Those fucking Islamofacists. The problem is they can't stand freedom, they can't stand happyness, they can' stand puppies. They hate babies, they hate Jesus, they hate it when you get a full nights rest. They live only so the suffering of men folk. They hate it when your headache goes away. They hate it when you get to choose what song to listen to at the end of the day. What is more free than rock n roll? Nothing else is. So four suicide afterlife virgen fuckers climb up the scaffolding and plant poison chem bombs. The objects will go off one third of the way into the concert. So while preforming The texture of you The bombs begin hissing as they pressure up to blow. The audience thinks the explosions from over theyre heads are part of the show. Clouds of wet gas float down. People start coughing, strangling, then puking up theyre lungs. The band catches a dose to. You are rushed to the hospital coughing up blood. Milky gets off with a sore throat and dry lungs. Snides has low level lung damage, he must spend three weeks in the hospital recovering and he can never sing back up vocals again, his voice is now a harsh rasp permanantly. Biscuit, the drummer is in a coma, falling in and out of death. He will never play again and its a wheelchair and mobile I V in his arm for now on. Jicks, the unofficial fifth member got out without a problem, he didn't even cough. At first sign of trouble he ran out the emergancy exit. You puke up torrents of blood and lung tissue. You slip into a coma on the way to the hospital. You are legally dead for a record fifteen minutes before they bring you back up. You stay in a coma for the next three months. When you come out of it your brain is all confused and you will need to learn how to do simple things like tie your shoes again.