text: Many moons ago, I had a hell of a lot more time on my hands. I was still in high school and did not yet have to worry about such inconveniences as rent. In those days, I went to a lot of concerts, *especially* in the summer. Local rock bands, mostly. Des Moines has produced a few you may have heard of: Slipknot, Stone Sour, Destrophy... We had no shortage of lesser known bands of similar style in the area either. There must've been something in the water, like.... "Yeah, yeah. *Puns*. Har har. Stop wasting our time with your pretentious tomfoolery and get on with it OP!" *Rude.* *AS* I was *saying*- I went to a lot of these shows. This particular caper is about a free show that Stone Sour was playing as a benefit for a local kid with cancer. You didn't have to pay anything to get in, but you were kind of a dick if you didn't toss a few bucks in the jar. This story isn't about that specifically, though. You just need to understand- * Stone Sour * Des Moines * Technically free-but really just hella cheap show from local boys who made it to the big-time. There was a long, *long* line to get into the venue. It was like a Star Wars prequel-trilogy premier, but with far more Jägermeister merchandise and real-live girls. *Similar smell, though*. My friends and I were standing in line, waiting for the venue to start letting people in. For hours we waited in the hot, blistering July sun, all wearing black because we were edgy teenagers and we were so unique. Yup. *Every single one of us.* After some time, the doors opened, and the line began to move, albeit *very* slowly. I continued discussing my sophisticated musical tastes with my peers, who nodded in enthusiastic agreement that we were indeed way ahead of the curve- Not like those *other* kids who listened to other, *less superior* genres. As we neared the entrance to the club, we found ourselves directly beneath this sort of grated-railing that stuck out about six-or-so inches from the roof, when I felt a light, moist tap on my shoulder. *[PLOP]* My friend Ryan lost his goddamn mind and began laughing. It was the kind of laugh that seemed a bit over-sold, like that one kid at the 7:25 mark in that racist short from the 40's or 50's or whatever. I looked at my shoulder, and there it was- A big ol' watery bird dookie on my favorite Screaming Monkey Boner t-shirt, which was rare as they had changed their name to 'Screaming Mechanical Brain' later- *Still not sure why*... "*You will pay for your insolence, you feathered rat,*" I thought to myself. I looked up to catch a glimpse of my attacker, so I would remember its stupid beak and, in due time, exact my terrible vengeance- But what I beheld in that moment stopped me dead in my very tracks. Fate had deemed that I would not have my sweet, sweet revenge- *Not* because the culprit had escaped, nor for fear of reprisal. No- I would not have justice this day because the fucker had *already dropped dead* in the grated-railing I'd spoken of previously. Its final act; to evacuate its bowels onto me. Not coo, pidgeon. *Not coo.