Sunday, 31 August 2008

70. Slash vs Eddie

One night I was
so high I tried
to pick a fight
with Eddie from
Iron Maiden.

I thought he was hitting on my girl at the time.

Eddie is a
twenty foot tall
puppet Maiden use as
part of their show.
Suffice to say I lost

though not without getting a few good punches in first.

Friday, 29 August 2008

69. Oh, And One Other Thing

Last night

I lost somebody's car.

I borrowed it from a friend.

I was so drunk

that I parked it

some place

but I can't remember


It's just gone - kaput!

I have the keys sitting here

on the table in my living room,

and I don't even know where it is.

Like, if you see it

can you call me?

I think it’s blue

and somewhere

in the greater

Los Angeles area.

You can’t miss it.

It’s full of snakes.

Thursday, 28 August 2008

68. Snakes. Snakes Everywhere.

Things definitely got out of control for a while.
Overnight wealth can do that if you’re an idiot.

One time I was so whacked on amazing blow I
thought I could see snakes crawling up my wall,

dozens of them, freaking me out so much I had
to go hide in the closet and do some China White

to bring me down. Finally after a couple of hours
I started to cool out enough to peek through the

slats in the closet door. Fuck! They were still there.
Wired, I called one of my drug buddies, String-Vest.

“String-Vest,” I said. “There’s fucking snakes all
over the place and I’m freaking out here buddy.”

“That’s because you own dozens of fucking snakes
dude. They’re real. You’re not tripping. Be cool.”

And the crazy thing was, String-Vest, who happens
to be an even bigger drug fiend than me, was right:

there were snakes all over the place, but they were
my pets and I fucking loved those little fuckers.

All’s that happened was I had had some sort of
blackout. Forgot who I was. Forgot where I lived.

Forgot that I owned a tonne of serpents, forgot I was
famous for it, a regular Hollywood Doolittle, y’know?

The funny thing was, I called String-Vest up the
next three nights saying the exact same thing until

finally he came over and helped me finish off the
mountain of blow, if only to shut me up about those

goddamn snakes. But, y’know, it was the late 80s
Drugs and snakes were just part of it all, y’know?

Wednesday, 27 August 2008

67. Derivatives

Soon the scene is awash with
G N R derivatives; you can’t
move on The Strip for clones
of me or Slash. The other guys too.

Suddenly every hustler under the
age of 40 has grown their hair,
got some leathers. And the bands
…the bands are fucking terrible.

They’re everywhere, playing every
venue, banging the same strippers who
wouldn’t touch us in the past, getting
comped at all the clubs we’re barred from.

And the music – the music is bullshit:
lightweight, blow-dried, perfumed
plastic punk, over-wrought
and all over the radio and TV:

Mr. Big and Warrant
Winger and Tesla
Slaughter and Ratt
White Lion, Bad English ,

Cinderella and fucking
Poison. Sometimes I can’t
help but wonder: is this
shit our legacy to the world?

Tuesday, 26 August 2008

66. Axl vs The Feminist Critics

How can I hate women
when I bone and ball
a different one every
night? Sometimes three
at the same time. I mean,
it’s a ridiculous accusation.
I always treat them good;

I always make them cum.
I always tip them heavily.
Heck, if that makes me
a sexist, then so be it. The
only people who accuse me
of this shit must be lesbians
right? I mean, I love bitches…

Saturday, 23 August 2008

65. The Lawyer

I have to say – and this strictly off the record –
that Guns N’ Roses are like dream clients to me.

They’ve each got rap sheets as long as your arm
unless you’re Stretch Armstrong in which case

they only come down to your elbow, heh heh.
But seriously. What lawyer wouldn’t want clients

who pull in ten million per annum but can’t stop
themselves getting arrested on a weekly basis?

Working with those guys, I’m never bored. Bail bonds,
subpoenas, paternity suits, assault charges, financial shit;

whatever they need, I’m there for them, on the front-line.
And the cool thing is I get guest lists for any show I want.

Friday, 22 August 2008

64. Summer Of ‘88

out there
it happened:

it was
like someone
a switch

on tour
we became


off the
top spot




none of

to jamming
‘Mama Kin’


and the
rest of

made us
we are.

And what

Guns N’



Thursday, 21 August 2008

63. Making 'Lies'

Management are, like,
you got to start work on the new record
like, immediately.

And I’m like, what
the fuck you talking about?
We just released one.

And they’re, like, we need to
capitalise on your yada yada yada
and shit.

And I’m, like, sure,
I understand, but genius can’t
be rushed.

And they’re like, do
you actually have any new songs?
So I’m, like, shoot,

only about seven hundred -
and every one of them better than
Bohemian fucking Rhapsody.

And they’re like cool, cool, cool
because the studio and producer is
booked for tomorrow.

And I’m like tomorrow? Tomorrow?
No-can-do, mon amigo. I got this thing to take
care of tomorrow.

And they’re, like, but that’s what we’re
here for: to take care of things
so you don’t have to.

And I’m, like, no, no, you don’t
understand, I’m doing laundry and then
I gotta go see…

And they’re like, well, that’s going
to have wait a while. We’ve got more
pressing business.

And I’m, like, are you fucking serious?
You want me to record in dirty shorts now?
Dude, that’s inhumane.

In the end I humour them and we go cut
a bunch of shitty acoustic B-sides with
Clink producing.

The next day I drop by management
and throw down the tapes and my stinkiest
skidmarked shorts.

And I’m, like, here you go, I got an
ass rash, I hope you’re fucking
happy now, huh?

Eleven months later the shitty acoustic
B-sides comprise fifty per cent of our
new album.

And even now every time I hear it I think of
my own stinky ass crack and the personal pain and
suffering that went into that record.

Wednesday, 20 August 2008

62. Slash Observes A Bar Fight

So five guys in suits in the
bar of the Hyatt Regency hotel
decide we are scumbags
and say so and even though they’re right
it doesn’t mean we have to take this shit.

Then this guy grabs Axl
calls him Bon Jovi
and Axl’s like
‘Bon Jovi can suck my dick
and so can you’
so this guy hits him.

That’s when Steven
cracks him in the head
with his cast because you never
hit one of the family.

Then this other guy tries to hit me
so our guitar tech Mike
lays him out in one punch
and they kick us out the bar,

but then the same five guys
clutching ice packs block us
off and Mike knocks the same
motherfucker out twice

then the cops come
and start arresting people
who aren’t even involved

and Axl tells one of the cops to fuck off
so this guy chases him for twenty feet
then throws him through the air
and Axl is taken off to jail.

The funny thing is
Axl tells this story the
next day on stage
while we jam

and soon enough
‘Axl’s Blues’ starts appearing
on bootleg albums;
we thought it was funny as shit.

Maybe funnier.

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

61. Adler’s Tour Anecdotes IV

I brought back more
cold sores than memories.

But the memories were
in the cold sores and,

in some ways, I kinda
wish I still had them.

Monday, 18 August 2008

60. Crisis In The Motley Camp

At Doc McGhee’s instigation
Motley call a band meeting.

Their manger has harsh words:
“Guys, these fucks are stealing your thunder.

You got to get your shit together.
You got to tighten up. Straighten out.”

But Mars is mute, Sixx wasted and
Vince is banging some chick somewhere.

Only Tommy has something to say. Guffawing,
he flops his formidable penis out onto the table.

“Hey, has anyone got a hot dog bun and relish?
I got a great idea for a practical joke.”

Saturday, 16 August 2008

59. Truck Stop

Some high school jocks are looking at us funny
so Axl walks right up to them and socks the biggest
one of them. He falls silently like a giant Redwood.

His friends just stand there looking at us not sure
what to do. Then one of them goes “Oh, you
West Coasts fags are going to get it now…”

but just as he says this, our crew guys just happen to
walk out the diner. They see what’s up and casually
pull out bike chains and knuckle-dusters from nowhere.

With a whoop and a scream we charge them, five Guns
plus as many crew and even though it’s been feeling like
things are falling apart, momentarily we’re that gang again

That gang who came together with a shared dream, a
shared vision and even though Axl will later trash the bus
for a brief moment we’re an army united by adversity.

Friday, 15 August 2008

58. The Mail Bag

Cabin 717
Cedars Oaks Park (off the interstate, junction 14)

Dear darling W. Axl Rose,

I guess you get lots of letters, but I bet none come from as deep in the heart and from the depths of the soul as this.

I’m your biggest fan, Axl. Again, I bet everyone says that, but I bet ‘everyone’ doesn’t have your face inked across their back or fall asleep touching themselves and thinking of you every night.

The first time I heard you sing, I was, like, oh my god. It was a religious experience. Then when I saw you on MTV that time you and the guys trashed the set I knew I had to have you. And I still intend to have you.

Sometimes at work I can sit thinking about sucking your cock for hours. It’s like I go into a trance or something. I wonder if your pubes are as red as your hair, and I imagine them on my top lip. My face buried in them. I wonder what you smell like. My husband thinks I’m crazy, but I bet he’d suck your cock too. I know for a fact he’s sucked off a couple of his buddies and his cousin when he was younger, so it’s highly possible.

Anyway. If ever you’re passing through Toledo and you want your cock sucking either by me, or my husband (I’m not saying you’re a fag – just giving you the option), or both of us, or you just feel like partying to getting smoked out, you can drop by any time. It might be best you call ahead so I can freshen up first. The shower block is fifteen minutes walk away, but I always have a supply of Wet Wipes handy. We also have a foldaway bed.

Kisses and gobbles – keep rocking!!!

Tawny Hunter

x x x x x x x
x x x x x x
x x x x x
x x x x
x x x
x x

Thursday, 14 August 2008

57. An Epiphany

Somewhere between
Huntsville and Birmingham
in the back lounge
Slash has an epiphany:

he can’t remember the
last time he had sex sober;
can’t remember the last
girl he had sex with twice.

Tuesday, 12 August 2008

56. Herb The Landlord

Of course, I remember them.
They were the worst tenants I ever had.

Those guys became millionaires?
Those bums? I don’t believe you.

Doing what? Drug-dealing? Intimidation?
Sucking dick? Interior decoration?

Let’s just say the roaches moved out
when those pricks moved in and it took

three years to get the smell out the furniture.
I mean, who cooks animals on open fires indoors?

They trashed the sofa, the bedrooms, the kitchen,
smashed the sink, the windows, put holes in the ceiling.

One time I showed up to collect the rent and there
were nude girls everywhere. And I mean girls

and I mean everywhere. Not that I have anything
against nudity but they barely had a cunt hair between them.

I even found a half-buried dog in the back yard.
Boy, I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me they

were Satanists, terrorists or they kidnapped children.
I mean - they dressed like they were in a sex cult.

In the end I had to do what I always do: call in
the Samoans and kick their asses to the curb

but they’d already upped and left. They even stole
the turf from my lawn. Now, why would you do that?

I always knew there was something odd about them.
Now it makes sense: they were artists. 'Creative types'.

My kid bought their record; a terrible, terrible noise.
And you can tell them that if you see them. Tell them…

tell them Abe says they’re not exactly Herb Alpert standard.
And tell them they still owe $500 deposit, motherfuckers.

Monday, 11 August 2008

55. Somewhere Outside Of Lafayette, Louisiana.

A ripped black tyre
torn from a truck
in the road like a
dead black crow.

Sunday, 10 August 2008

54. Impressions Of Motley Crue (Fall Tour, 1987)

Tommy’s a

a big
dumb dog

with a
big dumb

dick, twirling

Mars is a

a crooked

propped up
to play;

an electrified

Vince is a

a peroxide

He’d fuck

for a

Then there’s

who OD’d,
- prick.

The way
he looked,

eyeballs rolling…
fucking sick.

Friday, 8 August 2008

53. Duff In Europe

OK, so they don’t know how to put together a decent burger
and everyone seems so pale and dour but, hey, we’re pale and
dour too so we fit right in with Europe from the get-go, no problemo.

The first shows are in Germany and Holland then we move East back to the UK, home of bad teeth and all those great bands we grew up listening to. The English are one loveable, fucked-up race, as is evident in Slash.

I like them, they invented punk and they know how to drink - boy do they know how to drink – and they like us right back ten-fold. They show their appreciation by throwing shit and spitting on us.

The UK shows are with this band Faster Pussycat. They’re real funny, prissy little assholes who’ve clearly never been to the same school of hard knocks from which we all graduated with diplomas.

We tell them that they should drop the ‘Faster’ and ‘Cat’ from their name, that way people know what they’re going to get when they buy their ticket. Nottingham, Manchester and Bristol are a sub-zero blur:

bad backstage food, hangovers and seedy after-hours clubs where they put us in VIP booths and feed us warm beer while we’re over-run with spotty skanks with bad teeth and loose drawers; our kinda girls!

Four days later we’re in London to play The Hammermsith Odeon where Bowie performed Ziggy and Motorhead recorded that killer live album. We open with ‘Easy’ finish with ‘Rosie’, kill ‘em.

After the show we have a full day to recover and chillax so we all make plans to go see Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, do the tourist thing, you know? But because we all wake up in different beds in

different parts of town it’s all we can do to get ourselves back to our hotel to pick up our passports, finish off whatever drugs are left, check out and hot-foot it over to Heathrow airport for the flight back home.

Our four-month US tour starts in three days.

Oh boy.

Thursday, 7 August 2008

52. Bitching About Axl

- Hey man, do you think Axl is maybe talking too much shit on stage right now?
- How do you mean?
- You know, all this bitching and moaning between songs - like he’s always got a point to prove.
- I guess.
- You guess? Didn’t you hear him last night, cussing out the security and the promoter?
- The promoter was an asshole though.
- He was an asshole but that stuff he said about his deformed arm was way out of order.
- I guess.
- And the way he socked that kid in the Motley T-shirt with the mic stand. The poor kid had to have brow stapled. I don’t know, it just feels like we’re the backing band sometimes, like in the press it’s always ‘Axl Rose & Guns N Roses’, when it should just be – you know…
- Guns N Roses?
- Exactly. None of this would matter, if it wasn’t turning him into such a fuhrer. I mean, I like Kiss.
- So do I but what do you want me to say, he’s a redhead with issues – that aint nothing new!
- Yeah, but he used to be fun.
- Yeah, you’re right there. He’s definitely become an asshole. But we’re selling out shows aren’t we?
- I guess.
- You guess?
- And we’re selling records? Loads of fucking records.
- Yeah.
- And we’re getting our socks blown most nights?
- Most mornings too…
- Well, then.
- Well, then.
- So are you going to shut the fuck up and do this line?
- I still think he’s turned into an asshole.
- Me too. And life is fucking great ain’t it?
- I give us eighteen months.
- That long?

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

- interlude -


51. Axl Ad Libs At The Paradiso (October 2, 1987)

“The older generation got a lot to say about Guns.

A lot of shit, about how we’re ripping them off.

Let me tell you now: Guns aren’t trying to be

nobody but ourselves, man. People like Paul Stanley

from Kiss can suck my dick! And some of those

old guys that say we’re ripping them off, maybe

they should listen to some of their earlier albums

and remember how to play those motherfuckers.

OK. This next song is called ‘Move To The Cit-ay’…”

Tuesday, 5 August 2008

50. New Orleans Jam

We did what every rock star
does in New Orleans after dark:
we scored some baggies
of brown and bindles of white

and we hit the bars
long into the night.
Sat in one sessions
with dudes who claimed

they taught Robert Johnson
Blind Lemon Jefferson
and Huddie Leadbelly
everything they knew

and who
were we
to argue
when we weren’t packing heat

Slash was in his element.
Steven played with brushes.
Duff bought rounds for everyone
Steven was MIA.

I just sat there taking it in
with two hot black chicks
It was the end of our
North American tour.

I celebrated by
them both
in the car park.

Monday, 4 August 2008

49. Various States Of Disrepair

, Nova Scotia

, Quebec

, Ontario

, Ontario

, Michigan


, Manitoba

, Alberta

, Alberta

, British Columbia

, Washington

San Fancisco
, California

Santa Cruz
, California

San Diego

Long Beach
, California

San Antonio
, Texas

, Texas

, Texas

, Texas

New Orleans
, Lousiana.

Saturday, 2 August 2008

48. Axl Ad Libs In San Diego

“Hey, I got a tip for when
you ain't got no money

and you wanna get fucked up -
you find these liquor stores
that the wino's hit up
you know?

And right beside Thunderbird
you'll find a bottle of Night Train.

That'll fuck up you
twice as bad as that Thunderbird
and it's only
a buck and a quarter.

If you drink a quart
I don't care how
bad you are
you're gonna black out.

This next song is
called ‘Night Train’...”

Friday, 1 August 2008

47. A New Friend Whispers In Slash’s Shell-Like

Dude this party fucking blows man -
I bet you don’t even know half of these people.

Nothing but bar-hopping freeloaders, man,
scenesters just here to get their pictures taken, man.

I bet they wouldn’t look at you twice six months ago, bra’h,
Hey, you know what would make it better?

…Sure I got some. A little China White fresh off of the
Bejing junk boat baby. Sailed all the way here especially

just for you and me. What say we hit the stalls for a taste
and maybe a bump of this fine-ass yay-o aswell?

Hell yeah, a little speedball to celebrate your debut, man.
Come on this one’s on me, Mr Rock Star. Lead the way…