You’ve been traveling upriver for over five days, and as your boat approaches your destination you realize that the jungle sounds you’ve been hearing during this trip have gone silent. Impulsively, you turn to ask your guide, but he’s not there. He deserted you three days ago, remember? It’s just you, the boat and river.

And the man who waits for you at the end of your journey.

Some say he’s mad. The thought clings to your mind refusing to let go. Your memory replays the meeting you had back at base camp. “Has he gone over the edge? Can he still handle it?” they asked. You ponder these questions as you see a line of spears planted upright on either side of the river, each one topped off with the head of a missing promoter. You’re almost there.

You reach the dock at the end of the river where his servants have been waiting for you. Silently they tie up your boat and lead you past the posters that scream out Sheryl Crow and Jewel and onward to the cave hidden in the hills. That’s where you finally meet him. That’s where you come face to face with the man who runs the concert industry.

“What kept you?” he asks as he plops his five-foot eleven, 360-pound frame into a chair and fans his face with an old Vanilla Ice program. “Here, catch!”

A heavy round lump falls into your lap. You react with horror. Could it be? Is it?”

“That’s the routing for Elvin Bishop wrapped around that coconut,” he says as he picks a leech from his arm and crunches it between his teeth. “Also the latest dates for Ari Hest and The Association. Finished them this morning. Here, take it. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

Your silence encourages him to continue.

They sent you, didn’t they? They want to know what’s up with the old man, don’t they? They want to know if I’m crazy. Well, you try spending every day of your life setting onsales for Ani DiFranco, T-shirt prices for Ozzfest 2002, and making sure the trucks for Poison and Cake run on time. It’s not easy, you know?”

He continues to rant throughout the night. He tells you about appearance fees for Static-X, how he designed the stage for KORN and how he built the pyramids, sculpted Mount Rushmore and convinced the Eagles to tour again.

And while you sit there in the dark listening to him pontificate on anything and everything, one thought runs through your mind. He wouldn’t seem so crazy if he didn’t live in a cave in the deepest part of the jungle. In fact, he’d seem pretty normal if he hadn’t torn off the heads of those promoters who displeased him. Yeah, if it wasn’t for just one small thing, he’d probably be the sanest guy you ever met. That’s what it boils down to. Just one small thing.

If only he didn’t dress like Cher.