Confessions Of The World’s Most Notorious Rock Band
Written by Motely Crüe!
Manny took the needle out of his cock long enough to write this
by Motley Crue
The opening paragraphs of this book rank up there with some of the best
literature in the world. Tolstoy would have read them and wept like a
fucking baby. The Marquis de Sade would have felt challenged. We are
told, in colorful detail, how the band was basically spawned from
cockroaches, beer cans, stolen goods, and filth. The house they live in
had roaches in the oven, rats and chest high garbage on the patio, a
kicked-in door, black, scorched carpet, and socks in the bathroom to
wipe your ass with. It was covered in pornography and people had sex
and did drugs all over it, as well as commiting various other crimes.
Like when they made a girl call her mother, with the phone’s receiver
up another girl’s vagina. When I read that I got so excited I damn near
shit myself. This is the greatest book ever, I proclaimed loudly to
myself! Then something sinister takes over the book.
Let me explain. I like Tommy Lee. I met him when I was drunk in a bar
once out in L.A. and he seems like a nice guy. You would think the same
thing if you met him. You’d pound drinks or maybe smoke a joint with
the man, regardless of his parole, and you’d walk away saying, “that’s
one cool motherfucker.” The problem comes in when you read his accounts
of Motley Crue’s history in The Dirt.
Then you just want to pummel the living shit out of him. First off,
you’re not getting any sympathy for your failed marriage to Pamela
Anderson. That shit was your own damn fault. I don’t believe for a
second, as the book tells us, that he lightly kicked her gorgeous
behind with a “slippered” foot. I’m sure he broke it off up in there,
and maybe she had it coming, but so did he. Tommy stalked her to
Mexico, as we all remember, and just wouldn’t take no for an answer
until she married him. His accounts of them doing tabs of X at a club
seem more like coercion than courting to me. Face it, dude, she had to
send you to jail just to get away from you for a little R and R. Of
course, only a really Motley dude could fuck it up with the hottest
chick in the world.
Furthermore, leaving Motley Crue was the
best thing that ever happened to you, Tommy. That’s why you still have
a career with Methods of Mayhem and Vince Neil packs on another fifty
pounds a year in his effort to look like a white Gary Coleman. What you
talkin’ bout Mick?
The highlights of the book are when they are on tour with Ozzy and he
puts on a sundress, urinates in public and drinks it, snorts all their
coke, then snorts a line of live ants. Sharon Osborne eventually shows
up and makes them all behave. Another highlight is when one of them,
who cares who, overdoses on heroin and the dealer who shoots him up
beats him severely with a baseball bat in an effort to revive him, then
hurls his body into a dumpster. Good stuff. Like Jonny always says, drugs are for smart people.
Just ask the lead singer from Alice in Chains.
So here is the real dirt for you. Skip this book. Steal it or borrow it
from a friend and never return it. If you send me the postage I’ll give
you my copy. In the end it’s just more nostalgic, self-serving, whiny
nonsense about a bunch of hardcore faggots trying to learn how to cry
together because they blew all their money on drugs and hookers. Not
that I’m opposed, it’s just a boring read.