“FALAFEL AND A PICKLE BABY!”
“Yea bro. I’ll take one.”
“Coming right up that’s a dollar extra for the pickle, kid.”
“What?!?! You’re charging extra for the pickle? You capitalist fuck”.
“The Lot’s not what it once was, br3h. No more freebies. Wooks everywhere are turning a profit.”
“This…This doesn’t make sense.”
The custie n00b payed RJ the extra dollar for the pickle and moved on. He was heading over to Shakedown to score some molly and heady nuggz. Things were different. Wooks didn’t have their fingers in the air. They were actually flipping tix for a profit and they had purchased their own show tickets. They weren’t asking for kickdowns or looking for ground scores. They had retooled their business models. The dependent nature of the Wook Collective was fading fast.
The custie n00b found his moll and scored a g of midZ for $30. Meanwhile at the gates of Merriweather, custies who had bought the flipped tix were getting turned away at entry point. The tickets were bunk. And so was the molecule.
Incidents like this were unfolding everywhere on Tour. The band didn’t matter. Panic, Biscuits, STS9. The landscape of the Lot was palpably disrupted. This disruption had skewed Lot reality as everyone had known it.
A group of flat brim wooks and kidZzz who had joined forces had met at a secret location in SFV to plan their next move.
Ween at Terminal 5 is their target.
“Yo breh, we shall be victorious at T5”, one breezy kid said to the Pacific Northwest Wook Grand Wizard.
“Yes, my child. You and your kidz are helping us in ways you cannot fathom. As we sit here sharpening the brims of your hats, Ween fans everywhere are getting sloppy drunk and terrorizing New Hope.”
The plan was terryifying. They were all to wear sharpened flat brimz. The rules were strict. The curvature of the brims: 0 degrees. Flat as fuck and razor sharp. Their objective was to capture Ween custies in the merch line and bring them back to PAC Northwest Wook Headquarters in Portland. There they would harvest resources and energy from the broken Ween fans to wage their cause of separation from West Coast wooks.
Pacific Northwest wooks are unique. They dissociate themselves from the standard West Coast wooks that can be found at Shoreline every year. They claim they are “Wookish Nationalists.”
“Far too long have we been confused with West Coast wooks. Far too long we have been wanderers”, said the Grand Wizard to the young breezy kid. We WILL have our own state. No longer will we be nomads. WOOKISTAN shall rise from the volcanic ash of this uber hetty land we call home…