Entomologist Can’t Identify Bugs at Burning Man, But Knows How To Kill Them

20 08 2015

A leading entomologist has revealed that he’s stumped by the identity of bugs at Burning Man – but has advised everyone to get an issue of The Shroom, roll it up, and splat the motherfuckers. “I’d donate to migtastic@gmail.com via Paypal so that they can get printed. I don’t know what those little swarming bastards are, but I bet you can kill them with a rolled up piece of paper.”





Butt Plug ‘n’ Play Camp Servicing Only Uber-Wealthy Assholes

17 08 2015

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Backdoor loving Burners across the playa are assed up about Sarlacc’s Pit, an exclusive new palace dedicated to the pleasures of the pucker – but only for the playa’s most powerful assholes.

“It’s a shocker,” complained Rusty Shandaleer, an ass play activist and long-time connoisseur of chocolate starfish stimulation. “This kind of crass commodification of an ass play buffet is going to make a lot of brown eyes blue.”

A source placed deep within the bowels of the camp told The Shroom that Pit Partiers, called PPs for short, dumped a lot of cash into attending Burning Man in order to take guided Segway tours, dine on lavish 5-star meals, and get their bungholes rigorously plunged, rammed, and stretched on demand day and night. The Shroom attempted to finger the exact amount, but at press time it was open-ended and still expanding.

The secluded anal enclave is rumored to pay sherpas to cornhole the likes of Uber CEO Travis Kalanick, Gwyneth Paltrow, and even ex-BORG member Jim Tananbaum, who enjoys having his poop chute billowed by pulsating Tom of Finland butt plugs and crystal Faberge eggs. The commodification and ‘me first’ attitude even extends to their lube, which is made solely from the tears of virgin sparkle ponies.

Many burners feel like they’re getting reamed and are now understandably butt hurt over the news. The gaping hole in the camp’s radical inclusion policy has left many tied up in balloon knots. “I had dreams of having the best fisting camp on the playa,” cried a burner named Rosebud. “Butt they went and wrecked ‘em”

 

Please DONATE to help print The Shroom. No amount is too small, every $5 donation helps! You can donate via PayPal at migtastic@gmail.com. 





BRC Webinar Series

17 11 2014

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The BORG is funding a webinar series to be conducted by BRC webinar guru, Joshua ‘Captain Oops’ Levine. Among the talks slated are:

-The art of the art car pitch

-How to seduce angel investors while their sparkle ponies are in the porta-potty

-When ‘no’ really does means ‘yes’

-How to throw a lavish, corporate-funded dinner for product promotion on the playa and get the DPW to clean up your mess

-Thinking outside the box to create synergies for today’s multitasking burners

-Spiritual experience or just really good drugs? How to spot the difference.

-The 7 habits of highly effective DJs

-How to become a festival mogul

 

All participants receive a downloadable copy of Levine’s soon-to-be mediocre-seller, Grilled Cheese for the Burner’s Soul.





Guardian Angels Close to Throwing in the Towel

14 11 2014

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The Celestial Plane, BRC – After days and exhausting nights, and yet more goddamned days without sleeping again, your guardian angels were reportedly on the edge of just letting you join them in whatever afterlife you seemed so determined to cross over to during this year’s Burn.

“I’ve saved my girl from being crushed by a poorly structured ‘statue’, diverted the Hep D, that was lurking in that rasta dude’s foreskin, and protected her from undercooked unicorn meat quesadillas. I also saved her from choking on someone else’s vomit. And that was all from noon until sunset on Tuesday.”

“Burning Man is our hell week,” said the guardian angel. Adding, “If she wants to join me up here this much, let her. We could use some more help. Do you know how hard it is to protect 40,000 virgins from themselves?”

Not even the guardian angels of long-time Burners have it easy. “Larry nearly drowned diving into his pools of gold yesterday.”

At press time, a guardian angel was preventing Kim Kardashian from sticking her tongue into the generator that powers the Man. “That poor girl,” said her guardian angel, “Will stick her tongue into anything that reminds her of Kanye’s asshole.”





Hipster Drug Dealer Selling Artisanal Molly

13 11 2014

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Free-range ketamine, cruelty-free cocaine, and organic 2C-b/i blessed by a high priestess are just a few of the recreational chemicals available for sale by a new breed of craft-dedicated drug dealers in Black Rock City.

Tired of the mass-marketed drugs sold through major open air markets throughout the US, these hipster dealers in skinny-legged faux fur pants have gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of their product.

“When we cut your blow with corn starch, you can be damned sure that it’s GMO-free,” a burner calling himself Silk Toad said. “And we certify all of our products are made in small batches. None of that Walter White industrial bullshit. ”

At press time, Silk Toad was still working with a compatriot in Silver Lake to perfect his gluten-free, paleo-certified heroin.





White Ocean’s 11

12 11 2014

Millions stolen from superstar DJ camp!

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White Ocean was the victim of what can only be described as Burning Man’s biggest heist since ticket prices were raised in 2012. Large amounts of cash that were stashed in a state-of-the-art underground vault that had been installed over the summer are now gone.

Reports are sketchy, but a source within the White Ocean camp claims that a team of highly skilled thieves, con artists, and tech wizards infiltrated the upper echelons of White Ocean using clever ploys such as the promise of sex and free drugs. At risk is their entire star-studded lineup of DJs for the week including Oakenfold, who has refused to press ‘play’ until he gets paid.





We are the Night’s Watch

11 11 2014

We are the Night’s Watch

By the DPW


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Dust gathers, and now our watch begins. It shall not end until all the MOOP is picked up, or we run out of cheap booze. We shall take no pay, use no RVs, nor father children that we know about. We shall wear no faux fur and resent the glory reserved for DJs. We shall sneer and look down our collective nose at the lot of you. We are the shovels in the darkness. We are the builders of the perimeter fence. We extinguish the fires and leave you in the cold. We take home the valuable shit you dolts leave behind; we are the players of punk rock that wakes the sleepers, the peering eyes that peep in your tents. We pledge our shitty attitudes and cheap booze to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.

 

No, we are the Night’s Watch

By the Rangers 

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Dust gathers, and now OUR watch begins. It shall not end until our last shift is over and we can get the hell to Reno. DPW, you are just the builders of the wall. Who protects the common folk when they hydrate with vodka? Who is actually watching, here? The Rangers, the real Night’s Watch. We will like, literally live and die at our posts without so much as a scrap of gratitude from anyone. We are the sober ones in the darkness. We are the watchers on the perimeter fence. You are all a bunch of lunatic Roose Boltons in black, while we’re the ones who (now) keep the Man safe at night.

We are the light that shines on you whilst you copulate in public, the voice that points and laughs at you for peeing on the playa, the guides who take your fucked up friends to RAMPART. So don’t fuck with us, because remember, a Lannister always pays his debts!








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