If you're too drunk to pay attention to the superdepressing dirty-beach-bum-on-a-bender lyrics, Jimmy Buffet's "Margaritaville" might seem like some perfect little paradise where nobody works, the tequila is always free, and every afternoon is spent lazily "nibblin' on sponge cake" and "watchin' the sun bake."

But that's bullshit. The place is a death trap. And that's especially true since 99 percent of Buffet's fans (AKA Parrotheads) are rapidly aging ex-hippies who've crapped away the last 35 years guzzling endless 40-ounce frozen cocktails on the beach, passing out in the sand, and roasting like human turkeys in the blazing subtropical sun.