I never told this story for fear of being ridiculed by some of the readers. I’m a pretty confident person if you all couldn’t tell. That’s the me I like to project. I’m a confident, sexy, down to earth type of guy guys want to have a beer with and women; well you know what women want to do with me.

I exude confidence on the outside because on the inside I get torn up when I make mistakes. They are really humbling. But, I have an image to uphold. The tough, Seattle grunge rock, flannel wearing, unshaven, hard bodied confident, sexified, pot smoking know it all guy has to portray that image all the time or my followers will think less of me. If they only knew what lurks inside me. A fragile delicate man, that is pensive at night over his glass of 86 Reserve Cabernet. I’m a thinker really. Sure I exude hotness but my looks aren’t what I’m all about. Not by a long shot.

I make decisions. I make hard decisions. I have instincts. I follow my instincts and make decisions. I make instinct decisions. You see I’m an instinctive decision maker. That’s my management style. Instinctive decisiveness they call it. So it’s part of who I am. I have a soul, I see other people’s souls and I make instinctive decisions based on that research, that knowledge. That rockabilly fever starts burning in me and I go with my gut.

So this one time several years ago I was trusting my instincts pretty hard core. Rocker style man. I felt like I was in front of a crowd of 80,000 at JFK Stadium. I was singing my rocker ballad, sort of like “Every Rose has its thorn” but harder really, more like “I’m coming Home!” MOMMA I’m COMING HOME!!!! Wooohoooo. Fist pumping, hang loose sign waving, head hanging, guitar strumming instincts were flowing through me like cocaine. Not that I have ever done cocaine, but I imagine if I snorted it, gummed it, or did an eight ball that’s what it’d feel like.

So there I was (insert awesome piano by Nikki Sixx while I’m talking here and for good measure think guitar like every rose at the same time) so there I was cruising in front of 80k in JFK! Rocking out man, eight ballen! Rocken out with my cock out! My instincts felt it. I stood there and said, “My next door neighbor has a gun in his house!” The crowd was delirious man. My band was like “Fuck yeah! Wooohoooo, Neighbor’s gotta gun!” Woohoooo!

The crowd went wild. Then more music came out of me, I repeated that line, “Neighbors gotta a gun, long days gonna come when I take away that gun!” The crowd was going crazy. I think I smelled pot in the air. Man, I had even converted the pot smokers into believing that the neighbor had a gun! It was freaking awesome dude!

Oh, what’s that? Did the neighbor really have a gun? Fuck if I know. I heard it from my drummers girlfriend’s, mother’s, sister’s uncle, half retarded brother-in-law, who has an “in” with the local sheriff’s department that knows about this gang of 12 year olds that went knocking off newspaper stores for cigarettes that spoke to this group of catholic school kids, the knew about this priest that spoke to a person giving penance that said he cheated on his wife with his neighbors daughter and that he was pretty sure the guy had a gun and was going to go crazy and start killing everyone because he didn’t like the way things were going in this world and he hated Christians.

Crazy right!? I mean that kind of Intel you don’t fuck around with. So back to the fist pumping, I love you hand sign making, hang loose waving, peace sign swinging crazed fans now singing “neighbors gotta gun”. I had this jumbo tron thing putting my image up on the screen for the lesser to see. You know the people that don’t have front seats but we want to make feel they are just as cool and get to see the same show as the people getting to see me sweat and really drip my love juice on them. So I was even reaching out to those people. They didn’t have a clue what was going on the stage besides what the camera’s wanted them to see. The people in the front row they were close, like enemy close. Some saying comes to mind about that but Fuck it man, I’m a rock star and we are gonna get this guy’s gun!

So I switched the jumbo-tron over to this live shot of the dude’s house! The crowd went nuts it was like they were going into the house too. They wanted to be there to tear this guy apart. Find that gun and fucking kill the guy! Wooohooooofuckingwoooooo! IN WE WENT MAN! This guy was like no! You can’t come in. This isn’t fair. I don’t have a gun. He was trying to tell us what to do.

I changed songs right at this point. I went new school on them, started singing “Fuck you I wont do what you tell me” The crowd was going ballistic. Moshing, flailing around it was fucking awesome. Everyone in unison “Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me, FUCK YOU I WONT DO WHAT YOU TELL ME!”

In we went, busting shit up. It was awesome. We tore the shit out of this place man. It was a huge house, like 50,000 square feet so the show ended before we found the gun. But that last song really carried me through. I was going mad after that show. It was pretty much my farewell tour show so people talked about it for years. It was theatre at its best man. I was a fucking legend for year’s man.

Then like any rock star that disappears the chicks went away and I got bored. So I got my old band together and started up with the same show hype. Unfortunately before I could really come out full force for my next show, some bad shit was going down. Apparently the dude whose house I jammed up was pretty pissed. He had like a bunch of crazy people living in his house that were fucking fanatics. Not fans like I have, but crazy ones that will believe anything that some lunatic says. These fucking people were going around killing my fans for no fucking reason. Come to find out the guy, heh-heh never had a gun. I guess that priest lied. Go figure…I managed to put the kibosh on the press for a few years long enough to muddy the waters and confuse even some of the smartest reporters you ever met.

So after I was pretty confident my lawyers put up a big enough smoke screen to keep me out of trouble it was time to start a new comeback show. This time I had the script already written. I couldn’t have the show in the same place this time. That guy was pretty pissed….BUT HIS NEIGHBOR, HIS NEIGHBOR had been out of the country for the past 3 years so his house must have been where the gun was.

My new angle was going to go after the gun in this guy’s house. I had to tweak a few things in the script but I was pretty sure that the Mother of my guitarist’s sister, had good information when she told me that the girl’s brother’s daughter, had talked to her boyfriend’s sister, that said they were at the local dairy Queen and had over heard, this black kid talking about this kid that had just bought a 50cent album, from a pirated corner shop that sold 9mm handguns to just about anyone.

That’s all I needed to get on with my show man! Wooohoooo, get out the classics (insert Motley Crue piano music) I was going to change a few songs but keep the beat the same this time. I switched to a song that was starting to get more air time in my area “Don’t stop believen…hold on to that feeling ya!” I knew what I was doing man. A little payola and my songs started appearing on the radio about a year ahead of my new concert. I hadn’t announced a concert date yet, but my followers…errr fans, they could tell a date was coming. They could feel it. They had the sense. It was part of my decisive instinctfullness to allude to my fans what I was doing. I would send mix messages, but the true believers, errr fans they could would sell out Veterans Stadium no problem. Sure it had a few less seats, but who cares. (Insert “don’t stop believing music”)

So there I was man practicing with the boys. We had a little turnover. The fucking drummer left man. Dude bailed. Fucking pussy. So I had to get a new drummer. Oh well, drummers aren’t musicians anyways. They don’t make music really; they just get the crowd to follow along. So the new drummer was pretty cool. He could fucking rock on “Master of Puppets” I brought in a new guitarist to play this one. (Insert “master of puppets, Master of puppets I’m pulling your strings, Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams Awesome! GrRRRRRR!

Fuck yeah man, fist pumping, no peace waving for this song baby! (Master! Master!) GOD DAMN we were cruising along (just call my name b/c I’ll hear you screammmm)
Wooohoooooo. Man the band was ready man. FuckenAbaby! (Hell is worth all that, natural habitat) Guitar man going crazy with this one! My feet are going nuts just thinking about it.

We were so ready. This time instead of bursting into the neighbor’s house during the show we had planned to do it early. The music was all ready, the show was ready we were just about to release the concert date. (Feet still tapping man MASTER! MASTER!) Here we were man. Peaking FUCKING PEAKING MAN!!!!) No stopping us (Just call my name cause) I’ll hear you scream.

My INSTINCTS WERE piqued man. We were on. Our jam session was rocking along.

Then some asshole said the neighbor didn’t have a gun and the fucking media believed them. God damn has that taken the wind out of our come back tour!

Shit! (Insert feedback from crappy guitarist also insert busted drumstick from crack head drummer) fucking drummer! God damned technicians!

Oh well we will figure out a way to get this show back on track. Give us a few days.
The show must go on! (Insert I’m on my way
Well I’m on my way
Home sweet home
Tonight tonight
I’m on my way
Just set me free
Home sweet home)

That neighbor is still dangerous. I don’t care what people say. My decisive instincts tell me so and I’m gonna prove it!

Advertisements