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And in Denver, where it all started, we were recording the concert for a possible live album and video.  Jeff came up to me before the show.  "Tonight's the night," he said.  "I've got an idea of how to stop the pasties.  When I give you the signal give me a slow bass line and follow my lead."

Toward the end of our set, as the pasties were leaping from the ceiling and taking over the bodies of the kids, Jeff gave me the signal.  He sang a new song he called "Savior."  It had syrupy lyrics about how some girl rescues some guy and a chorus about breathing life into a dead man's heart.  I didn't much care for it.

Neither did the pasties.  They got riled up and a group of them jumped over the barricades, plowed down the security men and stormed the stage.  Jeff knew they were going to kill him, so he started bashing their heads in with his stratocaster.  But they kept coming.  No matter how many he killed, there were more to replace them.

The mob mentality took over and even the normals rushed the stage.  There were too many of them.  Jeff went down fighting and they tore him limb from limb.

They looked at me and realized that I saw them for what they were.  Teeth bared, they started toward me.  I threw my bass at the closest pasty and ran backstage.  I knocked over as much equipment as I could to slow them down, then locked myself in the dressing room.  They scratched at the door, then pounded, and I knew it wouldn't hold.

I pulled a chair over, hopped up and raised a ceiling tile.  I grabbed a support and hauled myself up, kicking over the chair in the process.  They broke into the room as I lowered the ceiling tile into place.  I heard them tearing the room apart and I knew they'd find me, but instead of looking up, they left.  Moments later, the cops arrived so I moved the tile and jumped down.

I understand they found pieces of Jeff's body at all ends of McNichols Arena.  You probably saw the video of the mob rush and Jeff swinging his guitar.  They showed it on the news almost as much as they showed the Challenger explosion.  Sick shit sells.

Vince and I escaped with our lives, but I haven't seen him in months.  It's probably better that way.  I stick to myself.  I can walk down the street and see the pasties everywhere.  Some of them even wear Necropolis tour T-shirts.  And they're still coming.  More and more pouring out of their place into ours.  So far, I've been lucky enough to spot them before they spot me, which is probably why I'm still alive.

And that's what happened, man.  I wanted to tell my story to the papers, but no one would believe me.  I tried to sell the live recording of "Savior" to the record company saying that since it was Jeff's last performance it should be popular, but they wouldn't bite.  MTV refused to air the video.  The radio stations wouldn't touch it.  I think the pasties had something to do with that because no one would even listen to the damn thing, and that goes contrary to everything in the music business.  See, I think Jeff was onto something.  I think he arranged the song as a spell to close the doors and destroy the pasties and that's why they hate it so much.  And that's why it's the only song I listen to anymore.

And that, Reverend, is why I've come to you.  If your claims are accurate, your cable ministry reaches millions of people.  I know you preach that rock music is satanic, but you know that's bullshit.  However, Necropolis is dangerous and has to be fought.  You're the last hope any of us have.  This is a tape of "Savior."  If you really want to help people, you'll play the song on your show.

Give it some thought.

Because the real kicker is that the carnage at our final show made Necropolis more popular than ever.  The songs from "Hellsight" have gone into heavy rotation.  And every time one of the songs is played on MTV, the radio, a juke box, even a home system, another door opens and more of the pasty bastards pour out to take over.  And unless you strike now, there's not a goddamn thing any of us can do to stop them.