Guess why the rock band Kings of Leon abandoned their gig in St. Louis after three songs. Bloody mosh pit? Misfiring dragon-shaped fireballs? Dragged off stage for lewd behavior involving honeybees and a flowering dogwood?

Nope. It was pigeons. Pooping pigeons.

An infestation of the birds in the rafters of the Verizon Amphitheatre bombarded the musicians as soon as they took the stage, according to Andy Mendelsohn of Vector Management.

“Jared (Followill) was hit several times during the first two songs,” Mendelsohn said of the band’s bassist.

“It’s not only disgusting — it’s a toxic health hazard. They really tried to hang in there,” Mendelsohn added.

Followill, who describes himself as a “germophobe,” said there was already poop on his pedal and carpet when he walked out on stage.

Toxic health hazard, phooey. Know what Followill did after he got off stage? He complained to his mommy. Come on!

Dear Kings of Leon: you’ve got a hell of a lot to learn about rock and roll. Now, I gather that these guys grew up home-schooled by an itinerant preacher, so I guess they’re entitled to be a little neurotic. But what’s next — tummy aches? This band won the Grammy for album of the year, for crying out loud.

And it all raises an uncomfortable question. When did rockers stop being tough and psycho? I’m thinking about all the old hokum: Ozzy Osbourne (see: live bat), Led Zeppelin (sex + shark meat), all the way back to Robert Johnston (sold soul to Devil). Time was you could hardly get a box set if you hadn’t exposed an acre of flesh in public, burned down a dozen perfectly serviceable hotels and died in a pool of your own vomit all by the age of 27. The rockers of yesteryear would eat Kings of Leon for breakfast, have Lindsay Lohan for dessert and wash it down with a fifth of Jack Daniels.

Even back in the 1990’s we more or less accepted the fact that every one of our rock stars was in some stage of crippling heroin addiction. It seemed natural that way. Nowadays, if you added up all the hard living done in rock it wouldn’t amount to a half a Ramone.

Sure, rock and roll will never die, but let’s face it: the lifestyle’s already extinct.

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