Every summer, the small town of Manchester, TN, is overrun by 120,000 crazed music fans for a four-day music festival called Bonnaroo. It’s our generation’s equivalent of Woodstock: kids camping out in a huge field to wake up, do drugs, and listen to music.

Bonnaroo is a collection of people of all walks of life: hippies, yuppies, potheads, deadheads, acid freaks, XTC lovers, and the occasional genuine music fan.

We arrived late Friday night (Day Two), just in time for The Flaming Lips. We made our way through the masses of bodies, giant orange balloons, and confetti and got about 40 feet from the stage.

Just as we got settled in and the lead singer began crowd-surfing the front row in a huge, inflatable bubble, the guy behind us yacked on the two girls next to us and managed to spray a little bit of puke on my buddy Blek’s leg.

The girls got it the worst. As we rinsed most of the vomit off of the two girls with our beers, I said to Blek, “Welcome to Bonnaroo…”

Unfortunately for Blek, his “Bonnaroo Welcome” did not end there. After driving all day and getting crunk for the late-night Galactic show, we decided we were too tired to set up camp and slept in the truck.

Early the next morning, as Blek was dragging his hungover ass out of the driver’s side of the truck, an orange went flying past him, just missing his face and exploding against the van parked next to us.

Apparently, the chick camping next to us was having some kind of freakout. (We later found out that this “chick” was more than likely a prostitute and the ultimate evil.)

Blek leaned into the truck. “Dude, some bitch just threw an orange at my face!”

I was still half asleep. “Yeah, welcome to Bonnaroo.”

This bitch was causing all kinds of commotion, fanning herself with a Ouija board, screaming because someone lost her “fan.”

She was a short, petite tweaker. It’s a shame; she would’ve probably been attractive if she weren’t such a wired and crazy kid.

So after bumming a cigarette from Blek, she went back to her car and started throwing sh—t all over the place, looking for her fan.

I was waiting for her to come back with a box fan, a small AC unit, something worthy of waking me and everyone else in the general vicinity (aside from the fact it was extremely hot). But no…

“Finally, I found my fan,” she said. She was now fanning herself with a small Oriental folding fan.

That’s right. She woke up all these people, including me, and threw an orange at Blek all because she misplaced a stupid little folding fan.

Meanwhile, Blek and I were setting up camp and getting to know some of our neighboroos. We met a couple that rode from California with the “chick,” and they gave us the skinny on the situation with this crazy broad who was now sitting in her car making out with this little geeky-looking guy.

Apparently, the “chick” met up with this couple on Craigslist to carpool to Tennessee. It wasn’t until they made it to Arizona that they discovered the “chick” had no money. She was trying to suck a dick across the country with a beat-up Honda Accord and coupons to Jack in the Box.

She and the geek (her John, trick, sugar daddy) got out of the car and announced they were headed to the stages to go see some music.

As they walked away, he looked back over his shoulder with a pathetic look on his face, almost like he was asking for help.

I mouthed back at him, “RUN!” Poor guy.

The moment they left, I could actually feel the entire camping area breathe a sigh of relief.

Later that day, we bought a ten strip of acid from this girl named Panda.

It’s tricky buying drugs at Bonnaroo. I’ve been burned a few times, and find it’s best to buy from people who look f—ked up on their own product. I figured a girl skipping around calling herself Panda was more than likely high on acid.

We split the strip between the couple we met earlier, Blek, and me. The couple ate theirs immediately and headed to the stages. Blek and I grabbed a bite to eat and dropped a hit apiece an hour before Weezer took the stage.

We found a nice, comfortable spot for the show. As we waited for the band to take the stage, the acid began to take hold.

Things started getting more colorful and confusing, and I couldn’t help but feel that everyone was f—king with me. Even the band was f—king with me, coming out playing Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.”

The guy a few rows up must’ve been rolling his balls off. I was watching him transform in front of my eyes. His jaw was locked tight, and it appeared as though his eyeballs were trying to escape from his face. Then he began peeling his shirt off and bouncing around the crowd in front of us.

I looked over at Blek, and he was terrified. He sincerely believed “the rolling guy” was the devil. I was tempted to ask him for some drugs, but after watching this guy terrify all the people around him, I was too afraid to approach him.

After Weezer, we were extremely out of our heads. Blek was asking me what we should do. I said, “Look around. This place was made for people on acid.”

There were all kinds of music, games, Splasharoo (a bunch of inflatable slip-n-slides, baby pools, and hoses), and a huge, mushroom-shaped fountain painted with psychedelic colors and patterns spraying water twenty feet into the air.

After playing in the fountain, we started making our way to the main stage to get a good spot for Stevie Wonder. As we were walking, I could see everyone passing in front of us dropping strings on the ground in attempts to trip me. But I was nimble enough to escape the spiderweb traps.

Just before Stevie took the stage, a certain panic seemed to grip the massive crowd. I was watching large groups of people passing by in a blur. We could only hear tiny bits of their conversations, and all the words seemed to come together in a nervous panic of laughter, arguing, and random noise.

Stevie took the stage and sent a calming vibe over the entire audience. Blek was on his back, staring up at an empty sky, in some sort of crazy, out-of-body experience. I figured it was best to leave him be; whatever he was seeing or experiencing was something that I didn’t want to interrupt (like waking someone sleepwalking).

When he finally snapped back to, he was freaking out about all the small talk and chatter happening around us, so we got up and moved. It felt like we moved 40 feet, but every time we got to a different spot, we could hear the same back chatter. So we moved again.

After we came down a little bit, we realized we had moved four or five times but remained in the same 20-square-foot area.

We made it back to the camp later that night and found the couple sitting there. Apparently, we were all still tripping and capped the night off reliving stories of our trip and giggling ourselves to sleep.

Some argue that LSD is a mind-expanding drug and you learn something about yourself each time you trip.

I guess what I learned was this: During the trip, it felt like everyone was f—king with me, deliberately trying to confuse or misguide me. In everyday life, people are always f—king with me, trying to see how much they can get away with before I have to call them on their bullsh—t. And now I will be the f—ker and not the f—kee.