Whether it's your first Bonnaroo or you’re a music festival veteran, we welcome you to Inforoo.
Here you'll find info about artists, rumors, camping tips, and the infamous Roo Clues. Have a look around then create an account and join in the fun. See you at Bonnaroo!!
If you get stuck in the eighties, you can pour some color slimes on your head on You Can Do That On Television because Alanis Morissette was on that show back in 1986 when she was twelve years old.
Sources close to the situation have informed me that my wife is leaving and taking the kids.
Stay tuned.
🦉
It's a clear crisp October day when Tranter ironically drives his '05 Ford Windstar home from work, where he designs waffles. As he pulls into the driveway, brimming with confidence for some reason, he looks at the facade of his house and notices that something seems off. He can't explain it, but everything about the house feels significant and heavy - a little too real.
He opens the front door - "Honey, I'm home!" he sings as he chuckles to himself. When they first got their house together he started saying it exaggeratedly as a joking nod to their newfound homeownership, but he never stopped finding it funny so now it's just something he does. She's heard it 4,822 times.
He doesn't hear a reply. Weird, he thinks. Maybe she just didn't hear me. I should do it again louder, like as if my voice was in all caps.
He does, impressed with the vibrato he added to the final note. That was a nice touch.
"We're in here," replied her voice from the kitchen.
He quickly goes into what he calls "velociraptor mode" - he hunches over and curls his arms into claws, adopts an uncannily Jim Carreyesque expression and roars his way into the kitchen. She's just loves it when I do this, he thinks. This is gonna be great!
But when he gets to the kitchen, it's not great. He returns to "human mode" when he sees his wife standing by the stove and their twin sons, PBR and Mohammed, sitting at the kitchen table. All have somber expressions on their faces, and he knows something's not right. His eyes meet hers before she glances at the table, which he notices is covered with legal documents.
Oh no, he wondered. Is she going to make me practice reading again?
He had been in law school for eighteen years at that point, and while he had met all of the qualifications to graduate, he thought it'd be sick to just not. So to avoid filling out the graduation application, he'd been pretending to not know how to read for the past fifteen years, and she would sometimes try to get him to practice. But he looks closer, and sees the word "DIVORCE" in bold letters on top of one of the pages. His heart sinks; his mind races.
Wait, is this for real? I know it wasn't something I did; I don't know what happened! No, this is fine. We'll bang it out and avoid it like usual and it'll all blow over. Haha, "blow". Are women even allowed to do this? How am I going to explain this to my podcast subscriber?
His questions go unanswered as she breaks the awkward silence she's long been accustomed to:
"I know you can read them. But that's not why I'm leaving. It's not the pretending to not be able to read or your Squishmallow fetish or the fact that you said 'big oof' when I told you my mom died. It's not you mixing all the food on your plate together before you eat it or you spending all your time on a message board for a music festival that hasn't existed in years -"
"But I think they're gonna make me a mod soon!", he interjects. She raises a hand to silence him.
"- or even you thinking it's funny to intentionally shit yourself."
Classic, he beams.
"I'm leaving because of our marriage. Because of what it was, and what it wasn't." She softly steps towards him.
The twins exchange a look of relief - not only had they totally seen this coming, but they thought she had found out the report cards they had given her were mocks. Again.
"What do you mean?" he asks. She takes another step closer.
"Our marriage - it wasn't what you thought it was."
She's within arm's reach of him now, and he smells perhaps for the first time the perfume she's worn every day for the past two decades.
He's perplexed: "Then what was it?"
She reaches out, and for a second he thinks she's going in for a hug. But she gently grabs him by the back of his head, pulling him in until their foreheads touch. Their eyes lock, and Tranter considers shitting himself but decides against it.
"It was -" she breaks, unable to look him in the eye any longer. Moving against him so they're cheek-to-cheek, she holds him close as she whispers the words Tranter had always known would come back to haunt him:
"It was just a prank, bro."
A single tear forms in the corner of his eye. He does not know if it is from grief or pride.
He did offer a brief statement in the Variety article:
"It was chaotic. There is some beauty in chaos. It isn’t what I intended to show but I did enjoy being out there and I’ll see you soon." — Frank Ocean.
Coincidentally, these are the exact same words I said after my underpants fell down while toasting my dad's retirement party.
I missed Kid Rock on first glance. So I was like why isn’t anyone else voting for Fred Durst? There’s only 2 options for winner here and they both start with the letter E.
