Abe Calimag remembers his first “Rock of Ages.” It was July 1, 2009, and he bought a ticket because actress Amy Spanger was in it, and he loved her in “Kiss Me, Kate.”

Turns out Spanger was off that night, but it didn’t matter: Calimag just couldn’t stop believin’ what he saw. And so he saw it again, and again — some 500 times in all, in several states, six countries and on several cruise ships. And he has the ticket stubs to prove it.

Every rose has its thorn — and shows have their followers. As any Renthead or (Avenue) Q-Tip will tell you, that love is more than skin deep. Something — the plot, the music, the message — speaks to them so urgently that it bears repeated viewing.

“Side Show,” the musical about real-life conjoined twins Daisy and Violet Hilton, has spoken to one New Jersey accountant 56 times.

That would be Richard Cundari, who stumbled on a production at his local Villagers Theatre in Somerset, NJ, 15 years ago. At some point during that sold-out Sunday matinee, probably during the song “I Will Never Leave You” — which, for a conjoined twin, is more than a metaphor — he fell in love.

“You cared about what happened to the twins,” he says of the Hilton sisters, a real-life freak show attraction in the ’30s. “You rooted for them.” He told the theater he’d be back, and he was. Four times.

After the second visit, he realized that by sitting on the right side of the theater, he couldn’t really see the Hilton sister on the left. Since then, he’s seen every “Side Show” at least twice, one on each side of the house.

The 60-year-old bachelor — a “Hilton head” — has seen it in regional theater and high school auditoriums, college campuses and the Kennedy Center. In Reston, Va., he took a cousin fresh from oral surgery.

“She said she forgot about [her pain] while watching the show,” he gushes.

Now he’s about to see it on Broadway, where “Side Show” opened in 1997 and closed just three months later. A revised version starts previews Oct. 28 at the St. James Theatre; Cundari has a ticket for Nov. 1.

“[Book writer] Bill Russell always says the show’s particularly important to young people who feel they don’t fit in,” says Cundari, whose other obsession is visiting animal sanctuaries. “I see a lot of heart [in it]. It belongs on Broadway.”

Lauren Moran feels that way about “Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” As a slightly overweight 13-year-old in Kingston, NY, she watched the 2001 movie more than 100 times.

“I’ve been waiting to see this on Broadway for half my life,” says Moran, now 26. “What really drew me to it was the music and the whole idea of acceptance . . . I relate to it, even though I’m not a transgender from East Germany.”

She’s seen the show six times — five with Neil Patrick Harris, once with the current Hedwig, Andrew Rannells. And she’s already bought tickets to see it with Michael C. Hall, who steps into the stilettos Oct. 16.

When she’s not at the show, the FIT grad is drawing it, making posters and portraits, prints of which she’s given to the cast. She gave Harris’ dresser an original, who passed it to the star, who signed Moran’s Playbill. But she’s hardly the show’s biggest fan.

“One woman told me she’d seen it 12 times,” she says, wistfully. “I think she worked for a company that got discounted seats.”

Discounts or not, Calimag has planned entire vacations around seeing “Rock of Ages.” The Fairfax, Va., business consultant says he spent 10 days in Australia, during which time he went to the zoo, toured the museums — and saw the show 12 times.

Which begs the question: What does this paean to the headbangin’ 1980s music scene say to a mild-mannered man who’s charted his visits in spreadsheets?

“It’s the way they took the songs and shaped the story and conveyed the emotion,” he says. “That’s different from anything else I’d seen before.”

Along the way, he’s made friends with other hard-core fans, and even some cast members he’s seen on tour. And no, he insists, they don’t think he’s a stalker: “Seeing a familiar face in the audience gives [them] a little bit of a boost,” he contends. “They know someone was there who cared enough to see them.”

The price of all that passion? About $25,000, though show No. 500 was a freebie, courtesy of the producers.

“People hear a number and think, ‘You’re nuts! You can buy a car for that!’ ” he says. “People have seen Bon Jovi concerts a hundred times — it’s what they enjoy. This is what I enjoy.”