Rest in Peace, Pops.

This weekend, I celebrated the 229th birthday of America by going to Las Vegas. The trip was undeniably fun. One of the best memories I have is the Red Hot Chili Peppers (RHCP)/ Weezer concert I went to on Saturday. Sadly, though, this memory is tainted by the loss of human life that occurred at this concert. This blog is dedicated to you, “Pops”.

There we were getting our faces melted off by the amazing talent of the RHCP in the middle of a scorching Las Vegas evening. The crowd was packed tightly together as everyone jockeyed for positions closer to the stage. We were a mere 10 yards from the stage. My friends and I were dancing and shouting and getting baked from all the pot that everyone was smoking around us. During a break between songs, we heard a low popping sound. We saw a white shirt, a piece of cloth, ashes (or some other form of lightly falling debris) and a feather shoot up into the air from almost groud level and then descend softly just 15 feet ahead of us. The only conclusion we could come to was that someone was rocked too hard by the awesome musical talent of the RHCP. This person, whoever he or she was, spontaneously exploded. I have named him or her “Pops”, after the sound that he or she made at the instant their soul left this earth.

No mention was made of a fatality in the news about the concert; but we all knew better. There is no other appropriate explanation for what we witnessed. Our knowledge of who “Pops” was is limited to the fact that his or her body couldn’t cope with being rocked; however, we honor “Pops” for his or her courage in going to the concert.

So, here’s to you, you poor bastard. I hope the concert was worth your life. You gave up you earthly existence for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. May your soul now rest peacefully in green pastures absent of any face-melting music.