Today I Pooped Out a Horse

Sophie Saint Thomas asked if she could cover The Great Googa Mooga Festival that took place in Brooklyn's Prospect Park over the weekend. It didn't take long before we started receiving texts from her at the event saying it was a shit show. Here's her first hand account of the fest.

The tickets were free. My intuition should have known that was too good to be true and stayed home, saving myself from the soul-wrenching horror known as THE HORRIBLE GOOGA MOOGA. Anything with such an absurd name was obviously created by lunatics. What started as a beautiful Saturday began to spiral downhill when my captor "boyfriend" lead me down piss-covered stairs to the under belly of the city. I was forced to ride on an ancient subterranean train over the skeletons of rats and humans who preferred death to this hell. When we emerged from the underground I was funneled into a mass of humans entering a circus called Prospect Park. Runners who willingly subjected themselves to a half-marathon sauntered by in spandex, showing off medals awarded for their insanity. Mothers who paid to have their noses broken and facial muscles paralyzed pushed their helpless children in strollers.

As we got closer to THE HORRIBLE GOOGA MOOGA, I was shackled and forced to line up with thousands under the sweltering sun. After being searched and prodded by guards, we were lead through the gates. If you thought waiting in line was over once you made it through you were surely mistaken. Humans were then forced to wait in line to show identification. After proving I was allowed to consume alcohol, the only respite to the torture, I was put in line to purchase pieces of paper. After being rationed my paper, I was herded in line to exchange them for beer. The wardens serving the beer were untrained, and poured cups full of foam as part of a plot to further degrade my sanity.

At feeding time I entered the shortest line in attempt to purchase what I believed to be a bologna grilled cheese. I was bullied out of $15 and later discovered what I had consumed was in fact horse bologna. In perhaps the most upsetting moment of the day I spotted the rapper Coolio behind a food stand, stripped of his former glory and forced to sell egg rolls.

There were two stages of "shows" to distract the humans and prevent escape. On the main stage was a cult who called themselves the Holy Ghost. On a smaller stage was a gang of convicts called Bear Hands. The famous dictator Anthony Bourdain tantalized the masses with stories of vegetables and meats, reminding us that he was paid fortunes to travel the world and eat the finest foods while we were left to melt in Prospect Park giving up our meager salaries for processed horse meat.

In an obvious effort to break down our psyche and revert us back to our mental age in 10th grade, the last group to play would be the Roots.  As the herds staggered toward the main stage, distracting the guards and organizers, I saw my escape. I sprinted as fast as I could out of the festival grounds, ignoring cries from those around and made it outside the gates by the skin of my teeth. I did not stop running until I was out of Prospect Park and as far away from that festival of horrors as I could get. Despite the PTSD from knowing that today I pooped out a horse,  my doctor says I am recovering quite well.

@TheBowieCat