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Forget hurricanes Fantasy Fest is hitting town. This is our Halloween and it lasts ten days.
It's all about nakedness and body paint and gossamer thin laws to allow you a Hall Pass from your life, whether it be good bad or indifferent.
My first Fantasy Fest I went around amazed. I found it fascinating, a type of zoo. Even the police got winsome; I witnessed one perform figure eights on his Harley right there on the main drag.
The city of Key West, with its 25K residents, bulges by 50K bare-assed revelers temporarily reviving the 1970s. The legend of freed nipples at eyelevel and the right to bare alcohol in plastic cups as you wobble from bars to clubs, this kind of news will get attention.
But despite the nudity, the casual lawlessness, the most unexpected effect, for me, was that by the end of the week I didn't want to see any more.
But I don't care because I'll be at the Green Parrot where luckily we have Trae Pierce & the T-Stone Band playing Thursday and Friday and my first love, Xperimento, Saturday and Sunday. My own personal Woodstock.
While I can try, with my writing, to make you laugh or creep you out there is no sentence I could compose that would make you giddy up and dance.
To thank this league of gifted geniuses I shall escort them down the crazy end of town, so they can see Fantasy Fest for themselves. I hope it entertains the bejesus out of them, as they repeatedly entertain us. I'm a little concerned I'm luring angels into a bottomless pit of pitiful bottoms. I'll tell all next Sunday!