Last night Trey made it crystal clear, our humanity is irrelevant; we are all simply vessels made to bathe in the waters of radiance and glory which is Phish. As I was beginning to think that this tour had already started its descent, like the icy, monochrome arms of winter, they bust out a second set that sounded like eight rails of cocaine mainlined while standing on top of a fighter jet. It became apparent that all the previous shows were simply a veneer masking Trey’s true demeanor. Tonight he declared himself Mayor of “I’m-going-ham-ville” with the ideology that portion control is for communists. I must apologize for the people standing next to me for my constant shrieking and pooping like some kind of suicidal zoo animal. By the time DWD started, all the air had been flushed from my lungs and it felt like I was crying blood with the uncontrollable urge to eat children. It probably looked like I was dancing similar to an inbred orangutan on Adderall who just ate a meatloaf mixed with rabies. Tonight was tastier than the tears from a bald eagle compared to previous sets that felt like an aborted porcupine in my mouth giving me the urge to barf up my intestines so I can use them to choke myself to death. What previous felt like sitting in a grey office under dull fluorescent lights in the same time-frame as a bunch of other pale, sallow people, tonight was a party with crack pipes and riot cops. Tonight was a beautiful, perfect horror; a cold water extraction of a set, leaving behind the ass milk from a cyborg and delivering the essence of a unicorn.