[We have been taken to task for our caption at
which is the photograph referred to in the following correction. We
apologize most humbly for this error and hope the
goons er, disturbed
individuals involved will accept our apology or hose us again next year.
Cricket or not. :-)]
My Dear CivEx,
I fear that the caption to one of your Burning Man 98 photos is seriously in error. Please allow me to give you the full story of the photo in your nekkid people collection of the Disturbian Horde gathered around that "Thinly Veiled Hostility" sign. In case you doubt my authority to speak on the subject, I am the handsome fellow behind the nekkid guy.
The Horde came upon the sign and then you at the end of our Glorious Campaign to subdue by force of arms our hereditary enemies in the Bleu Light District. Believing that any society -- Black Rock City included -- needs some good, old-fashioned militaristic nationalism to give it texture and oomph, we charged forth well-armed and full of zeal. Sadly, however, we charged forth without much planning.
For one thing, the blasted BLD had no discernible boundaries. We neglected to scout the terrain before attacking, so we discovered this problem only when it occurred to someone to ask, "Where exactly is the Bleu Light District?" Someone else said, "It's all around us, I guess" so we set upon anyone in sight.
Some of our number had brought smoke bombs, which we intended to set off to create a cloud of color and confusion out of which the Horde would burst, soaking everything and everyone into submission. Unfortunately, we neglected to notice the wind direction before planning our route and placing our munitions. The wind carried the cloud in the opposite direction of our intended assault, so we had to burst in as best we could without the additional drama the smoke would have provided. So much for the aesthetics of warfare.
So much, as well, for the puny forces we encountered. During the entire assault, which had lasted 15 or 20 minutes by the time we came upon that sign, I did not see a single BLDer offer even token resistance to the Horde's aquatic atrocities. Our only casualties came from friendly fire, and after running around in the heat of the afternoon, we were sorely in need of some unfriendly spray. So we wasted gallons upon gallons of ammunition on an enemy who merely sat around and soaked it up. Not cricket. Not cricket at all, my dear CivEx.
Disappointed that the spineless namby pambies of the BLD hadn't given us more of a fight but flush with our Famous Victory, we turned back toward our home, the Glorious Village of Disturbia. That's when we came upon that sign, began to assemble for a group photo, and then realized to our disappointment that we had failed to bring along a war historian. Fortunately, you were present, camera at the ready.
I'm not sure whether we should be proud or ashamed that we managed to completely subdue an entire enemy village without its citizens especially noticing their misfortune. Anyway, I appreciate your attempt to document the single, defining triumph of the Disturbian Horde. I hope you will consider the information I've provided and give some version of the full story in your caption. If not, anyway I enjoyed seeing a picture on your site of myself acting silly. Thanks for helping me remember.
PS: Someone in BLD may have tried to carry out a pathetic attempt at retaliation. As my camp mates and I sat waiting for dinner to cook the evening of the F. V., some sneaky looking fellows sidled up and asked if we were the Village of Disturbia. No Disturbian ever tells the truth when a lie will do, so we said no and pointed to the absinthe bar across Atlantic Ave. (which was not part of the village, of course). The sneaky looking fellows whipped out super soakers and doused the people congregated there. Then the attackers decamped, shouting something about a "paid hit" over their shoulders. We merely chuckled at the confusion of the absinthe drinkers.