I believe that somehow I can blame this all on Tweezer, but I know that would be way too easy.

We were about 22 minutes into the thirty-minute plus, first set excursion referred to as Tweezer when I noticed the looks on my friends' faces. It was a look of seriousness with that slight hint of fear. We had found ourselves en route to a place where only Dave and his trusty Energy Guide could provide us proper direction (or so I hoped). I immediately fastened my safety belt and put my trey table in the upright and locked position... it was, after all, go time.

This madness carried on throughout the second set, such as when seemingly out of nowhere, enemy planes entered our no-fly zone and the Air Raid siren had to be sent out during Antelope.

I believe I began my descent late in the second set, mostly thanks to Caspian. The four song encore allowed me enough time to gather what pieces of reality I had enough courage to enter this doomed flight with in the first place.

On the way out of this bozo show we were double-crossed by a group of doppelgangers and I, of course, became separated from my bespeckled flight crew.

If you've been to Lakewood you know (or maybe you don't) that there are two main parking lots (which look incredibly similar, imagine that) separated by a wooded service road that runs behind the amphitheatre.

As I began my solo trek back to home base I was confident that my energy guide was still in full force. After about a while or so I became not so confident and finally accepted the dreaded conclusion that, lo, I was most likely in the wrong parking lot (I mean, what are the odds, oh, 2-1, sure).

I suddenly remember that service road and make a b-line for it. By now my honored and noble friends had sent out the search party, which of course only led to a search party for the search party, and so on.

I hit the service road. It is dark and reminiscent of that scary Berenstein Bears Halloween book from when I was a kid. As I tiptoe down the gravel through the growling trees I notice there are a few stragglers still kicking the dirt. I try to pay them little attention (because of my tendency to get distracted), remembering to keep my focus on the task at hand: Find The Car.

As I approach the end of the tunnel I see the glow of parking lot duex in the distance and realize my folly. I begin shaking my head and notice an odd gathering to my right. I stop and try to focus, but all I see is... (whatever you want to put in here, it doesn't matter.)

A voice beckons me and I hear a phrase that has gotten me into trouble so many times, "Hey, come here and check this out." My previous focus vanishes like that, and my feet begin dragging me toward the voice. Still in the dark forest, I am unable to make out the figures. Arriving within a few feet, I am able to recognize a smattering of people gathered around a couple. I move right into the center of this mess only to find that the couple is in possession of two 6-feet-long albino pythons (can't make this up). They invite me to take a seat, which I do. "Go on, pet it," she says. To which I can only reply, "Are those real?"

"What do you think," she replies. I run my finger down the back of this beautiful animal.

It is smooth.

The sly creature reacts to my touch and begins to inch its way up my arm; when it hits me: Hey buddy, you have no idea where the car is.

I quickly explain my situation with a puddle of consonants and vowels and make my way back toward the glow. It's not 15 minutes later that I find the car. The search party(s) eventually return relieved, wondering where I have been (good luck answering this relative question).

I explain how I became separated, the trail, and the snakes. Of course they shoot me the collective look of oooooh-kaaaaaay, sure, yeah, I think we should be going.

To this day I still don't think they believe me, but that's ok,

I know you do.

- The Great Spauldazzio (or Matt)