Burning Man
I love Burning Man. Love It. If I was allowed to love only one thing in this world, that thing would be Burning Motherfucking Man. Granted, I haven't been yet, but when I do go my mind is going to get blown out my ass it's going to rule so hard. AHHHHHH!!!!!! BURNING MAN!!!!! I'm going to wear nothing but body paint the entire time, and if I do ever put on any clothes, they'll all have a pot smoking alien on them, saying "Take Me To Your Dealer". That is the mark of a true Burning Man aficionado, I hear. And speaking of dealers, I am going to do every drug possible. Acid? Mushrooms? Can of paint? Mysterious powder found next to a dead animal? I'm in 110%. And then, when my veins are coursing with dozens of illegal substances, and I've played hacky sack and talked about how much Bush sucks, I will find an old chubby woman who still reminisces about getting finger-banged by a guy from Canned Heat, and I will propose to her. We will make gross love for days, and then be married on the final night, while the Burning Man burns and burns and burns like the neverending flame inside of my heart.