SpongeBob Raves Flood The US, Mount In Manhattan

The Big Bubble Rave formerly known as The Bikini Bottom Rave commonly known as The SpongeBob Rave follows a tempest. It is the successor to the smash (mouth) hit Shrek Rave, the swamp at the mountain top of party franchises.

Bikini Bottom’s maturest musical started in St. Louis, worked its way to Kansas, stopped by San Diego, scraped Sacramento, spat through Seattle, took on Tuscon, ate Atlanta, hopped through Houston, pranked Pontiac, peaked the interest of Pensacola, licked Louisville, nailed New York, knocked out Nashville, banked cultural credit in Baltimore, and mounted or plans to mount Montreal, Las Vegas, Dallas, Minneapolis, Silver Spring, Grand Rapids, Anaheim, Ft. Lauterdale, Denver, Albuquerque, Cleveland, Tempe, and Fort Wayne, among other metroplexes.

The SpongeBob Rave in Manhattan welcomed metalheads, first-time ravers, the cross between the two in droves, Vermonties, Connecticutants, Tex-hens, cats from Houston, K-poppers, Philadolphins, English-women, Russians with humors like ice beneath black leather jackets, and Long Island mites. And it hosted the best of them all – the sweetest, the humblest, the tallest, the most spiritual, the funniest – Brooklynites.

The people of the world from all the good world, were each represented, trying their best.

The SpongeBob Rave had cinema and stand-up comedy journalists asking novel friends how to make it in the city. The answer came as silence from their peers, befuddled. NYU grads waited on their MCAT score, out of their heads for a moment to dance.

Some came out in their favorite garments. Others garmented themselves in costume play. If they came in a costume, it was likely a convincing sea creature – a sort of cloth mermaid – a masquerade, the usual play of life finally candid on their masks if not their stage, if not their faces.

Circles formed and one by one bold and gilled performed. Circles formed, and those in the bubble temper threw their shoulders and hips at each other innocently. They bent their knees and half-hearted followed the beat – Latin, EDM, Pop, throwbacks, and Dubstep in the song log.

The sold-out show took place in the immortal Webster Hall the night after De La Soul’s tribute show, an event of unspeakable magnitude in music’s performative history.

The staff universally called the Big Bubble rave “different.” Some grinned like gunpowder held at their gums. Some smirked like peanut butter and jelly. Some had worked for three days straight. Some couldn’t watch from coat check or the wet entrance. Some orchestrated the show like the London Symphonic. And some glistened with the good gumption of demigods watchful as owls, bountiful as the sea, strong as lightening and aimed – the lion of their tasks around their shoulders.

“We got the glove light; we got the glove vape,” said one couple.

“Shrek is my favorite movie, and SpongeBob is my favorite show,” said a tuna.

“I got a water bottle full of Henny in coat check,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Look for the chaos,” said another man, larger than anyone in the crowd not on staff. “That’s where the fun happens.”

“Look for the pit,” said his friend.

“I haven’t done acid in a while,” said one man. “But I love drugs.”

“I like plankton,” said a college student. “He’s a menace to society.”

“That draws you to him?” asked his friend. His answer was a measured nod.

“We’re too old for it, but we’re here,” said a new grad.

“This is my very first rave; I’m more of a metalhead,” said seven different people.

“If I’m going to a rave, I should start with SpongeBob,” said a bloke.

“We love seaweed,” said a fish.

“I would get a neck tattoo of Gary,” someone admitted.

“Capitalism?” asked a man in a robe. “Is good when I’m getting money,” he answered.

“Who the f*** is feeling nautical right now?” asked one disc jockey.

“Will there be bubbles?” asked a bartender.

“What?” asked a jellyfish in return.

“Will there be bubbles,” she said, polishing a glass. “Everybody’s asking.”

“I-” said the strawberry gelatinous jellyfish.

“Will there?” asked the bartender.

“Where my freaks at?” asked the disc jockey.

One raving lobster said, “DoodleBob is the se***est character in Bikini Bottom.” His friend said, no, it’s Larry. And someone paused their hopping and pumping to interject on Sandy’s behalf.

“Shrek Rave was a blast; we were here ‘til like three in the morning. I headbanged ‘til like three in the morning, and my eyelashes didn’t fall out,” said a raver from India. “I was very excited about that. It was fun and happy and silly.”

“It’s my first Bikini Bottom Big Bubble Rave,” said a wizard. “Shrek Rave was a blast. I’ve done five tours of duty. There’s some dank music and dank songs. You can dance to anything, but you’re not putting the ogre ears on the crocs unless it’s a good time.”

“He keeps coming back over and over and over is because he doesn’t remember them each time,” said his friend.

“I remember the first hour,” said the wizard. “People tell me I stayed ‘til the end the first time. I don’t remember that sh**. Let’s be real. Did I own a goofy goober hat one week ago? No.”

“It’s her introduction to SpongeBob,” said one woman of her friend.

“My mom didn’t let me watch SpongeBob growing up,” said the friend of herself.

“I love drugs!” yelled one man. “Meth!”

One woman claimed to own SpongeBob sweaters, PJs, blankets, pillowcases, underwear, cooking equipment, socks, belts, a clock, and a framed photograph with the yellow square of joy himself. “We have the same birthday, July 14^th,” she said, a Gemini, so she was likely lying.

“Eat my a** b**** said one man.

“That’s the type of energy I need,” said another.

“What does ‘a**holes live forever’ mean? It means you can do whatever you want. You can do whatever you feel like doing. There may be consequences yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to worry about ‘em,” said one man whose shirt read with the aforementioned bromide.

“You should go ahead and do what you like and not have to worry about what could happen to you,” he said. “God! You already have to worry about enough in life. If you have to cow down to other people’s whims, that’s not living.”

“I’ve done tons of interviews,” he said. “Lisa Ann, Alexis Texas, Kristina Rose.”

“My daughter’s real jealous I’m here,” said one woman. “She texted me f*** you.”

“How was De La Soul?” a teenager asked a guard. The security put both his hands up to waver and say ‘meh.’

“How is this?” the boy asked gesturing to the SpongeBob Rave. Two thumbs up.

Larry, Plankton, Sandy, Squilliam, Larry, SpongeBob, Squidward, jellyfish, the mean sea cucumber, Mrs. Puff, Patrick in drag – everybody was there, the whole town of Bikini Bottom, the whole town of Manhattan – and in that way the whole town of humanity, the brothers, the sisters, the queer community, fathers, mothers, grandmothers, pop-pops, and nans, outcasts, burnouts, hard-drug users by the looks and sounds and smells of it, heavy security highly attentive at duty, lots of love, snorkels, and straps.

The SpongeBob Rave was it.

“Are you ready kids?” asked a DJ. “Aye aye Captain,” they said, kids at heart.

Fins and skin, the coolest came out in the wind and the rain – booming, yelling, bursting, branding them that stayed home to the end as lame. Sweaty, drenched friends said they were happy to be “h*gh and pi**ed” in the rain.