When Preston Blake landed at Great Exuma International Airport on April 28, he was prepared for a weekend of music, debauchery, and hooking up with at least four or five Victoria’s Secret models. A descendent of the affluent Blake family of Weston, Massachusetts, Preston was looking forward to a few days of true luxury that only Fyre Festival could provide.
“I mean, my dad’s yacht is nice and all, but he rarely takes it further than the Vineyard,” scoffed the twenty-year-old Dartmouth business major. “When I heard about Fyre Festival, I thought, ‘Finally! A chance for my friends and me to get out and explore the world with the level of comfort we deserve.”
When Blake and his and fellow business majors, Ellis Kennedy and Warner Graham, stepped off their plane on Great Exuma, the expected to be transported via limo to the venue.
“We were promised five-star transportation, but all they had were school buses!” Blake exclaimed. “In Weston, Massachusetts, we don’t even have school buses! At first, I thought it must have been some kind of a joke. That it must have been how they were transporting the people who bought discount tickets. I spent 32 grand! They couldn’t possibly stick me on one of these disgusting, mustard-colored vehicles!”
But they could, and they did. Blake reported that in the ten minutes it took him to get to the festival grounds, he passed out. “I came to with Ellis and Warner holding their phones over me and snapping pictures. Thankfully, my hair had been delightfully tousled in the wind, so they got a few good shots for Instagram.”
Blake’s relief was short-lived when he discovered that, instead of being housed in a primo luxury villa, he’d have to stay in a one-room disaster relief tent with three other people. “When everyone found out the types of conditions they were forced to stay in, it turned into absolute savagery.”
When asked why he didn’t seek refuge at the resort that was literally half a mile away, Blake defended himself: “What was I supposed to do, go to Sandals? People like me don’t go to Sandals.”
Dr. Eric Christiansen of the Miami Center Hospital treated Preston Blake and his fellow Fyre Festival attendees when they landed safely back on American soil.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “These schmucks were acting like they’d been flown off to Syria or something. So Daddy Dearest lost a few grand, and you didn’t get to screw Bella Hadid. What’s the big deal? You still went to the Bahamas.”
After Christiansen and his colleagues had observed hundreds of disappointed and traumatized festival goers, they decided to coin a term for the disorder: affluxenophobia.
“In order to get affluxenophobia, you have to be a spoiled little shit with enough money to wipe your ass with Ben Franklin’s face and not be bothered by it,” he said. “When rich assholes like these are confronted with trying situations in unfamiliar places, they develop affluxenophobia. They think they’re fighting for their lives because they aren’t served up a six-course meal on a private estate.”
Preston Blake, however, believes he’s learned a lot from his short-lived Fyre Festival experience. “I almost considered donating money to helping people like me overcome affluxenophobia, but I ultimately decided to treat myself to a trip to the Maldives. It’s the only way I could see myself really healing from the trauma I witnessed.”
This post was created with the help of Grammarly.
Photo Image by HowToStartABlogOnline.net