Did you know that the human body is covered with billions of tiny parasites? I can almost live with the idea of these blood suckers rambling all over my body. However, I still haven’t come to terms with concerts.

I’m going to see Joe Jackson, and while the tickets look innocent enough, I know they’re crawling with Ticketedonis Servicechargus, tiny, multi-jawed creatures that attack the brain’s financial lobe and destroy any resistance to future concert price increases. Just thinking about this makes me want to have my entire body laminated.

Then there’s those turnstiles that rub up against your midsection when you pass through the doors to see acts like Rusted Root and The Sea & Cake. Did you know that turnstiles are the major breeding grounds for Poke U Inda Crotchilotus? Trust me, you don’t want those little buggers crawling around down there. That’s why I’m going to wear Teflon coated underwear when I see Bloodhound Gang in Wichita. You can never be too careful.

Even if you make it through the turnstiles unscathed, you still have to deal with those seats. Do you know who sat in that seat before you? My greatest fear is that it was some smelly grotesque sweat-dripping person who hasn’t bathed in six months and thinks toilet paper is a “waste of good concert money.” Maybe he sat there for Slash’s Snakepit or Billy Bragg & The Blokes, and squirmed in his seat during the entire show. That’s why I always bring two cans of Lysol when I go to a concert. One for my chair and the other for my buttocks.

So if you see me scrubbing my seat with disinfectant at Baby Jason & The Spankers, wearing a surgical mask at Corey Feldman Band or wrapping my laminated arms around myself and trembling like a cheap Magic Fingers massage at a MU330 show, please don’t think I’m crazy or anything. I’ve just completed ten years of therapy and my shrink says I’m cured. That I’m just as sane as the next guy.

Which means, I’m probably just as sane as you.