Today marks the start of three days where Goodale Park gets transformed for Comfest. Yes, that’s right, the park once filled with prostitution, muggers, and drug dealers becomes transformed into a majestic park filled with drug users, nudity, and daylight aggressors. Much to the displeasure of others, I try to follow the Comfest motto and “live every day the Comfest way.” Does that mean I smoke my reefer in the comfort of public parks, and am drunk generally all the time? Hell yes it does. I’m probably 7 deep right now, as it is 9 am in the morning. Ah, I pity those living some, “contributing member” lifestyle. Do I make 6 figures, No! I do, on occasion, make $6 dollars though. Does that make it hard to buy the homemade $35 tie-dyed t-shirt that a Comfest vender is selling? Sure, but I support their cause of “working for the collective good of all people, rather than collective gain” – Comfest Motto. If that means I can’t afford something priced high for the collective good, then so be it: I live the Comfest Way. Let me tell you there is no better place to take my shirt off and just unload my 270-pound frame and feel totally comfortable. I feel like I can really teach the kids who come through this public park about what it means to be a man in this day and age. Our kids are so important, which is why they need to learn at a young age what both male and female breasts look like. Hell, sometimes I look down at my own breasts and wonder if I really am a man, then I look past all that nonsense, to see my penis and realize, “heck yes, I possess man parts.” Look, I’m not saying Comfest is the pinnacle of society as we know it but…wait, yes I am, it’s the best thing to happen since white people figured out how to grow dreadlocks. Are you kidding me? It’s about time taxpayers provided a service to those who really make the world go round. It’s time for a festival for those who find the deeper meaning in picture books written for children, who condemn big oil companies, and vehemently complain when we have to travel somewhere more than 10 miles causing us to use a car; who rip cigarettes like it’s our job while being condescending to people who eat meat, and buy non fair-traded bananas. Have I been called a “pretentious fuck,” before? Sure by those who wish they had what I have: A wardrobe full of black T-shirts, a tattoo of an infinity sign crying, and nipples that look like dried raisons.