People, it appears, have been pooping, peeing, vomiting, bleeding, ejaculating and spilling nacho cheese all over the stairs at Red Rocks for months, which has lead to a now infamously noxious odor that plagues the very being of patrons.

There's been a really … um … interesting phenomenon happening at Red Rocks lately. We use the word "interesting" because said phenomenon is entirely preventable and caters to the lowest, most reptilian form of human comportment. And quite frankly, we're shocked.

People, it appears, have been pooping, peeing, vomiting, bleeding and spilling nacho cheese all over the stairs at Red Rocks for months, which has lead to a now infamously noxious odor that plagues the very being of patrons. The reasoning for this ugly, ugly trend? People are too god damn lazy or wasted to make it to the bathrooms and trash cans, which the good people of Red Rocks have amply supplied.

The stench has so far been described as the conglomeration of every bodily fluid, stale beer and rotting food item known to man, and this unholy trinity is just made worse by Colorado's endless torrential downpours of rain.

See, back in the good old days of droughts and dryness, all the bile and Fat Tire and vodka shits just magically dried up and baked off. But now, the intense moisture has given these human emissions a reason to incubate and react like Gremlins when you water them after midnight. Oh, the horror! What is wrong with you people?

Here's a little anecdote from Cannabist editor Ricardo Baca, who described the experience of concert-going in the midst of a shit miasma to Reverb:

Sure enough, as we reached the bottom of the mammoth east stairs on Sunday – where the most eager fans often participate in the Red Rocks tradition of lining up for a day-long party of friend-making, drinking and revelry hours before each show’s gates open – we could smell the lingering stench of bodily fluids, stale alcohol and other substances best flushed down a toilet.

“And it’s about to get a lot worse,” our friend warned as we climbed the first few sets.

It did get worse. A lot worse. Some climbed faster to escape the smell. Some cried, “Ewww” as they sprinted past the worst sections. Others held hands and shirt collars over their nose as they huffed up the stairs.

When you’re partying on the stairs, you consistently see people ducking the rail and climbing around to do a number of acts best done in private. But there’s a reason you’re not supposed to urinate and defecate in such a heavily trafficked pathway – just ask river rafters, who abide by actual state laws by carrying all solid human waste with them in old metal ammo cases on trips ranging from 3-30 days.

The result of a hard and busy summer at Red Rocks: The east stairs now smell like the worst port-a-potty experience you’ve ever witnessed, only with a stunning view of mountains and wild flowers and red sandstone and mule deer and high-altitude fauna.

For purple mountain majesties … and weeks-old chunks of Cuervo-scented stomach acid.

Look, weirdos. We know you popped a molly and that the sheer, rabid excitement of seeing Bassnectar for the fourteenth time compromised your bowel integrity, but you don't have to place your excretions on the stairs. And no, by urinating on the hallowed red rocks themselves, you are not making any kind of yellow-Gatorade colored offering to the Gods in exchange for a bountiful autumn harvest. Vomiting on the stairs is slightly excusable since puke strikes without warning, but haven't you people ever heard of trash cans? Stick to the bathrooms or we're gonna stick you.

But wait? What's that you say? The death fumes aren't even relegated to the stairs, and have also invaded the venue's bathrooms and common areas? Says Ricardo:

A side note specifically directed toward the city: The smell of those stage-right, stair-topping bathrooms is an embarrassment. They appeared to be clean and well-stocked, but … that smell? To the woman who entered and immediately existed the women’s room on Sunday: Your categorization of a “fish freezer that lost its electricity days ago” was on-point, my crew and I all agreed.

Jesus, people.

In the end, just like only you can prevent forest fires, only you can prevent sickly Red Rocks nausea air. Because you, dear reader are an adult with both an inner and outer anal sphincter, both of which should be able to appreciably stop the flow of poop from your butt to the stairs where 90 million people are walking in the disco haze of Chromeo or whoever.

Ricardo sums it up best:

It’s a gift, living in Colorado and having Red Rocks in your backyard. And I get it – when you have to go, you have to go, and that walk up or down the stairs (to legitimate and portable restrooms) is no fun at all.

So there you have it. Poop before you take poppers and eat jalapeno poppers and pop ketamine at the show, because if you keep shit-piss-puking on the world's most beautiful amphitheater, we're gonna kick you right in the incontinent ass. Get your shit together, literally, fuckboy.