I wrote this, and posted it to the Bartcop Forum in 2003. I also sent a copy to Terry Gross of Fresh Air, just before she interviewed him.It was my first big Rock and Roll gig as a Theatre Stagehand. I had gotten my parents to write school to excuse me for work. I was thrilled. I mean, there I was, a 16 year old kid and working on the KISS "Asylum" (no makeup) tour-- TOTALLY GEEKED.Well, the load-in started at 5am, and the wind blew straight off of Lake Huron into the McMorran Arena--it was brutally cold.All went well as far as the load-in goes, at 5'5", and 105 pounds at the time, I managed to hold my own and do what was expected of me. At 11am we broke for an hour's lunch. During that time, two key things happened: Someone stole Gene Simmon's fiber-optic cape (about $5,000) from the cleaners. Second, the Band moved into the facility-- the local crew wasn't notified before hand that KISS would be using the locker room we had been using for our head.So, my friends and I returned from lunch chatting, and walked right into their dressing room-- what we saw was every boy's rock & roll fantasy: There was the band, partying it up with women who NEVER lived in Port Huron, a FULLY STOCKED bar on the counter, a spread of decadence for TWENTY people, let alone four...The band had ripped a mirror from the wall and put on top of one of those big wire spools. Paul Stanley was sitting at the table, straw up his nose and snorting deeply from a HUGE pile of cocaine. We walked in and stopped dead in our tracks-- Stanley was about four feet from me (I was in the front). He finishes his snort, catches his breath and just stops--everything gets quite--everyone is looking at me..."OUT," Paul says, with snow hanging from his nose tip, "Get the FUCK OUT--" I'm blocked by my idiot friends who were trying to catch a peek. Suddenly, Gene throws a whiskey bottle at us, and it explodes against the wall about a foot from my head. Booze goes spraying all over me-- great!"Get Out!" he yells, "And you didn't see anything, you pansies!"It was all I could do to get out of there, and I pushed past my buddies.I'm on deck, putting some vacuform trim in the shape of amplifier speakers on the drum risers, when I hear Gene screaming bloody murder behind me. He just found out his costume was stolen.He comes up onstage, raging with anger. My back was turned to him."What the fuck is this?" he says, "Who the fuck fucked up?" He was right behind me.Suddenly, his hands were on me. "YOU. What the fuck are you doing?" He grabs me with one hand around my neck and with the other, he grabs my crotch from the back hoisting my over his head, shaking me in a "body slam" posture."Is this a little joke of your's, little guy?" he screams, "I'm pissed-- QUIT FUCKING WITH ME!!" he screams.Meanwhile, I'm terrified, saying, "I'm just working, please put me down, I'm just working." Somewhere across the arena, I hear someone shout, "Put the little guy down, Gene, you're going to hurt him."He put me down, alright--just let go and stepped backwards. Now Gene's about six and a half feet tall and had me at full arm length over his head. I SLAMMED against the deck, and I SWEAR I bounced. I was stunned and couldn't move, while I assessed my body for damage and caught my breath.All of a sudden, he straddled me and sat on my chest. He collared me with one hand while slapping me with his other. he grilled me about where the fuck his costume was, and whether I was talking about what I saw in the dressing room. I repeatedly told him that I was just trying to work (slap) and really had no idea about his costume (slap) and I wasn't talking to anybody... I had a clove cigarette in the stem of my glasses and tried to offer it to him. He slapped me again, got very close to my face and growled, "I don't smoke."I was thinking to myself, Gosh, Gene, you snort coke, drink, and breathe fire on stage-- how should I know if you don't smoke... I just stared at him. Finally, he starts to smile, licks my nose with his big tongue (it REALLY is long).By this time, a small crowd had gathered and some handlers were trying to pull him off of me. "We were just having a chat," he said over his shoulder. He tapped me on my red cheek a couple of times, gave me one of those intimidation points, and got off of me like nothing happened.A Stage Manager helped me up, never asked what happened, but got me some water and asked if I was alright. I was, so I drank my water and went back to work. I kept a LARGE Crescent Wrench in my back pocket the rest of the day.The next morning, I broke all of my KISS albums and vowed to never support them again. I have turned down five gigs with them since.Two weeks after that day, I was watching MTV and who comes on for a "Rockers Against Drugs" ad? Gene and the boys. "We Don't need drugs to have a good time..."We just LIKE them.I really fucking hate Gene Simmons. I've been waiting a long time to finally hear that Karma caught up with him. That cocksucker deserves two bullets in his head, and his own balls shoved down his throat.