Every summer in early June, potheads, acid freaks, opium burners, XTC lovers, hippies, stoners, freaks, weirdos, social outcasts, those with a cause, those without, and just plain old music lovers from around the country flock to Manchester, Tennessee for one of the nation’s largest music festivals, Bonnaroo.

Bonnaroo is a music festival similar to Woodstock of the 60s. Festivalgoers camp out in the wilderness for three nights with no showers, just to watch a couple of great bands perform. But it’s not just about the music; it’s about the whole experience, taking it all in – the music, the atmosphere, the culture, and, of course, the drugs.

For many goers, it’s all about the party favors and flavors, a drug sampling of the finest goods from around the country. And it all goes down on a little street in the campground called Shakedown Street.

Shakedown Street is a dirt road lined with souvenir shops that runs right through the middle of the campground. Festivalgoers can purchase T-shirts, incense, jewelry, pipes, posters, flags, sunglasses, and, oh yeah, any kind of drug you can think of.

Dirty, hippie-looking guys and gals skip up and down Shakedown Street, offering a wide variety of drugs and party favors: rolls, doses, headies, bud, smoke, shrooms, caps, whip-its, molly, hash, opium, and lots of other things that I’ve never even heard of.

Last year, a friend and I were walking around Shakedown Street, trying to score some acid for the Flaming Lips show. We turned down this one street, and there were people laid out all over, laughing hysterically. In the near distance, we could hear the unmistakable sound of whip-it balloons being filled: “Tssssss. Tssssss. Tsssssss.” So naturally, we made our way to the action.

We each got two balloons and started huffing away. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, rolling around in a fit of laughter, joining in with the rest of the crowd that was on that street.

I was so out of it that I popped my second balloon. I was pissed. I remember saying something like, “Goddamn it!” but I didn’t recognize my own voice. Whip-its make your voice sound really deep. It’s like the opposite of sucking helium.

I stayed on the ground for a while, remembering my last experience with whip-its at Bonnaroo. It was two years prior, and the guy I was camping with was selling balloons out of our little camping area. So, at all hours of the day, there were festivalgoers stopping by our set-up to score a balloon or two. Lots of buyers decided to chill and smoke some of their exotic weed or share some of their other drugs with us.

I remember one particular instance…we were sitting in a circle, christening this guy’s new bong. The bong made it around to the guy sitting next to me. As he paused from sucking on a balloon, he looked up at me and said in the deepest, most demonic voice that I’d ever heard, “I’ve got some really good opium. Should I pack it in the bong?” It sounded like he was talking in slow motion.

I was terrified. This little dude sounded like the spawn of Satan. But no one objected to his offering, and he pushed a piece of sticky, brownish-black opium on top of the bowl and passed it to me.

I took a really big hit, held it in, and started huffing on a balloon while the smoke was still in my lungs. My head filled up with a constant “wah, wah, wah, wah, wah” sound, and the next thing I knew, I was trying to swim back to my tent. The grass was about ten feet deep, and I was swimming the breaststroke, trying to keep my head from going under.

About a minute later, I woke up and looked around. Apparently, I had fallen back in my lawn chair and was squirming on the ground, trying to find some sort of reality to hold on to. Everyone was looking down at me, saying, “Hey man, are you alright? Holy sh–t! I’ve got to try that.” I was in a whole other universe for about a minute. It was awesome.

I picked myself up off of the ground and made my way back to the campsite. I was hot and tired and in much need of a beer or four. When I got back to our site, I noticed some of the neighboroos chilling out, barbecuing, drinking, and having a good time. I sat down with them, smoked some more, and told them about my bum luck trying to find acid.

Almost immediately after I finished my story, a redheaded girl dressed like an angel skipped up to us and asked if we needed any acid. (Wow, what dumb luck!) We bought a ten strip between three of us, and I volunteered to be the guinea pig.

I tore off a third of the white, paper strip and put it on my tongue, and we started walking toward the stages. By the time we reached the gate, I was advising the rest of the crew to hurry up and eat their share of the acid. Mine was kicking in, and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before I was completely out of my mind.

I passed through the entrance and lit a cigarette. It tasted funky and it felt wet. I knew that it was just the acid playing tricks on me, but it turns out that I, for some strange reason, shoved an open beer in my pocket and it soaked my cigarettes. The thing wasn’t even lit. I was just chewing on a beer-soaked Camel.

It was getting harder and harder to walk by the second, and I desperately needed to sit down. My friends dragged me through what seemed like a living kaleidoscope. There were people getting buckets of red paint poured on them, midgets juggling flaming hula hoops, giant bobble-head dolls playing Frisbee^®, and a mushroom the size of a two-story building spraying water 80 feet into the air. This was all happening at the same time. It was almost too much to handle, so I had to get out of there.

We made it to an open field near the main stage where everyone was gathering around to catch the Radiohead show. I dropped to the ground and watched the sunset. The purple clouds slowly melted away into the pink sky as the night stars began to appear.

I sat up and realized that I was all by myself. My group had left me. At first, I started to panic, but then Radiohead took the stage and I fell into a mellow mood. A stranger appeared next to me and put a joint in my hand.

Then, all of a sudden, it began raining glow sticks. The crowd behind me was throwing glow sticks forward, and the crowd in front of me was throwing them back. It looked like a Star Wars battle taking place just over my head.

That show was the peak of my Bonnaroo experience for that year. But you need not worry, because as you are reading this, I am probably at Bonnaroo 2008, swimming in a field of iridescent mushrooms as the tradition of Bonnaroo lives on.

Happy Friday.