Categories > Celebrities > Motley Crue > Merry-Go-Round
Punched In The Teeth By Love
"Well, maybe we should head to the bar and inspect each one of 'em," Vince teased, casting her a wink.
?Blocked
Punched In The Teeth By Love
May 20, 1982
Benihana Restaurant
La Cienega Boulevard
Two months had gone by when Vin and I scribbled our signatures on the rental agreement for our apartment. And thanks to Tom Zutaut's persistence with the higher-ups at Elektra, which started a bidding war with Virgin, we were now signed to an L.A. based record label. Just this very afternoon the four of us signed the contract. Now we were celebrating.
Roy Thomas Baker would be chosen to remix Too Fast For Love and Vin would have to redo his vocals. This would all take place at Baker's house on Sunset Drive. Yeah, we heard about the notorious parties this dude threw: booze, drugs and anything-goes-sex. And that meant I would be accompanying Vin. Like hell I'd leave him to his own devices at Baker's.
Vin was downing margaritas, well, trying to. He was piss drunk and biting into every glass the waitress set down. It always amused me when my blonde bitch got all spunky and feisty. At times I tended to forget Vin happened to be a flesh and blood man. Shoot, one couldn't blame me, seeing how he possessed a pretty face, pretty hair, pretty body and pretty clothes. It was hard to accept the fact Vin was one of the dudes. And, he loved to start fights and cause trouble; Tommy and I weren't the only bad boys in this band. Yet, I always pissed him off when he would throw punches since each time he brawled, I mimicked my same performance at the Starwood back in '81: I'd jump into the fight, not allowing anyone to dare hit my boyfriend, which of course didn't sit well with the blonde whore.
Once again Vin bit into the glass, snickering.
I leaned into him, whispering, "You keep this up and you're gonna cut yourself. Chill out."
Vin cast me an annoyed look. Yup, big mistake on my part 'cause if this was Tommy eating glass, I'd be laughing, even egging T-bone on to cut himself and let his blood drip all over the pristine, very white table cloth. But, this wasn't my drummer. This happened to be my boyfriend, and just like any other concerned lover, I didn't wanna see Vin all messed up with cuts.
"Oh, fuck you, man. I ain't your lap dog. Quit telling me what the fuck to do," he muttered, deciding to ignore me as he lifted his arm, beckoning the waitress over to the table.
She was a facsimile of every other chick in L.A.: dyed blonde hair, big tits, long legs and killer body. She folded her arms, glaring at Vince.
"What's the matter with this fucking place?" Vin slurred, snickering. "This fucking glass is broken. Get me another fucking drink."
"I just don't understand how each glass keeps breaking," the waitress fired back.
"Well, maybe we should head to the bar and inspect each one of 'em," Vince teased, casting her a wink.
I placed my hand on his thigh, indicating for him to remain seated. Yup, nothing had changed; just add booze and an instant horn-dog appeared.
Vin tried to shrug off my hand but I held firm. By now the waitress was no longer pissed. Her interest was piqued.
"Chill out," I coolly said under my breath.
"No."
"Chill the fuck out."
"No."
"Chill out."
"Fuck you."
"Okay. That's it," I snarled, setting down my own drink. "We're outta here."
Before Vin could protest, I gave him a good shove and he stumbled out of the booth, crashing to the floor. And since the dumb fuck had tucked the tablecloth into his pants--instead of his damn napkin--he took all the contents with him, I'm talking plates, drinks, the candles, you name it. All that could be heard was clattering, banging, and dishes and glass breaking. Of course the patrons all gasped in alarm, barely tolerating our loud, raunchy party of ten as it was.
Vin's dumb move made our entire table roar with laughter.
The manager instantly appeared. "Is there a problem?" the old coot sputtered in disbelief.
Just then Vince sat up. "What the fuck?" he bellowed, swiping at the food and drinks that covered him. He looked up, glaring at me. "You son-of-a-bitch! Dumb fuck! Where the fuck you get off pushing me!" He tried to take a swing and punched the bottom of the booth instead.
I stood, deciding Coffman or Zutaut could handle this mess as I casually reached down and slung Vin over my shoulder. Once again, everyone at our table burst into another fit of laughter. However, the blonde bitch wasn't the least bit amused.
As I carted him through the restaurant while the patrons continued to shrink back in horror, muttering about our scandalous, uncouth behaviour, Vin began pounding on my back and kicking his legs.
"You put me the fuck down right now!" he roared. "Stupid fuck! I ain't done drinking and eating. Where the fuck you get off ruining my pants, man!"
I gave a push on the door, striding straight to the big caddie. Christ, even I was covered in food and drinks now. We'd have to swing by the apartment first and get cleaned up. Ah, to hell with it. We'd show up at the Rainbow looking like fucking pigs. Since when did I give a shit about what others thought about me? And I wanted to finish partying. We did just sign a record contract, after all.
So I dumped Vince in the passenger side and rounded the car.
He sat up, brushing at the food all over his pants and shirt. "You crossed it," he snarled. "You fucking crossed the line, Sixx!"
I took a seat behind the wheel. BAM! Great. I just got decked by my boyfriend. Pain. The entire right side of my face was throbbing. Slowly, I turned, glaring at him. His brown eyes were filled with hate and he had his fist wound up again. When he threw the punch, I locked my fingers around his wrist and gave a good yank, twisting his arm. I didn't stop until his nose was pressed against the leather seat.
"You gonna behave?"
"Fuck you," he spat out.
"Don't you ever hit me again, bitch," I hissed through clenched teeth. "When I tell you to listen--"
"Yeah, that's right," he scoffed, still squirming. "I gotta listen. I gotta do this. I gotta do that. Y'know something, this moronic, so-called relationship is all about you. And now that we signed a record deal, all I gotta say is I'm finished with the likes of ya.
"I'll fuck whoever I wanna fuck. I'll sweet-talk whoever I wanna sweet-talk. And if I wanna eat broken glass and then let a waitress blow me behind the bar, I damn well will."
All I could do was react. His words.... Oh man, so many emotions surfaced: hate, anger, shock, pain and rage. After what I did for this bitch, he had the gall to dump me? I tangled my fingers into his hair, pulling hard while drawing him back up. Our gazes locked. I never hesitated and raised my arm, backhanding him straight across the face. His neck snapped, following the movement of my harsh hit.
Then I drew him against me, my mouth against his ear. "Get one thing straight, bitch. If you dump me, just like I warned you long ago, Stephen will be my new singer and you'll be shit outta luck."
He struggled to free himself. "Yeah, that's right. Keep threatening me, Sixx. Keep telling me how to behave, how to fuck, how to drink and how to fucking eat!
"Fire me. So be it." He wrenched himself free and moved to jump from the car.
Again, I locked my fingers around his wrist. "Sure this is what you truly want?"
"Oh, you don't gotta ask twice. I quit." He gave a tug, freeing his wrist as he vaulted the passenger side door, hitting the pavement. Then he turned and began storming through the parking lot, leaving me alone in the car.
***
When I arrived at the Rainbow later on, I had calmed down some. After taking a long drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, I finally had my boiling rage under control. It was the first time I was at a loss. I couldn't figure out how to control that blonde bitch. The harder I tried to keep Vinc under my thumb, the more he struggled to free himself. And the dumb slut just walked away from me and a record deal. Now wasn't that a slap in the face? I'd been punched in the teeth by love.
So I stumbled to the table where Robbin, Warren and Neil Zlozower--a rock photographer who was a very good friend of ours--sat. I must have looked like hell because they all stared at me in disbelief.
"Fall into a dumpster?" Robbin teased as he yanked out a chair for me.
"Wow, thought for sure you'd still be out celebrating," Neil said. "Hey, and congrats. Chalk another one up for the dudes of the Sunset Strip."
I took a seat, grabbing Robbin's untouched whiskey and coke, slamming the entire drink in one shot. "I am celebrating."
"Congrats, Sixx," Warren chimed in. "You guys deserve it."
I gave Robbin's boyfriend a half-hearted smile. Why couldn't Vin be more like Warren? Cripe, the dude was always so nice, every inch the gentleman. I knew for a fact Warren never shoved 'tude down Robbin's throat. The guy happened to be a very serious musician who only partied once a week after finishing up a final gig so he'd always be fresh for each show. Then again, it sure wasn't a gallant, thoughtful and sweet disposition which drew me to Vin in the first place. I loved that he-devil for being an out-of-control, sex-crazed bitch.
"Where's Vin?" I asked, just as the waitress set down my usual drink.
"Haven't seen him all night," Robbin replied. "Oh shit." He glanced to his lap.
Hmm, this could only mean one thing: Stephen was in the vicinity. Sure enough the sexy singer was strutting over to our table. Shit, this guy must have put a homing device on me or something since he always showed up whenever I was around. And with the mood I was in, he was the last person I wanted bothering me. So I scooped up my drink, mouthing at Robbin to stall Stephen while I attempted to make a get-away.
I staggered to the bathroom, ignoring everyone who patted my back, offering congratulations. Just as I gave a push on the door, I heard the sultry, scratchy voice.
"You playing hide and seek on me, Sixx?"
I slowly turned, setting my drink on the vanity, gazing at Stephen.
"I see you don't got your ball and chain with you, for once."
His dark eyes were an open invitation. I could literally smell his hunger. And when he stepped forward, I didn't step back. I let Stephen close the distance between us. What the hell? What the fuck did possess me to run from this guy? Why not fuck someone who'd never scream in my ear, belt me across the face and ogle every pretty girl and hunky guy while in my presence?
Stephen placed both hands on the vanity, pinning me between him and the sink. "I'm almost wondering if you're scared of me," he lightly chided. "Whenever I show up, you seem to run in the opposite direction. Does Vin really keep your balls for ya?"
"I don't run from no one and I sure ain't scared of that skinny, small bitch," I coldly replied. And to prove my point, I roughly grabbed his face, forcing Stephen to look up at me. He obeyed, even seemed rather turned on by my aggression.
And when he stood on his tiptoes, searching out my mouth with his lips, I hoped the good ole whiskey dick wouldn't rear its ugly head, cause I wanted to fuck this whore who desperately wanted my cock from day one. Oh yeah, I'd give this slut exactly what he was looking for.
May 20, 1982
Benihana Restaurant
La Cienega Boulevard
Two months had gone by when Vin and I scribbled our signatures on the rental agreement for our apartment. And thanks to Tom Zutaut's persistence with the higher-ups at Elektra, which started a bidding war with Virgin, we were now signed to an L.A. based record label. Just this very afternoon the four of us signed the contract. Now we were celebrating.
Roy Thomas Baker would be chosen to remix Too Fast For Love and Vin would have to redo his vocals. This would all take place at Baker's house on Sunset Drive. Yeah, we heard about the notorious parties this dude threw: booze, drugs and anything-goes-sex. And that meant I would be accompanying Vin. Like hell I'd leave him to his own devices at Baker's.
Vin was downing margaritas, well, trying to. He was piss drunk and biting into every glass the waitress set down. It always amused me when my blonde bitch got all spunky and feisty. At times I tended to forget Vin happened to be a flesh and blood man. Shoot, one couldn't blame me, seeing how he possessed a pretty face, pretty hair, pretty body and pretty clothes. It was hard to accept the fact Vin was one of the dudes. And, he loved to start fights and cause trouble; Tommy and I weren't the only bad boys in this band. Yet, I always pissed him off when he would throw punches since each time he brawled, I mimicked my same performance at the Starwood back in '81: I'd jump into the fight, not allowing anyone to dare hit my boyfriend, which of course didn't sit well with the blonde whore.
Once again Vin bit into the glass, snickering.
I leaned into him, whispering, "You keep this up and you're gonna cut yourself. Chill out."
Vin cast me an annoyed look. Yup, big mistake on my part 'cause if this was Tommy eating glass, I'd be laughing, even egging T-bone on to cut himself and let his blood drip all over the pristine, very white table cloth. But, this wasn't my drummer. This happened to be my boyfriend, and just like any other concerned lover, I didn't wanna see Vin all messed up with cuts.
"Oh, fuck you, man. I ain't your lap dog. Quit telling me what the fuck to do," he muttered, deciding to ignore me as he lifted his arm, beckoning the waitress over to the table.
She was a facsimile of every other chick in L.A.: dyed blonde hair, big tits, long legs and killer body. She folded her arms, glaring at Vince.
"What's the matter with this fucking place?" Vin slurred, snickering. "This fucking glass is broken. Get me another fucking drink."
"I just don't understand how each glass keeps breaking," the waitress fired back.
"Well, maybe we should head to the bar and inspect each one of 'em," Vince teased, casting her a wink.
I placed my hand on his thigh, indicating for him to remain seated. Yup, nothing had changed; just add booze and an instant horn-dog appeared.
Vin tried to shrug off my hand but I held firm. By now the waitress was no longer pissed. Her interest was piqued.
"Chill out," I coolly said under my breath.
"No."
"Chill the fuck out."
"No."
"Chill out."
"Fuck you."
"Okay. That's it," I snarled, setting down my own drink. "We're outta here."
Before Vin could protest, I gave him a good shove and he stumbled out of the booth, crashing to the floor. And since the dumb fuck had tucked the tablecloth into his pants--instead of his damn napkin--he took all the contents with him, I'm talking plates, drinks, the candles, you name it. All that could be heard was clattering, banging, and dishes and glass breaking. Of course the patrons all gasped in alarm, barely tolerating our loud, raunchy party of ten as it was.
Vin's dumb move made our entire table roar with laughter.
The manager instantly appeared. "Is there a problem?" the old coot sputtered in disbelief.
Just then Vince sat up. "What the fuck?" he bellowed, swiping at the food and drinks that covered him. He looked up, glaring at me. "You son-of-a-bitch! Dumb fuck! Where the fuck you get off pushing me!" He tried to take a swing and punched the bottom of the booth instead.
I stood, deciding Coffman or Zutaut could handle this mess as I casually reached down and slung Vin over my shoulder. Once again, everyone at our table burst into another fit of laughter. However, the blonde bitch wasn't the least bit amused.
As I carted him through the restaurant while the patrons continued to shrink back in horror, muttering about our scandalous, uncouth behaviour, Vin began pounding on my back and kicking his legs.
"You put me the fuck down right now!" he roared. "Stupid fuck! I ain't done drinking and eating. Where the fuck you get off ruining my pants, man!"
I gave a push on the door, striding straight to the big caddie. Christ, even I was covered in food and drinks now. We'd have to swing by the apartment first and get cleaned up. Ah, to hell with it. We'd show up at the Rainbow looking like fucking pigs. Since when did I give a shit about what others thought about me? And I wanted to finish partying. We did just sign a record contract, after all.
So I dumped Vince in the passenger side and rounded the car.
He sat up, brushing at the food all over his pants and shirt. "You crossed it," he snarled. "You fucking crossed the line, Sixx!"
I took a seat behind the wheel. BAM! Great. I just got decked by my boyfriend. Pain. The entire right side of my face was throbbing. Slowly, I turned, glaring at him. His brown eyes were filled with hate and he had his fist wound up again. When he threw the punch, I locked my fingers around his wrist and gave a good yank, twisting his arm. I didn't stop until his nose was pressed against the leather seat.
"You gonna behave?"
"Fuck you," he spat out.
"Don't you ever hit me again, bitch," I hissed through clenched teeth. "When I tell you to listen--"
"Yeah, that's right," he scoffed, still squirming. "I gotta listen. I gotta do this. I gotta do that. Y'know something, this moronic, so-called relationship is all about you. And now that we signed a record deal, all I gotta say is I'm finished with the likes of ya.
"I'll fuck whoever I wanna fuck. I'll sweet-talk whoever I wanna sweet-talk. And if I wanna eat broken glass and then let a waitress blow me behind the bar, I damn well will."
All I could do was react. His words.... Oh man, so many emotions surfaced: hate, anger, shock, pain and rage. After what I did for this bitch, he had the gall to dump me? I tangled my fingers into his hair, pulling hard while drawing him back up. Our gazes locked. I never hesitated and raised my arm, backhanding him straight across the face. His neck snapped, following the movement of my harsh hit.
Then I drew him against me, my mouth against his ear. "Get one thing straight, bitch. If you dump me, just like I warned you long ago, Stephen will be my new singer and you'll be shit outta luck."
He struggled to free himself. "Yeah, that's right. Keep threatening me, Sixx. Keep telling me how to behave, how to fuck, how to drink and how to fucking eat!
"Fire me. So be it." He wrenched himself free and moved to jump from the car.
Again, I locked my fingers around his wrist. "Sure this is what you truly want?"
"Oh, you don't gotta ask twice. I quit." He gave a tug, freeing his wrist as he vaulted the passenger side door, hitting the pavement. Then he turned and began storming through the parking lot, leaving me alone in the car.
***
When I arrived at the Rainbow later on, I had calmed down some. After taking a long drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, I finally had my boiling rage under control. It was the first time I was at a loss. I couldn't figure out how to control that blonde bitch. The harder I tried to keep Vinc under my thumb, the more he struggled to free himself. And the dumb slut just walked away from me and a record deal. Now wasn't that a slap in the face? I'd been punched in the teeth by love.
So I stumbled to the table where Robbin, Warren and Neil Zlozower--a rock photographer who was a very good friend of ours--sat. I must have looked like hell because they all stared at me in disbelief.
"Fall into a dumpster?" Robbin teased as he yanked out a chair for me.
"Wow, thought for sure you'd still be out celebrating," Neil said. "Hey, and congrats. Chalk another one up for the dudes of the Sunset Strip."
I took a seat, grabbing Robbin's untouched whiskey and coke, slamming the entire drink in one shot. "I am celebrating."
"Congrats, Sixx," Warren chimed in. "You guys deserve it."
I gave Robbin's boyfriend a half-hearted smile. Why couldn't Vin be more like Warren? Cripe, the dude was always so nice, every inch the gentleman. I knew for a fact Warren never shoved 'tude down Robbin's throat. The guy happened to be a very serious musician who only partied once a week after finishing up a final gig so he'd always be fresh for each show. Then again, it sure wasn't a gallant, thoughtful and sweet disposition which drew me to Vin in the first place. I loved that he-devil for being an out-of-control, sex-crazed bitch.
"Where's Vin?" I asked, just as the waitress set down my usual drink.
"Haven't seen him all night," Robbin replied. "Oh shit." He glanced to his lap.
Hmm, this could only mean one thing: Stephen was in the vicinity. Sure enough the sexy singer was strutting over to our table. Shit, this guy must have put a homing device on me or something since he always showed up whenever I was around. And with the mood I was in, he was the last person I wanted bothering me. So I scooped up my drink, mouthing at Robbin to stall Stephen while I attempted to make a get-away.
I staggered to the bathroom, ignoring everyone who patted my back, offering congratulations. Just as I gave a push on the door, I heard the sultry, scratchy voice.
"You playing hide and seek on me, Sixx?"
I slowly turned, setting my drink on the vanity, gazing at Stephen.
"I see you don't got your ball and chain with you, for once."
His dark eyes were an open invitation. I could literally smell his hunger. And when he stepped forward, I didn't step back. I let Stephen close the distance between us. What the hell? What the fuck did possess me to run from this guy? Why not fuck someone who'd never scream in my ear, belt me across the face and ogle every pretty girl and hunky guy while in my presence?
Stephen placed both hands on the vanity, pinning me between him and the sink. "I'm almost wondering if you're scared of me," he lightly chided. "Whenever I show up, you seem to run in the opposite direction. Does Vin really keep your balls for ya?"
"I don't run from no one and I sure ain't scared of that skinny, small bitch," I coldly replied. And to prove my point, I roughly grabbed his face, forcing Stephen to look up at me. He obeyed, even seemed rather turned on by my aggression.
And when he stood on his tiptoes, searching out my mouth with his lips, I hoped the good ole whiskey dick wouldn't rear its ugly head, cause I wanted to fuck this whore who desperately wanted my cock from day one. Oh yeah, I'd give this slut exactly what he was looking for.
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