Degenerate call 2016, the biggest annual source of income for many governmental workers, including me. Hell, it's not even that the job's hard or requires special training, which it doesn't, it's just that there's a tremendous amount of degenerates to be handled in a three-day period. Thankfully enough, my departament handles the stage 2 of degenerate handling process, so we already get them presorted as the music-listening kind.
The process is really not that bad, for the most of them. Just the usual questions about sexual activity, influence of certain artists over the individual degenerate's life, et cetera; routine stuff, really. Then come the head-splintering verification tests. That sounds scary but it's basically a polygraph that lets us gleam a little bit more information. If you answered truthfully you'll have no problems and we ask you to come again next year.
If, however, you lied or you otherwise confessed to being heavily influenced by REDACTED,
not that there's anything inherently wrong with that (some would even call you an innocent victim),
there's a good chance your family will not ever see you again.
...And recognise you.
Our national theatre hosts an annual life-sized puppet show. The strings that hold up the puppets are made of shoelaces, and there's probably some historical reason for that, not that I'd care. Regardless of how obvious that makes the puppetry, it's highly praised for "incredible life-likeness" and "movement fluent as if the puppets had a life of their own", but I already said too much... *Vocal scratch.*
There's no time for that, it matters naught, now the only relief is in dance. Dance and fly, high as a kite. The highest praise – the sighs of amazement from the crowd.