It’s 100 degrees out in the summertime and you’ve been partying all day on lot. You’ve got a solid crew of your bros who all partake in some heavy Orange Sunshine an hour or so before you head in. There are over 100k people at the show and you all have floor tickets. You get into the venue, covered in sweat, coming up super hard. You go in early to get up close. You and your bros cram your way up to the front of the packed, sweaty, hot, stadium floor. The doses are kicking in full force and everyone’s faces are at that level. The band comes out, and there’s Bobby, baring his legs and moose knuckling in his cut offs. The women start to go crazy, and you and your bros can’t stop staring at his big, muscular, tan thighs. You start to question your sexuality. You feel one of your bros pressed against you. You’re surrounded by tens of thousands of people with no way out. Bobby’s thighs. Packed like sardines. Hell in a Bucket starts up. The temperature rises. You forget what band is playing. One of your bros faints. You stare at Bobby’s thighs. You take your shirt off. It’s too much to handle.