However, the main theme of the weekend was not comedy, it wasn’t even music, it was mud. The mud there was insane. Jeff made a funny observation about how our parents would be so disappointed in us for all our whining about the mud. When they had a big concert and it turned into a mud-pit, they rolled with it. We tweeted our dissatisfaction. Each day on the way into the festival there was a trail of discarded sandals, sneakers and jeans. It was like following a trail to the greatest orgy on earth except when you reached the end there was no orgy, just a two-square mile field of cow shit stinking muck. Oh well, if my shoes had to die so that I might have enjoyed the Grey Goose tent, so be it.