• Non-portable potties.
  • Mute button for Chris Robinson.
  • On Couch Tour, climate is controlled by me, whereas in the field in Virginia, God is allowed to fuck with the thermostat.
  • WiFi. (I think there’s WiFi at Lockn’, so let me be more specific: WiFi that I don’t have to share with 20,000 other people.)
  • At Bonnaroo this year, seven people were eaten by cheetahs.
  • I think I’m going to mention the toilet situation again just to make sure everyone got it.
  • Actually, let’s just rank bathrooms right now;
  1. Home, personal. Gold standard: even if it’s dirty, it’s your dirt.
  2. Home, shared. If you’re married and not rich enough to have separate bathrooms, or the one in the hallway off the kitchen.  Still pretty good, in that you have a clear idea of exactly who’s pooped in there.
  3. Almost everywhere else. Once you leave your house, you enter the food chain. The fanciest hotel bathroom on the planet might have been occupied the day before by Big John Studd, who now makes his living taking dumps online for wrestling fans. The toilet at The Ritz is just as unspeakably filthy as the one at Chevron.
  4. Against a tree or whatnot. This can be pleasant, but there are severe limitations: pissing off your porch in the morning is a gift from the Lord, but if you are pooping in a field, something has gone horribly awry.
  5. In your pants.
  6. Port-a-pottie at a music festival.

Also nice about Couch Tour is that heckling is permitted. If one heckles at a show, then one should be set on fire in front of one’s children, but the children not restrained in any way, so that they attempt to help, and one is like, “NO, CHILDREN! DADDY’S ON FIRE!” but they love one so much and then every one is dead. Do not fucking heckle at shows.

But on Couch Tour, you are rewarded for clever heckling; you might even spawn a hashtag.

Finally, because I am not at Lockn’, I will not end my evening in jail for murdering the person who brought the thousand-foot tall American flag to the show.

Couch Tour wins.