AFKS and I go to another Dethklok concert, number three. Only, for some reason, instead of Brendon up there rawking the fawk out, it's this dude that works out on Funhouse Line3. Only instead of the douchebag Eagles cap, sweatshirt, and pubic hair on the head look he usually sports, he's rockin' a black t-shirt, long flowing hair, and sporting Brendon's Skwissgaarr special Explorer.

Halfway through a song they stop and he starts handing out these little "surveys" and saying, "you must complete these in full, or we won't continue the show." Which seems exactly like something that butthole would do.

I look at it and it's essentially a multiple-choice wiring scheme for stage setups. Pretty much every imaginable scheme, and you have to pick which you would want to set up.

So, instead of grabbing the pen off the clipboard attached to my survey, I start screaming, "What the fuck? No, WHAT THE FUCK?"

Line3dude says right into the mic as he points at me, "you got a problem, asshole?"

"Yeah, I got a problem," a hush falls over the now pissed off metal crowd. I loft the clipboard straight into his face and scream, "THERE AIN'T NO TESTS IN METAL!"

With that, I toss the clipboard to the stage and walk out, AFKS right behind me.

He spends the next several minutes chewing my ass for defying the RAWK GAWD.

I finally woke up at the point where I told him to just take my fucking car and shut the fuck up about it, then grabbed two pillows that apparently were filled with helium or something, because they took me straight up into the air. Right up to that point, the entire thing felt like reality.

And the words just keep echoing around my head, like there's some kind of meaning to them, something vitally important, something I must learn, "there ain't no tests in metal."

There ain't no tests in metal.