I weigh over 400 pounds, I don’t bath and I have absolutely no modesty.

That’s right. I’m a dirty, naked fat man.

And I love concerts. The Cult or Buckcherry, you name it, if they’re playing within a hundred miles, I’m there. I’m shaking my cheeks to the beat. Sweatin’ and a puffin’, my fleshy nipples ripple with every bass note while my skin vibrates to the rhythm of the drummer.

Some people say I’m disgusting. They say when they buy tickets for a show like Gordon Lightfoot, they pay their hard-earned money for entertainment, not to see some overweight, grimy middle-aged baby boomer shaking his hide like there’s no tomorrow. I say they don’t know what true freedom is until their mammoth, flabby breasts are keeping time at a Go-Go’s concert by pounding out the beat on the head of the person in front of them.

I’m not alone. There are others out there, including police chiefs, teachers and politicians. They all want to doff their clothes and go to shows like Madonna and Janet Jackson. They want to let it all hang out, and they look to me for leadership and guidance.

Mark my words, some day we’ll rise up, a nation of obese, filthy nude men. Then you’ll see us at all the shows, not just Ozzfest 2001 and Slipknot. We’ll wear our skin proudly, our enormous girths straining in time to the music, flopping over our waistlines like so many saddlebags hanging from the sides of a Pony Express rider’s steed of yesteryear, our collective stench knocking out the people around us.

It may not happen tomorrow at a P.J. Harvey concert. It may not happen next week at The Doobie Brothers. But it will happen. Just you wait. It may be Tim McGraw, Nada Surf or The Saw Doctors.

Someday you will see my naked compadres and myself wallowing in our own filth as we groove to the beat and project our mutual stink to the highest tiers of the arena. We’ll be standing in front of you, bending over to pick up our leftover food from the concessions stands as the last encore echoes through the concert hall. Then, and only then, will you comprehend our true power. Yes, you will finally understand the true meaning of the slogan you’ve been hearing for so long.

Crack kills.