Catch up with The Blissful Idiot – Volume I here:
http://lostinsound.org/category/editorials/the-blissful-idiot/
Disclaimer: The following is a real life account of a human behavioral analysis study. A secret project conducted by an unnamed public interest group in conjunction with the online publication, Lost in Sound.
(To avoid redundancy and to not potentially belabor you, the astute reader, ad nauseum with semicolons, wordsmithery and general flim-flammery, included now a link to the original disclaimer for this study, if elaboration is needed.
Actually, not that one – this one.)
Although his first festival assignment yielded highly questionable, yet very promising data, the test subject dramatically regressed upon re-entry into civilized society. Our most recent psychological evaluations led us to believe that any spiritual “insights,” advice from tiny elves and/or good will acquired during his initial exposure have been stripped away due to re-assimilation. Furthermore, we were unable to determine to what extent his contributions to Glitter magazine, psychic contact with Kanye West’s partial fecal matter and/or “private truth sleuther” delusions of grandeur continued to play a role, if any, in test subject’s day-to-day activities.
As a result, it was deemed necessary to re-enlist the test subject for a follow-up assignment. The intention of this grandest of social experiments is to comprehensively observe and study the behavior of an ordinary, “head in the sand” socially conditioned human being after prolonged exposure to a conscious-minded, “transformational” music festival. To possibly discover in what way said “transformation” is occurring on an individual and/or collective level at these marginalized events.
Upon consultation with a travel agent named Eduardo (accompanied by a rousing tickle fight), we decided to release our test subject “back into the wild.” And what better “wild and crazy” setting than – Latin America. A consensus was reached that the prime destination would be a gathering named “Envision” in a remote region along the Pacific coast of Costa Rica.
Fortunately, with some mild tasering and an invitation to sit in with the Chuck E. Cheese jug band (don’t worry, we medicated him with plenty of valium for the extended plane ride), test subject eventually agreed to participate. For documentation purposes, he was provided with a diary, voice recorder, camera and a designer “fluffy pen.”
Unfortunately, in an unforeseen twist of events, our handpicked test subject (aka “The Blissful Idiot”) somehow got it in his head he’d been granted a VIP pass to Disneyworld. To complicate matters much worse, upon arriving for assignment – he disappeared. That’s correct, he’s gone – “Rogue Idiot.” Although communication was at first reliable, all forms of direct correspondence have completely ceased.
After several months of desperately attempting to re-establish contact with test subject, we recently received scattered diary pieces via fax transmission through the aid of a mysterious liaison named “Cocoa.” At this point it is unknown whether “The Blissful Idiot” is being held in captivity or even alive for that matter.
So without further adieu, herein lies a rather nuanced, quite enthusiastic excerpt from one of his salvaged diary entries.
Yes, this is real…
< BEGIN FACSIMILE TRANSMISSION >
“Gosh-golly-darn-it, Moon Squirtle whatever the hell your name is– why do you keep saying I’m ruining your “bliss?” I don’t even know what that means!”
“Ahem, but it’s ummm…Astral Moonstar Tigerlemon Opal Lilly Wonker Goo-Goo Glider………Goldstein!”
“How enchanting! Mommy and daddy must be soooo proud!!!!”
“Excuse me, but I’m a high priestess…a sentient form of pure light! You can’t even see me right now!”
“Will you pleeeeeeeeeease point me…”
“You can’t see me!”
“…in the direction of Space Mount…”
“You can’t…seeeeeee meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
“But, but I can. I really can! You’re standing right…”
“Ok, hugs! Pura Vida! Bye-bye now!”
“And a Livin’ La Vida Loca to you too lil missy!!!!”
Dear Diary,
Ahhhhhh, don’t you just love theme park greeters? They sure don’t make ‘em like they used to! It’s like, are we going to be here awhile? Am I gonna need to have a mini-cooler of Bud Light Lime-rita’s airlifted into this kooky conversation?! Wheeeeeew! Ok, I’m alright…I’m okay! Just put on a big boy face and pull it together now.
Ohhh sweet diary, what would I ever do without you and Mr. Fluffy pen? And…and that spare kidney on ice in my special tote bag? (I think I’ll name him “Ricky Martin!”)
But anywho, where should I start? Where could I possibly begin? Mr. Fluffy, we gotta-lotta catchin’ up to do. I sure hope you’re up to the challenge. Because wait til ya get a load of
this wacky hot orgy mess! If only you could’ve seen the line to get into Disneyworld! From the looks of things, it must’ve been “bring one homeless refugee person and the next gets half off day!” Aw shucks, I couldn’t wait to jump into the mix with this band of lollygagger’s and get my meet-n-greet mingle on! What’s that goofy unicorn costume lady? You want to tell me your entire life story while we move 200 feet in line over the next 73.5 hours? Geez Louise, let me clear some space on my schedule! You know what? On second thought, I’m just gonna hop, skip and a tiddlywink allllllll the way to the front of this leper colony of a bread line.
That’s because the yokels over at Lost and Found got me on the “VIP” list. Yeaaah booooiiiiii, VIP for daaaaaaaaaaaaays! But hey, wait a minute – I thought we were all special VIP peoples in the game of life? Welp, while everyone’s tryin’ to figure that one out – see you on the other side, bitches! = o )
Upside, inside out, livin’ la vida loca!
Ohhhhh, the endless teacups to be hijacked…
Drag your piñata don-key a-round!
I couldn’t wait to sit on Minnies’s lap and tell her my dirty secrets…
Spandex-neon-peepshow-sounds!
I’d kick Tigger right in the balls and then have a big ole laugh about it with Mickey. A-ha-ha!
Livin’ la vida loca, livin’ la vida loca, livin’…la…vi…da…….what the @#%*$!^…????
Wait just a gosh darn second. What the hell is all this? Where are all the Cinderella castles? The cozy wonder-bosoms of Main Street? The Epcot international gift shop I was gonna culturally appropriate the shit out of?
Never the golly heck less, it didn’t make a darn bit of difference. Before I could even get my special sunscreen on, there was this spooky magnetism that had taken ahold of me. (It’s ok Mr. Fluffy, we’ll cover that more later.) No, really. Because even though I had no effing clue which jungle-themed back lot of Disneyworld I was being sucked into the bowels of – this place was like totally bonkers, lil buddy!!!!!
First, there was a tantalizing trail of fun-fact-clues littered about the trees. Ohhhh, just what do we have here?
“Do not eat…the brown…acid.” Note to self: become pen pals with this “brown acid.”
“Lost my friends…at…In-vision. Tell them I say…Hi???”
Aww, just look at them! LOOK AT THEM! And they were havin’ the time of their fucking lives too! Damn it Mr. Fluffy pen – WHERE COULD THEY BE???? Surely that Captain Hook or Mad Hatter must’ve been the cryptic taint tickler behind this never-ending dick-around of a scavenger hunt!
But wait – that was only the beginning. After strategically somersaulting my way through the forest, I knew The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh had to be oh-so-close. Good golly, it just had to be! Instead I detoured my happy ass right into the middle of a…a hidden food court! Ah yes, the plot had thickened. Except it was some freakshow kiosk zoo. And it was crawling with aboriginal theme ride actors. And, and they were on one big group hug of a filthy lunch break!
Sweet heavens Mr. Fluffy pen, just how many pirates from the filthy Caribbean can you cram into one golly heck Jungle Book anyways? They even had an Orange Julius with sweaty coconut bandits wielding machete knives! And I thought Herbie went bananas!
Next thing I knew, here came a village scribe selling me PG-rated jokes. Let’s see what ya got, little kid!
“A photon is passing through airport security.”
“Uh huh…go on, go on…”
“The TSA agent asks if he has any luggage. The photon says, “No, I’m traveling light.”
“Hi-ooooooooh – get the fuck outta town! No, but really, get the fuck outta here. I’m tryin’ to eat this stupid coconut with a machete, ya big silly!” And then…then, to top off this cornucopia of cockamamie, in marched a gaggle of merry gypsy carolers from the cast of Aladdin! Oh boy, this carpet ride was gonna be a barn burner! Hey, maybe they knew of Mickey’s whereabouts…
“Krishna, Kriiiiiiishna!”
“Pardon me, but HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN MICKEY?”
“Krishna…Krishna-Krishnaaaaaa!!”
“MICKEY!!! WHERE’S MICKEY MOUSE!?!?”
“Krishna, Krishna-Krishna-Krissssssshnaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”
“For fuck’s sake, just forget about it! I HATE YOU PEOPLE!”
“What’s that – you wanna piece of me?! Hey, stooooop it, ya big hairy tease! Ok, ok, don’t stop…don’t you dare stop. Now do it on my nipples! Then I’ll do you next.”
“Hey! Just where do ya think you’re goin’? I thought we were gonna be together, forever?!?! Fuck it, I’m comin’ up! What’s that? The ride’s already at capacity???? Fine then, I didn’t wanna be a part of your fancy pants Swiss Family tree reach-around anyways!”
And I told myself I wasn’t gonna get over-stimulated! Oh my, where was I?
What’s that Mr. Fluffy pen? You want to know where Chip’n’Dale were gallivanting about as well? Well gosh darn it, I’m glad you asked! Because next thing ya knew, I finally made my merry way out of the secret food court o’ jollies, only to stumble upon quite a splendid scene indeed.
Gee willickers, was everybody on one never-ending lunch break orgy? And which ride was that burnt rubber factory smell spewing from? Maybe it was just me, but I had a sneaking suspicion this wasn’t the Country Bear Jamboree. Perhaps Walt Disney and the gang had tweaked the format just a smidge-a-roo or two. Because this most definitely was not your grandpappy’s happy ho-down jubilee!
Before I knew it, there was this kooky gravitational pull alluring my sweet, innocent body further and further into the clutches of its pleasure palace. (Remember how I foreshadowed earlier Mr. Fluffy pen!? How exciting!) The stage was littered with a crew of foaming-at-the-mouth Mouseketeer banshees, hypnotized by some form of tribal jock jams pulsating from the underbelly of a wooden monstrosity. That’s right: Deep cuts – extended mystical version. Good lord Mr. Fluffy, what kind of pornographic “It’s a Small World” discotheque were they peddling to these poor kids? It was just one big “We’re gonna do whatever the golly fuck we want up here” marathon spree.
So of course I just had to join in! That’s right – VIP, bitches! Besides, I knew Mickey and Minnie were freakin’ on some easy steez up in the heezy somewhere. Woot! Woot!
Whoa, hey now – don’t you dare defile me with your fruit! I’m a delicate flower! (On second thought, I’d just look for Mickey and the gang backstage.)
Hey, maybe this lil go-go dancer person knew where to find that rascal…
“Have you seen Mickey???”
“WHAT?!?!”
“Have you seeeeeeeeeeen MIIIIICCCCCKKKKKKKEEEEEEYYYYYY???”
“WHOOOOOOO???”
“Mickey MOTHERFUCKING Mouse – THAT’S WHO!!!!”
“STAR-CHILD SPRINKLE-DRAGON????”
“Quit toying with me you TINY AMAZON TEMPTRESS!!!!”
Nope, not back here either! You know what, maybe Dumbo and Pluto were playing hide-n-seek upstairs…
Look, I can see China! Wait just a darn minute – what’s goin’ on down below?
Ohhhhh geeeeeeez, you can’t un-see that! “Hey you two – get a room!”
But you know what, Mr. Fluffy? I never could find those happy-go-lucky little sons of bitches. They were probably hiding in the bushes somewhere with Alice and that sneaky Cheshire cat peckerwood. Huffing gobs of glue sticks while shooting laser pens at each other’s private parts or whatever’s clever.
Alas, my intrigue was being taken elsewhere. For everywhere I wandered, the more I wondered what kind of free-for-all fantasy camp was oozing out before me. Come to think of it, maybe I was marooned on some after hours animatronic club med super-mixer! Whatever the hell was transpiring, apparently everyone around here was too wrapped up in their own little happy place to impart anything on me. It’s like, does anyone ever actually get any work done around here?
Well Fluffy ole pal – ask and you shall receive. That’s because once Mr. Sun shook hands with Mr. Moon, this most “Happiest of Places on Earth” really began to sink its hairy teeth in. Hey, stop it – that really tickles! For after dusk, a whole ‘nother breed of mayhem sprung out from the filthy jungle woodwork. It felt like I was witnessing part of a new, experimental cartoon strip trickling its way into my wary psyche. However, these weren’t just your run-of-the-mill Bedknob & Broomstick Disney fruit baskets. Like golly heck they were! More like a primo pot of some Little Mermaid Folgers space crystals!
There was a Vanilla Go-rilla named Kazilla…
A bustling band of Bijoulette’s…
A goddess from another fun zone dimension…
Then there was this fancy pants go-getter…
Indeed, ole Walt must’ve handpicked this fine assortment of oddball dandies from the depths of the Disney back lot himself. This inter-connected, unbound collective.
These, these…dare I say – Imagineers.
But then…then, just when I knew I’d infiltrated every ride and had my common decency cattle prodded along every turn, there was an attraction bearing no resemblance to any golly heck thing I’d ever been exposed to in the entirety of my existence. What’s that Mr. Fluffy pen? Your lil asshole just puckered up? Well gosh darn it, that makes two of us!
Anywho, where was I? Ahhhhh yes – the twister was tucked away from the main thoroughfare, perhaps far too potent for the frolicking faint of heart. Except this untamed rollercoaster beast wasn’t actually tied to any rails, tracks or beams. Ohhhhhhh like golly heck – it sure was not! In fact, the sorcerer running this operation was the ride himself: a loosy-goosy potpourri of never-ending perplexities and peculiar eccentricities as far as the eye could see!
But who was he? All I could hear were whispers swirling through the darkness. These little murmurs and mutterings coming from a cluster of stupefied souls gathered around this man…this being…this, this…creature? Whatever “it” was, they were hailing the presence as – “The Android.”
Oooooooo – spoooooooooky!
Ohhhhhh, I dunno about this, Mr. Fluffy. For I felt of a mean case of the willies, jimmies and Stan Van Gundy fear sandwiches surging across my body. Indeed, whatever happens beyond Space Mountain – stays beyond Space Mountain!
Nevertheless, my curiosity had been lured right out of its fun bag. So of course…I began inching…inching toward this magician robot character…oh-so-ever-very-closer for a better snap shot. But then, just as I…
< END FACSIMILE TRANSMISSION >
Join us next week for Episode Two of “The Blissful Idiot at Envision Festival.” Will our hapless test subject ever come face-to-face with this “Android” fellow? Will he swim in the ocean, only to be adopted by a pack of wild pool noodles? Will Ricky Martin finally make an appearance? Find out next week!
Read Volume II/Episode Two The Curious Case of the Compost Toilets here:
http://lostinsound.org/blissful-idiot-envision-volume-ii-episode-two-curious-case-compost-toilets/
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