I don't deserve to go because i'm the one that messed up your porto last year. I snuck into your camp, drank your beer, and left the cooler open. The duststorm didn't knock your tent down, I ran over it in a giant duck equipped with flame cannons -- that I hopped into whilst its rightful owner stopped into the porto I had just prepared for him. And you better believe I shot those flames off right after running your Kelty over. Don't be mad... you wouldn't have that nice springbar that will actually stand up to a dust storm if it wasn't for me.
I drive through the line at 40MPH, kicking up playa so all the virgins can get their first taste. And when I get in the gate I drive 40MPH so everyone else can get a taste too. My bike doesn't have lights, I blow a whistle everywhere I go, I bring pink feather boas, I dump my butts on the playa, and I constantly yell at the top of my lungs "BEST RAVE EEEVVVVERRRR!!!". I try to throw people off moving art cars. I break things off art installations. I pooped in the Mant Farm. I ran my bike over the piano. I made fun of other peoples' messages in the temple. I was that german lady yelling at Ein Hammer. I poured sugar in the gas tank of the purple pleasure palace.
And if none of that was enough to convince you I don't deserve to go, I've got one last thing.... I am a shirtcocker.