I went and saw Judas Priest in concert last night, because I'm a loser.

If there's anything I've noticed about Judas Priest, it's that their fans are the biggest collection of misfits I've ever seen. It's ironic that I was in the front row isn't it?

The funny thing about Priest concerts is you wonder where these people come from. These are not people you see everyday. Trust me. It's a mass gathering of the bottom of society. When Priest was in their heyday, these fans were kids, and you could blame them for youth, but NOW, you're looking at people who never quite figured life out. They are still wearing faded shirts from bands that broke up a long time ago…wandering around in a stupor, looking for an answer to all of life's pertinent questions, like 'where's the bar?', 'Was Rob Halford gay when he was in Priest, or just after he quit?' or a metal classic- 'show me your tits!?' Unfortunately, with the cruel laws of nature intervening, the latter adage proved to be quite the knee-knocking good time it was. It was nothing short of a C-level strip club in a backwoods town still serving moonshine.

One huge surprise was the extremely high content of hot, young women in the crowd. They all dressed alike, in these tantalizing get ups, and serious looks painted on their young faces. They were all very, very forward, approaching me…. asking if I would care for a beverage. Wow. I must be famous in this town. I know they carry Face in New Hampshire, and I do a lot of comedy shows in the area, but I had no idea I was building this kind of recognition down here. I looked at my friend and expressed my dismay of constantly being recognized, how nobody wants to know me for me, how everybody just wants a piece of the Shaner. I lamented and spoke of my once simpler, peaceful life, and the hot girl returned.

"That'll be three-fifty."

Do me a favor. Read the very first sentence again.

With one paw firmly clasped upon my plastic cup of piss warm lager, and the other fist pumping straight in the air, Priest took the stage and said "'ello punter!" to my childhood dreams. I now realize that it was probably for the better that my dreams were never realized, because as nice of a facility the Hampton Beach Casino is, I'd be far more interested in playing it on my way up, rather on my way down. Let's face it. They were serving nachos at a Judas fucking Priest concert, and people were thrilled about it. "Beyond the realms of death" and bad salsa have no place together in my book, and it appeared to me that K.K. Downing himself may have indulged in this particular condiment prior to this evenings performance, due to the high level of discomfort he was showing.

The movie "Rock Star" was based on the life of new Priest singer Ripper Owens, who replaced Rob Halford, who quite possibly has the largest shoes (and the biggest collection of them) to fill in metal.

Thanks to the creative writers in Hollywood, "Rock Star" was a glamorous look at the life of Ripper, although, the cynical prick in me would have much preferred a reality based documentary on Ripper, standing outside of a Winnebago parked beside a waterslide, signing autographs to every wide eyed cab driver New England could possibly produce. That sounds like fine cinema.

So, you probably think that Priest sucked. Well, You've got another thing coming.

Ripper lived up to his name, and did not disappoint. He was incredible, as were all the players in Priest. The Cockney work ethic is inspiring, and American bred Ripper has obviously inherited it from the legendary company he's keeping. Live, Judas Priest is still a force to be reckoned with, despite their realization of economy of motion. (Their famous twin guitar side-to-side swagger has been abbreviated by roughly one half of a fathom)

I just happen to come from a school that believes in walking away once you've become a parody of yourself. Oddly enough, I'm not talking about the band here; I'm talking about the fans. There were more broken dreams in that room than there were visible stretch marks. It looked as if half the room had hung themselves on clotheslines in New Mexico for eight days in preparation for this show. When the opening bands were playing, I set up camp in the bar, along with just about everybody else with problems, and I actually felt pretty good. I'll bet I was the only one in there with an email address.

Growing up in metal deprived Maine always made me feel a bit lonely, I was constantly searching for fans of this great music, and after last night's concert, I couldn't have been happier that I didn't. I have enough problems as it is. Judas Priest has always claimed that it was all for the fans, they kept them alive. I strongly suspect there were more than a few missed child support payments in that room, based on the high level of toxicity and the even lower level of comprehension. It's nice to know that these rabid fans can keep the Priest on the road, and meanwhile some five year old is in a state funded therapists office trying to figure out why he can't stop bludgeoning small animals.

Before anybody tries to kill me and leave my body in a dumpster somewhere…. remember this. I chose to go, stand in front, and pay homage to one rock's greatest bands, and I had a blast. Until next time, stand up for exciter.