"When I moved to Denver (the closest "big city" to my high school) at age 18, I worked roughly 32 million shitty McJobs over 1.5 years or so. One of them was working venue security at Red Rocks for a local concert promoter. My pay was in the same range as the 6-year-old Burmese dudes who glue Air Jordans together, only instead of ankle chains and systematic abuse, my benefits package consisted of Ludovico Technique reprogramming via the worst music imaginable.
I was dangerously close to being broken down Gitmo style after a summer of Reggae Sun Splash, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and Dave Matthews Band, but the atom bomb that broke this camel's back was John Tesh Live At Red Rocks. I had to physically restrain teeming masses of Franzia-drunk soccer moms from rushing the stage and sportfucking Mr. Tesh for 3 hours while being bombarded/mindraped with his savory blend of soprano saxophone laden ballads for the white ruling class. It was enough to make a deaf person stab themselves in their useless ear canals with a broken bottle of $9 Coors Light. At night's end, I picked up my paycheck and turned in my yellow SECURITY shirt for the last time while sobbing uncontrollably.
The man is a force of nature on par with Cthulhu. Do not anger him."
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