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We were having great time at the Sunset Junction festival, at least until Fred Durst started following us around with a large, hairy individual who was either a) superproducer Rick Rubin or b) a Hell's Angel who drew the worst possible security detail. To be fair, we were sufficiently cracked out on free cans of Sparks (think orange Zima mixed with over-the-counter Tijuana amphetamines) from the Vice store to have hallucinated the Durst sighting or our repeated encounters with Kiefer Sutherland or Rae Dawn Chong. Not everyone is a fan of the festival, however. Seasoned miscreant Richard Rushfield went hatin' on Friday, and reports from some underwhelmed readers are starting to roll in.

I went to The Warped Tour For Hipsters this weekend and it was just as disappointing as its pop-punk counterpart. The sound was terrible, everything ran late (natch), and the streets were clogged with ironic tees as far as the eye could see. Flea wanked with some geezers from the Silverlake Conservatory of Music, Johnny Knoxville took photos with every mesh-capped PA and studio runner cut in his likeness, and various Hot Hot Heaters milled about the mortals. Also, there was frozen lemonade, kabobs, cookies and junk jewelry. It was The Orange County Fair For People With Asymmetrical Haircuts.