Where the hell is the coffee?
I’m too young to bust the Murtagh line everyone has practically inked into their bones. Still, after the euphoric splendour of Doom Fest ’22’s inaugural bout of festivities I find myself crawling towards the coffee pot in the motel reception. Well, not crawling, but I’m at the very least dragging myself like a knuckle-dragging caveman. Regardless of how much caffeine I require I am overcome with the love that is flowing at this extended family event and I cannot wait to share with you the experience of simply being here. Until then, I have taken the liberty of pooling the gazillion photos I took into a bitesize gallery for your perusal.
Full review to come.
The Motorfuzzin' Ibex 
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