In an unprecedented move, the popular rock and roll garden party known locally as FIESTERPIEP has opened it doors to humans this year. As followers of popular zine “I Know Where My Trousers Are But I’m Reasonably Confident You Don’t” will know, FIESPERTIEST has long been a source of rage and confusion to the normal, malleable farmers of West Flanders. Calvin Harris had this to say: “Yes”.
Inasmuch as I tend to agree with the enigmatic and gifted C-Har, on this I had to disagree – we cannot afford to hide the brutality of the aforementioned PIEFPERFIEST from the world for a moment longer. To be frank, I have never seen anything this gratuitously violent since Desmond Prince’s now infamous dismembering of teen love interest Dr T.P Corrick with a set of overalls. The sight of a giant man, roaring in an incomprehensible dialect, imploring the crowd to burn their passports and join him for a life of pastoral bliss is one that I will not forget in a hurry, particularly as a heavily tattooed man clutching what seemed to be a pelican in one hand and a whale in the other crooned majestically in the background. I imagine the organisers of the event, rumoured by the crew to be “a bunch of dickheads” will return to the much more successful formula of a quiet field of farm animals standing quietly in some soft rain. That said, SIEFTERPIEP was, and I assume will remain, the only time I have ever seen a tent full of eco-terrorists dancing to the finest in Euroclub. This and the passable signange means that PIERFEARIEST gets a well-deserved four limbs, while foxes where both ample and polite.
– Frankie de Tori