Some onlookers stand by the gates, trying to kill me with their glares.
The crowd surf always starts off looking like fun. It's not until they can read the sign on the 'Surfer's "Hot Dog" Shack' booth directly in front of them that they start to grow concerned of their safety.
Vampires could be anywhere.
A shoulder sitter does the 'injured chicken' dance.
Misty's notebook said it was almost time to "Paint the elephant orange with the blood of citrus." She wasn't sure what that entailed, but the notebook had never led her astray before.
You never know when spontaneous combustion is going to strike. Live life to the fullest.
This was four guys slam dancing off to the side of the field. Seriously.
Inside the wind tunnel of Hawaiian rock.
This guy was too happy not to include.
"Someone...someone stole my socks! You monsters! Those were a gift!"
There's no way this could end badly.
No man nor beast can control the hair.
The first crowd surfer of the evening gets the boot. And, apparently, a bit of a leg massage.
"Ack...ack. I think I ate a bug."
