The machine proved rather popular -- especially when you consider the remoteness of the Banishment Zone to which our crew had been sentenced by Burning Man, LLC.. Many showed up to claim the fabulous prizes they won by calling the Mojave Phone Booth, said treasures consisting of glass from the Booth, issues of X Magazine so old you wouldn't even find them in your dentist's waiting room, and other such tripe. Some fabulous, huh? Well, it was only a phone call, after all. Yet another neglected photo op (wasn't much in photo-taking mode this year) would have shown the machine's display area, featuring an aluminum wagner, 3-D plastic letters that cast shadows spelling "DEUCE OF CLUBS," and a lovely array of candy and gewgaws. Imagine, if you will.

Notice the huge mess a few people left behind.

Prime example: these fools. We saw these two crouching furtively in front of the machine, pulling lever after lever, the Raver pigs. They were interested only in candy, and anything else that came out they left in the machine or dumped on the ground. When we got up, they split. They had the gall to come back later, in search of more candy. We saw them start to behave like pigs again. We walked over. The guy said, lamely, "Oh, yeah, we meant to give you these," handing over a couple of oversized safety pins. Gee, uh, thanks. Their brazen thoughtlessness was non-plussing... ...but only momentarily. As they walked off, I called after them to wait, saying I really wanted to get a photo of their "groovy, happenin' outfits, doooood" -- intending, instead, to shame them on this page right here. Dumbasses. So here it is: Portrait of the Type of Idiots What Ruined Burning Man. Smile, idiots! (Notice the dog seeking shade, showing himself to be several magnitudes smarter than his owners.)

Exhibit A: Lame excuse safety pins (actual size).