There's this thing that happens in Northern California every year called Burning Man. You've probably heard of it. It started out as a gathering of crazy bohemian types out in the desert putting up all sorts of random, temporary art to stare at while taking acid. It has since become a gathering of people who want to get naked, do drugs, act like losers, and break stuff while out in the desert with 50,000 other people who are interested in the same thing. Last year my brother went. I teased him about it; he said he'd been forced to go. Someone bought him a ticket. So he decided to brave the desert heat, lack of water, dust, raves from dusk till dawn, drunks vomiting on other people's stuff, people on drugs running over other people's stuff (not actually people - this year; that's so 2000), and people you don't want to see naked... all for the art. He said the best thing about it was the art and the patchouli smelling hippies, who were really nice.
So I asked him about this picture. "What's up with the Barton Fink get up and the sign?" (If you can't see the sign over his head, it says: "Come on in and have a nice warm cup of... SHUT THE FUCK UP!")
He responded: "That pic was at Burning man, it was a morning after shot- the place I was at I called 'Punk Rock Pancakes' because they served pancakes every morning but they were really surly with you the whole time, and you had to take your pancakes however they made them, the butter had dirt in it, and sometimes they would put cereal or goldfish crackers or mixed salted nuts in your pancakes, and they would mix the most disgusting drinks ever and make random people in the line drink them while they yelled at you. They were cool, thus the title 'Punk Rock Pancakes.'"
Awesome. I'm re-evaluating Burning Man.
But I still won't go.