I don't appreciate having obeast puke on my hands. Come to think of it, I don't appreciate obeasts at all. This is a story about something that maybe could have been perpetrated by a human, but the fact that it was a hamplanet makes it just that much more infuriating. I would also hope that humans would have slightly more class. Get ready for a long one, Folks. I was at a concert last night with my non-shitperson but still fit friend (whom I will call Joe), our favorite band since we were like 14, and it was supposed to be awesome. It was after a while, but hell, it did NOT start out like that.  The first thing that bothered me was the sheer amount of fats at the concert. Lots of obese twenty-something former females wearing the tightest bodycon, the trashiest lace tights, and other such things that are nice on humans (probably in hopes of getting with the band). Did I mention all of the saggy udders squished together? The former males were at least dressed to keep everything hidden. Whatever. It's my favorite band, I wasn't about to let that ruin the night. Anywho, we somehow got talking with a youngish dad named Dad and his sixteen year old kid named Kid and some guys they had met there. The guys, let's say Hippo and Zookeeper, were brothers. Hippo was 25 (as he kept repeating), had a smallfat beer belly dad bod sorta thing, and was drunk as fucking hell. Zookeeper was younger than him and, as his name suggests, was keeping Hippo from doing anything stupid. At least until he got drunk. In the hour leading up to the opening band's set, Hippo was drinking more and more and it soon became evident that he was completely gone. He also kept pumping his younger brother beer. Yippee. A few minutes before the set I went off to find a friend who had just arrived. When I got back, Hippo was talking to people when he noticed me. I can't remember what he was saying, but it was some kind of introduction and then he did that bro hug handshake thing guys do. His hand was kind of wet and sticky. I looked at it and there was gunk all over my hand.  "There is something on my hand." "Oh yeah, Hippo spilled his beer all over us," Dad said. Yeah, I could see that, but this was certainly not beer. Beer isn't chunky. And as the smell wafted up, I could tell it was most certainly hippo vomit. But as my social anxiety keeps me from doing many things, I couldn't bring myself to make a scene about it. Went to the bathroom, washed it off with soap and scalding water for like five minutes, got some perfume from the lady passing out towels and lotion and shit, and went back out.  "No, Bitter, don't let this get you. It's just a drunk guy. He's leaving after the second set. It's fine. It's washed off," I thought. I rejoined our little group and, hurrah, the show started. I wasn't really all that into the opening act, but I would've enjoyed at least the staging if it weren't for Hippo jumping and fist bumping behind me. Oh God, shitpeople, the smell of this drunken fool! It was fine while he was keeping his arms down, but, uuuughhh when he put them up. Zookeeper got me out from in front of Hippo and next to Joe, much to my appreciation. I did sort of regret it, though, when he was terrorizing the woman in front of him with his body mass (and body odor). She was middle aged, clearly there with her kids, and she kept turning around to tell him to back up because he was basically on top of her.  She and Hippo eventually started yelling at each other over the incredible noise of the concert while her daughters looked like they didn't know what to do. Then Zookeeper came to his defense and I, being the impulsive idiot I am, got between them and basically demanded that the brothers back down. I told one of the girls I would stay between the mom and Hippo, and she said he had puked in their faces. I asked if they wanted me to get them paper towels because I felt responsible for this jackass for some reason, and the mom grabbed them. "Don't fucking talk to them."  Okay lady, whatever. I was trying to help. Zookeeper was clearly losing his grip on reality and kept yelling at Dad about how much of a bitch the mom was. Then he shined his phone flashlight on the ground and was yelling at her asking where the puke was, screaming that he didn't see it, and she was yelling about the smell, and blah blah blah. Things just kept escalating and Dad, Kid, Joe and I kept trying to apologize while the Brothers Moron kept egging her on. Eventually she screamed straight in my face. "You know what? Fuck all of you! FUCK all of you! Leave me and my kids the fuck alone!" And Hippo was still trying to yell over that. She turned back towards the stage, but remember the anxiety I mentioned earlier? Yeeeaaaahhh. The noise, the smell, the blinding lights, the woman yelling at me for just trying to help, I couldn't handle the sensory overload. I just threw my hand to my mouth and sprinted to the bathroom, sobbing the whole way there. I braced myself on the sink hyperventilating worse than I have in a long time while the towel lady tried not to stare. I went to a far stall, leaned against the wall and kept crying. Joe texted me and asked where I was, was I alright, and all I could manage to send was "bathroom panic attack". He gave me a hug, calmed me down and got me some water.  I can deal with a lot of shit from obeasts, but oh my GOD. Smearing your puke on my hands, falling all over me, making me smell the deepest crevices of your roly poly armpits, and being the basis of a panic attack at a concert I'd been waiting for since October? No way. No FUCKING way I was letting that slide. Consequently, neither was Joe. He told security about what a nuisance Hippo was being. They knew he would be trouble because the guy was wasted before 4:00 PM and there was a long night ahead. We watched while they fought with the brothers and eventually threw them out. After that, the night was MAGICALLY so much better. Shocker. Moral of the story: never trust an obeast, but really REALLY never trust a drunk obeast.