out of ourselves while strangers put on diapers and joined us. Best moment was when four of our group managed to get up in the cage hanging above the dance floor with the Weirdout Wednesday flag!

Some limited video of WoW. When you're busy partying and poopin' at the same time, there's not a lot of time for pics or vids! 

The Weirdout Wednesday crew still left when we decided to bail. Other than the diapers, damn it's hard to look weird at Burning Man!

Playing Oregon Trail On The Side Of The 747

One of my campmates, Ginger, brought a projector out to the playa, so we put it and a generator on a bike trailer and a few of us pedaled out to the 747's home to play us some of the very classic video game Oregon Trail on the big white side of the plane.

Anyway, we get there, the generator is on, projector is hooked up, the laptop is open and about to be logged into when the 747 starts moving. No problem we think, it's slow as balls, we'll just follow it. But, then we realized it was heading to Mayan Warrior, waaaay across the playa. We didn't feel like walking all our bikes that far with the gennie and projector and such, so the projector was strapped to the seat of a bike with the laptop strapped to the projector so we could play while moving. The generator fired up, and boom, we livened up a giant metal tube while it was being towed across the playa with some classic educational video game fun, if dying of terrible diseases is your idea of fun, at least.

It all went well, we got some cheers from folks on board the plane, and we even managed two successful river crossings when some entirely humorless woman stormed up to us, shouted a lot of words at us and claimed we were a "distraction" before angrily slamming shut Ginger's laptop and storming off again.

A distraction? At fucking Burning Man? Heaven forfend! I'm quite sure if your crew can handle walking a 747 across the playa past umpteen art cars and art pieces while ending up at the mother of all distractions - Mayan Warrior - it can handle a little 1970s video game goodness.

We briefly debated just ignoring her and firing the game up again as it's not like there's any particular reason to listen to some random rude person yelling at us on the playa, but she was obviously having a bad day and we were feeling kind of hungry by now so it was time to move onto the final installment of Weirdout Wednesday for us!

(Plus, Ginger had just gotten dysentery. Thank god we had leftover adult diapers from earlier in the day...)

Remember folks: disinfect your hands out there. Dysentery is disgusting.

Our Dark Lord Loves A Good Grilled Cheese

While 2018 was all about Toto's Africa for us, this year Friendgasm has been all about Satan and His Stygian blessings. Whether you know Him as the Morningstar, Lucifer, the Dark Lord, the Behemoth, Apollyon, the Beast, the Dragon, Beelzebub, or the OG Rebel, we are straight-up groupies for the Devil. He's just so dreamy and terrible at the same time. ​

Now, understand that Friendgasm had a bit of a rough entry to the playa this year in many cases. For instance, one RV pulled up and it was literally on fire underneath the carriage. Not figuratively literally. Literally literally. It all turned out ok after much hassle fixing it, but others had lost luggage, forgotten tickets, suffered rerouted flights, had vehicle breakdowns providing for overnight delays, and so on. ​

​We interpreted these difficulties, correctly as it turns out, to mean that we had been insufficiently assiduous in our worship of the Son of the Morning. Clearly, we had to rectify this.

Luckily, one of our camp-mates, Click Click, had a plan and we were only too eager to help make it happen. We pedaled out to deep playa and set up an LED pentagram to signal our fealty to the Dragon and as a beacon to other servants of the Dark. There, we planned to grill up some grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup.

What you unclaimed souls may not understand is the importance of grilled cheese and tomato soup in Satanism. It's referenced multiple times in the various ancient unholy documents we use to guide ourselves on this left-hand path upon which we walk. ​

"Let she who knoweth the cheese, the bread, and the soup of tomato give unending praise to Abaddon, for she shall see her soul swell, that our Lord may have greater portion to feast upon." - the 2nd Doctrine of Belial, 11th Tenet, translated from the original Aramaic.

"And it was with joy that the Armies of Hell did smite the forces of the Great Fascist in the Sky with tomato and bread, the hideous laughter of Baphomet wafting forth from the Underworld like cheese that doth stink of fouled socks." - The 5th Gospel of the Morningstar, translated from the original Greek.

"Eat more cheese." - A common saying among dairy farmers, cheesemakers, and Satanists. Yes, even the lactose intolerant, for our beloved Serpent has let loose His bowels and given the world nut 'cheese'. ​

The Grilled Cheese Pentagram. An ancient symbol of the Morningstar going back to Sumeria, over five thousand years ago.

I fired up some appropriate music - Runnin' with the Devil, Breakin' the Law, Highway to Hell, Number of the Beast, etc - and then Click Click and others started cooking up unpermitted sandwiches and soup on a propane grill and burner brought out for that purpose. Getting a health permit for it had been deemed blasphemous, for our souls may only belong to one Lord, and it is not the Nevada Dept of Health. We weep for those who fall prey to the temptations of the false gods of the bureaucratic and hide-bound right-hand path. Resist, and walk ye not there!

At first, it was just our group, but the Great Beast heard our cries and read the intentions in our hearts, and in small groups almost our entire camp of 30 managed to find us in deep playa, that they may participate in this most unholy of rituals. (Seriously, it was amazing. I think 25 of our camp members managed to find what had started as a small group of 7 or 8 with no preset meeting point). 

Soon, others with the Morning Light in their souls found us, and while we preached to them of the Glory of the Original Rebel and urged them to consume the sustenance while giving thanks and praise to Him, they gathered in awe and lo, they did eat of the body of the Cheese and the Bread and drink of the blood of the Tomato, and were made deliciously impure thusly. 

In the end, Lucifer Himself appeared to us, clad in a silver mask, and nodded His approval. We took this as an excellent sign, and indeed, our exit from Burning Man was, in contrast to our entry, flawless. 

While Wednesday was now over, we decided we'd go celebrate as a group by going to see a set by Fleetmac Wood at Camp Illuminaughty, who, if they aren't Satanists, really ought to consider it.

The Devil really digs Fleetwood Mac mashups, you know.

"Ye shall know the Music of the Beast by its wood that is fleet." - Melek Taus, a Yezidi Devil-Prophet from the 11th century, translated from the Kurdish.

And when that was over, we went back to our lair at Friendgasm and threw an afterparty in our dome where we spoke in tongues, danced widdershins, and sacrificed many a birgin until dawn. It's possible some hot and spicy Doritos were also involved, but I will confirm no specifics.

Weirdout Wednesday was the best day of the Burn for me!

​Keep It Weird, Burning Man! 

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