Once a year every white person with dreadlocks, metal sculpture "artist", art car enthusiast, new-age rapist, and socially desperate Gen X'er whose still pathetically driven to experience their own Woodstock, gather in the desert to take drugs, share venereal diseases, and misinterpret glow stick dancing to a Blue Man Group style performance of Tubular Bells for spirituality. Ultimately they will simply just become covered in dust, stink like a corpse, and commit the biggest crime against nature in the western United States. This gathering is known as Burning Man and it's a cancer that keeps growing bigger every year in the already cancerous state of Nevada. It's time to start finding ways to fight back against the hordes of Burners as they plot terrible art installations and recruit younger generations into their sandy orgy of false purpose. Whether it's by destroying their Burner cred or ending their misspent lives this edition of Weapons Wednesday is all about Burning Man.
The roadside bomb made famous in Iraq gets a Burning Man makeover. Decorated in shiny mosaic tiles in patterns of Burner style artwork this IED shines brightly in the desert sun. Attracted by shiny objects and Southwestern style artwork, the driver of that rusty metal polluting VW will have his drug-addled mind blown permanently and the world will have to suffer one less shitty metal fish car parked on a Berkeley side street 355 days out of the year.
To remove the filth of the Burner is to remove all credibility in their social circle. Nothing says "cop" to the Burner like someone who smells like soap. The shower will not only clean the Playa dust from their matted hair it will socially isolate them and therefore ruin the very reason they went to Burning Man in the first place, to feel like they belong somewhere. Which, of course, they don't.
Hacky Sacking is the official sport of Burners. It requires the player to be so absolutely high that they don't actually realize what they're doing. They got plenty of practice doing just that during their short scholastic career at UCSC majoring in underwater basket weaving and shirtless acoustic guitar playing. Toss this explosive sack into the air and watch them eagerly form a circle, take off their Tevas, and kick a little bean bag around. Only this time their sacking session will end in a fiery tie-died explosion of blood and hemp jewelry.
Remember that dirty white hippie kid in college? You know the one, dreadlocks, no shoes in class, strong interest in blown glass. That kid was what's called a "Trustafarian". A strange manifestation of white guilt, the suburban millionaires child that rejects his family's fortunes, in appearance anyways, and tries to convince the world they're just some free-wheelin' new age flower child with not a care in the world for material things. Well, that guy graduated somehow and since he doesn't have any need for a job he has dedicated his life making steam punk jewelry at Burning Man. A bank statement is all you need to expose this bong-rippin' reprobate to his peers. His cred will be shot, his image as a new bohemian forever ruined, and it won't be long before the dreads get shaved, a navy suit gets donned, and he starts working at his father's firm.