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While some of us stayed far away from the heat and crowds of the Coachella festival, our Madonna, Ladytron and Daft Punk-loving (read: gay sex-having) contingent did manage to brave the crush of humanity for the communal experience of $7 draft beers, endless Porta-Potty lines, and the privilege of having the future ex-Mrs. Richie ask us "motherfuckers" how her "ass looked." ("Good," we responded, but we don't think she could hear us over the other 50,000 people chiming in with their own thoughts on the matter.) In any case, things could have been much worse, as we realized after reading this report sent in by a Defamer operative: A traumatic festival run-in with Andy Dick, who was still sporting fresh war wounds from his latest intoxicant-fueled tavern rumble, and was apparently looking to start another:

I was molested by a shitfaced, shiner-sportin Andy Dick. He literally grabbed my fresh cup of beer out of my hand as I stood nearby, and when I finally wrestled it away and bolted he screamed/slurred after me to come back. Looking back now I can't believe I kept drinking it. Alcohol kills germs, right?

Having read all the available literature, we're still not entirely sure; as with all unprotected Dickian encounters, we strongly advocate a "better safe than sorry" walk-in clinic approach to the matter.