Festivals these days are for bloated marketing people in flip-flops and three-quarter-length shorts to prance about in a field twiddling one of their nipple piercings and pretending they like music so they can go into the office the following Monday and tell the girl in accounts how “fucked up” they got.

The worst festival I’ve ever been to was Boardmasters in Newquay, which I was forced to review. It was on a beach with a surfing competition running concurrently as a load of inane bands played their depressing noise to tanned men in Hawaiian shirts who’d rather be watching Sublime or high-fiving their reflection in the mirror.

As bad as it was, I am sure I can imagine a festival that’s at least 400,00 times worse than this. Let me now, in my mind, curate the worst festival the world has ever seen. It will feature the following.

ABHORRENT PEOPLE
It’s often the people you meet and spend time with at a festival that determine how much of a good time you have. My festival will consist solely of philistinic untermenschen. It will be a post-travelling reunion, arranged via Facebook, for teenagers who have just arrived back from Thailand on their gap year. For the entire three days, each will try to outdo the other with stories of how many dolphins they swam with, how many henna tattoos they got, how many times they “found themself” and how many times they molested underage ladyboys.

AWKWARD LOCATION
A large problem with hard-to-reach festivals is that if you decide you don’t like them after a few hours it’s very hard to escape. No one wants to thumb a lift to the ferry port alone with a local rapist and then take a two-hour boat ride before boarding a coach that takes 12 hours to travel the 50 miles to a place that isn’t really that close to where you live.

My festival will be annoyingly hard to reach. It will take place on Muck, a tiny island off the north west of Scotland. After flying in to the local airport on the shaky light aircraft, festivalgoers will have to hike across the North West Highlands and then ride by donkey to the village of Arisaig, because all taxis will be banned for that weekend. From here, people will have to buy fishing boats from locals in the mainland village and embark on the three-hour row across the unforgiving Sea of the Hebrides, flinging viciously randy seals off the boat as they dive onboard.

UNSUITABLE DRESSCODE
Festival fancy dress is so funny. Laugh out loud. Ha ha ha. My three-day marathon of mental torture will also have a dresscode: the Borat mankini and platform shoes. Every pleb who pays to come to my festival will have to wear these clothing carbuncles. Not so bad, you’re thinking? Well, the event will take place in the freezing depths of winter when the island is lashed with thick snow and battered by gail-force winds daily. The entire population of fun-seekers will have to huddle together in a gigantic pack in a desperate attempt not to die from hypothermia when attempting to move from tent to tent.

INTRUSIVE SPONSORSHIP
Most festivals these days are just a cunning vehicle for product endorsements and sponsorship deals. And my festival shall be no different; the whole thing will be sponsored by a new German energy drink brand, Schickerspeed. No other liquid apart from this sickening sugary drink will be allowed on site, including water. Schickerspeed will pour from every tap. You will have to wash your hands with Schickerspeed after doing a shit. You will be forced to have the Schickerspeed logo (a grinning German Riding Pony with massive breasts) tattooed on the palm of your hand before you are allowed into the festival. Every leaf of every tree on the site will have a Schickerspeed sticker stuck to it. Each act will have to spend the first quarter and the last quarter of their set chanting, “Schickerspeed! Schickerspeed! Schickerspeed!” over and over until the entire audience has been indoctrinated and skulk about in a daze repeating this pointless mantra.

FOOD
No catering will be allowed on site. If you are hungry you will have to dig up vegetables from the ground and cook them in the microwaves provided until they become a soggy pulp, which bursts with boiling liquid when you bite into it.

CELEBRITY DJ TENT
As I entered Bestival two years ago I stumbled into a tent where ageing schizophrenic, and DJ, Tim Westwood was spinning his usual set of overplayed hip-hop hits. I informed my gullible friend that the wrinkly rap-lover would be taking part in a 24-hour DJ set, and since he only played vinyl, he’d brought along a truck filled with records, which was manned by a team of helpers backstage who brought him each 12” as he bellowed the title through a megaphone. She was not on drugs nor is she mentally ill but she believed every word.

Tim Westwood isn’t a big enough name for my festival, so instead I’ll have someone really famous like Kerry Katona headlining the celebrity DJ tent. Krazy Kez, as I like to call her, will play a 24-hour set of psy-trance Atomic Kitten remixes while her disgusting ex-husband and almost-as-vile mother dance naked on podiums either side. With celebs, I find the more the merrier, so I’ll cram as many as I possibly can into this one tent. For maximum celebrity DJing enjoyment, at all times there will be two other celeb DJs playing songs during Krazy Kez’s set – all in the same tent so the three different sets of music clash horribly with each other. Hosting the tent will be Abz from 5ive, who will freestyle over the mangled noise in a cod-Jamaican accent.

The tent will be a makeshift church, with the celebs performing on an altar, and everyone who isn’t famous will have to kneel and pray to the celebs as they pump out their horrifying racket.

SOUND LIMITER
Every shit festival needs to have a pithy limit on the level of sound that can be emitted from on-site speakers. My festival will have a noise limit of 12db on the main stage. Kings of Leon’s headlining set will drowned out by the sound of a strong gust of wind and Calvin Harris’s entire nine-hour set of his own material on repeat will be eclipsed by the sound of a low-flying moth (both of which are not necessarily bad things).

WILD ANIMALS
Line-ups are pretty much the same at every festival, so each year organisers try to come up with crazy ideas to surprise and astound people, like having a festival in a zoo. My festival will be the craziest yet because I will release wild animals onto the site. To see Faithless (who will be one of my headline acts) you will have to first bludgeon a pack of polar bears to death with a bottle of poppers. To catch Zane Lowe’s DJ set you will have to dive into the piranha tank that he will be chained to the bottom of.

MUSIC-PR POETRY TENT
This is where PRs will go to display to the world their unique take on the English language. Currently, they only get to show off their linguistic gymnastics to unfortunate journalists. But this tent will allow music PRs to show the world the reason why they never made it as a journalist. As you stroll past, you’ll hear one of the ageing loudmouths bellowing out something like, “I wandered lonely as a cloud… It’s funny I should mention clouds because cLOUDDEAD’s Doseone has just put out a new single with MC Bifta. You should totally check out the video. And if you decide to blog it, make sure you email me back and let me know!”

COKE SNORTING COMPETITION
There’s not much explanation needed with this one since it’s happened at every single festival in the world since nostrils were invented. But the basic premise is that all of the bands’ managers will (very willingly) take part in a competition to see who can snort the most coke backstage during the course of the day. The winner will be the cheeky chappy who can talk the most bullshit about their utterly fourth-rate indie band to the biggest number of complete strangers, or the first person to drop dead from a heart attack.

FUTILE FISHING
Inane sports enjoyed solely by idiots seem to go hand-in-hand with modern-day festivals. You’ve got wakeboarding at Wakestock, snowboarding at Snowbombing and surfing at the aforementioned Boardmasters. My indescribably awful festival will trump the lot with the most boring sport known to man: fishing. The festival will take place beside a swamp where all the fish have been removed prior to the event, so idiots will spend the entire weekend dangling a piece of wire in some water, only to end up not catching anything (which is pretty much what happens with normal fishing anyway).

A version of this bile appeared in the Vice Festival Guide.
Illustration by Daniel Freeman