walked into the press tent at Ozzfest and there, snuggled in his young mama’s arms, was a baby with a mohawk.
Cha-ching! This scavenger hunt was gonna be a breeze.
But from there, I floundered. Girls showed their boobs—hell, they walked around topless--but it was so ubiquitous that it felt like cheating.
No one mud-wrestled. Ozzfest didn’t even have a sausage on a stick. (I ate a hot dog. It was eh.) Kids, if you do this yourself, I suggest a new addition to my scavenger hunt: count lesbian teens and black men, of whom I saw three each. Other than that, it was a sea of dorky dudes in concert shirts, old rednecks, burnouts and moms. Topless moms. God bless Ozzfest, “the other America.”