Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > Through The Eyes Of...
Tijuana Here We Come
0 reviewsWhat do you do when you can't find heroin in LA? You go to Mexico
0Unrated
Nikki
Look like there may be some competition on the block for Crue finally. We had carried the torch of insanity proudly for years. But none of us were ever carrying around loaded guns in the front of our pants. None of us had ever prostituted ourselves fucking 13 to old men. None of us had been raped by their fathers. I mean we all came from the fucking gutter too, but shit, these kids WERE the fucking gutter.
While I may never understand why everyone wants into Slash’s pants, I do understand their love for his talent. I had been privileged enough to watch him grow as a player. He was 19 fucking years old and could probably play better than even Mick. Mick’s always been such an underrated player. People don’t ever think about all that noise we bring is simply one bass, one drum kit, one guitar, and Vince’s golden voice. But this kid was really going to shine someday. That is if he lives that long. At 19 I hadn’t been faced with the record company ‘suck me off and bend over’ guys yet. I couldn’t imagine that shit at his age. And I’m not into dudes at all, had a few in me, but believe me it wasn’t by choice. But I always gave the bastards some bite mark or something so they never ever forgot my ass. Luckily most of them didn’t come back to me for seconds. I had a way of making that one time be far too much for them. See, I’m not as nice as the kid. I’m a volatile kind of guy. However, even raging assholes like me has to lay down and pay his dues at some point, it just wasn’t so fucking young.
Steven, their drummer, sucks in comparison to Tommy, but he makes the shit work somehow. He’s a very likable sweet kid. The kind of guy that would give you his only bite of food in a week because he was so generous. He’s dumb as a fucking rock, but then I think that’s just part of the job description of being a drummer. They’re all kind of like puppies whose feet are too big begging you to throw them a fucking ball to fetch. That constant in your face, ‘love me love me’ bullshit. But you just have to smile at the kid. I found it hard to picture him whoring himself at 13, but that’s how the story goes supposedly. I’m not sure he’s handled it any better than Slash. The two of them seem to be on the same page with their coping mechanisms.
Now let’s be clear on something, Nikki Sixx is god all fucking mighty, but Duff McKagan can play the fuck out of a bass. Me, when I play I’m all about playing that hum that sticks in your fucking head. Duff plays a bass like he’s playing rhythm guitar with it. His bass lines are quite distinct. I refuse to say he’s better than me, I will die first, but he made a very powerful adversary. Plus he has some fight in him under all that politeness he radiated. He knew how to assert himself when he fucking needed too. I honestly don’t think Zutant will ever fucking forget him. I enjoyed watching Duff beat his ass. Six years ago it would have been something I would have gladly done. I had had the guy down my pants. I had had his fat greedy hands all over me. He fucked me until his dick wouldn’t get hard anymore. Then he used a strap on the fucking size of Tommy. I got him back by fucking his whore girlfriend right in front of him. Yeah, last night gave me much satisfaction.
Axl fucking Rose. Now there’s one twisted son of a bitch. I liked the fact that he had a horrible unimaginable childhood. It made his rage justified whereas mine really has no basis, I’m just bitter. But Axl was pissed off and he uses that shit to any advantage he can. He tries to control everything around him. I get that, I’m the same way, my way or the motherfucking highway. When he sings he fucking screams and turns as red as his hair. You can see how much effort he exerts into that shit. Vince didn’t have to try so hard. Vince sang with the voice god gave him. Axl was a fucking baritone by design but sang in this high pitched alto scream mixed with a growl. Axl sang like he was pissed off. And he was. I had a soft spot for his rage. But he didn’t know how to run a band the way I did. I wrote the book on control freaks. When I met Vince he was a T-shirt, flip flops, kind of guy. No way was that shit representing my fucking vision. Nope, stuck him in heels, makeup, and fucking glitter and the shit worked. Not so sure ‘Fireball’ can control his bandmates the way I can.
The only one who seems to be in control of anything around here is Stradlin. Stradlin, the dope dealing junkie with senses sharper than fucking glass. I’ve known my fair share of drug dealers, fuck I’ve been one myself to a minor degree. But Izzy was the real fucking deal. I’m honestly not sure if he’s a rocker or a fucking dealer. You could tell by looking at him how much he concentrated on his surroundings at all times. Izzy understood human nature in a way I wished I could grasp. It’s like Izzy is always 10 seconds ahead of the game because he pays such close attention to people’s body language. Izzy had more street smarts than the whole bunch put together. He may have stood silently at the sidelines and let Axl pretend to run shit, but when it came down to it, Izzy had a lot more say than people thought. The guy wasn’t quiet because he was fucking shy, he was sizing your ass up. I promise you Stradlin learns someone inside and out before he ever even tries to hold a conversation with them. And to deal with Axl on a constant basis…had to tip my hat to the guy.
Right now as we speak he’s outside dealing with Mr. Fireball. I hear his voice pitch every so often as he bitches Stradlin up one side and down the other. But Izzy never gives in and maintains this same calm rational voice the entire time. Eventually he calms the bastard down enough to break free from him. It would appear as if they had made up. Not that it would last, these two honestly got hard from fighting with one another. It was like their passion or some shit.
Stradlin comes back in with a sigh and rolls his eyes at everyone staring at him. I wipe sweat from the back of my neck with my hand. My joints are starting to ache.
“Hey Izz,” I say, “Um think I could maybe get some breakfast…in a spoon?”
“I’ve gotta go score man, I’ve been calling my dude since last night but he’s dry,” Izzy shrugs.
That’s about the time my skin starts to crawl in panic. My own fucking dealers were dry. Apparently Border Patrol seized LA’s shipment of smack. This meant one of two things, involuntary detox or traveling to score. I glance out the window to my Vette out there. Two passenger vehicle only. “You think your car will make it down to Tijuana?” I ask Stradlin as I scratch my neck.
He just shrugs wondering what I’m getting at. “Why?”
“To score,” I answer and twiddle nervously with the chain and padlock on my neck.
Izzy cocks an eyebrow, “In fucking Mexico?”
“Yeah,” I nod, “Six hours of driving time. You’ll be back in plenty of time to meet with producers.”
Tommy shakes his head. “No Nikki, the last time you went down there those guys…”
“Shush,” I turn a cold gaze at Tommy. Of course he minds me ever so obediently.
“Yeah, shit’s dirt cheap and as plentiful as fucking home grown down there,” I nod adamantly.
I can see Slash sit up a bit straighter and try not to look at Duff. Duff was already eyeballing him suspisciously. I knew the kid wanted a hit. Pretty sure McKagan knows it too.
“Say Duff,” Izzy says to him, “Think you can manage to keep Fireball off our trail for the day? Tell him we went shopping or some shit?”
“I’m coming too,” Steven says standing up and waiting to go.
Duff looks back at Slash. Slash just bites his lower lip and looks down. Duff knows he wants to go. He sighs still looking at Slash, “It’s ok,” Duff finally whispers to him and Slash lifts his head looking a little shocked. “You promise you’ll be back in time to make it to the studio?” Duff asks Izzy.
Izzy nods as he draws from his cigarette.
Look like there may be some competition on the block for Crue finally. We had carried the torch of insanity proudly for years. But none of us were ever carrying around loaded guns in the front of our pants. None of us had ever prostituted ourselves fucking 13 to old men. None of us had been raped by their fathers. I mean we all came from the fucking gutter too, but shit, these kids WERE the fucking gutter.
While I may never understand why everyone wants into Slash’s pants, I do understand their love for his talent. I had been privileged enough to watch him grow as a player. He was 19 fucking years old and could probably play better than even Mick. Mick’s always been such an underrated player. People don’t ever think about all that noise we bring is simply one bass, one drum kit, one guitar, and Vince’s golden voice. But this kid was really going to shine someday. That is if he lives that long. At 19 I hadn’t been faced with the record company ‘suck me off and bend over’ guys yet. I couldn’t imagine that shit at his age. And I’m not into dudes at all, had a few in me, but believe me it wasn’t by choice. But I always gave the bastards some bite mark or something so they never ever forgot my ass. Luckily most of them didn’t come back to me for seconds. I had a way of making that one time be far too much for them. See, I’m not as nice as the kid. I’m a volatile kind of guy. However, even raging assholes like me has to lay down and pay his dues at some point, it just wasn’t so fucking young.
Steven, their drummer, sucks in comparison to Tommy, but he makes the shit work somehow. He’s a very likable sweet kid. The kind of guy that would give you his only bite of food in a week because he was so generous. He’s dumb as a fucking rock, but then I think that’s just part of the job description of being a drummer. They’re all kind of like puppies whose feet are too big begging you to throw them a fucking ball to fetch. That constant in your face, ‘love me love me’ bullshit. But you just have to smile at the kid. I found it hard to picture him whoring himself at 13, but that’s how the story goes supposedly. I’m not sure he’s handled it any better than Slash. The two of them seem to be on the same page with their coping mechanisms.
Now let’s be clear on something, Nikki Sixx is god all fucking mighty, but Duff McKagan can play the fuck out of a bass. Me, when I play I’m all about playing that hum that sticks in your fucking head. Duff plays a bass like he’s playing rhythm guitar with it. His bass lines are quite distinct. I refuse to say he’s better than me, I will die first, but he made a very powerful adversary. Plus he has some fight in him under all that politeness he radiated. He knew how to assert himself when he fucking needed too. I honestly don’t think Zutant will ever fucking forget him. I enjoyed watching Duff beat his ass. Six years ago it would have been something I would have gladly done. I had had the guy down my pants. I had had his fat greedy hands all over me. He fucked me until his dick wouldn’t get hard anymore. Then he used a strap on the fucking size of Tommy. I got him back by fucking his whore girlfriend right in front of him. Yeah, last night gave me much satisfaction.
Axl fucking Rose. Now there’s one twisted son of a bitch. I liked the fact that he had a horrible unimaginable childhood. It made his rage justified whereas mine really has no basis, I’m just bitter. But Axl was pissed off and he uses that shit to any advantage he can. He tries to control everything around him. I get that, I’m the same way, my way or the motherfucking highway. When he sings he fucking screams and turns as red as his hair. You can see how much effort he exerts into that shit. Vince didn’t have to try so hard. Vince sang with the voice god gave him. Axl was a fucking baritone by design but sang in this high pitched alto scream mixed with a growl. Axl sang like he was pissed off. And he was. I had a soft spot for his rage. But he didn’t know how to run a band the way I did. I wrote the book on control freaks. When I met Vince he was a T-shirt, flip flops, kind of guy. No way was that shit representing my fucking vision. Nope, stuck him in heels, makeup, and fucking glitter and the shit worked. Not so sure ‘Fireball’ can control his bandmates the way I can.
The only one who seems to be in control of anything around here is Stradlin. Stradlin, the dope dealing junkie with senses sharper than fucking glass. I’ve known my fair share of drug dealers, fuck I’ve been one myself to a minor degree. But Izzy was the real fucking deal. I’m honestly not sure if he’s a rocker or a fucking dealer. You could tell by looking at him how much he concentrated on his surroundings at all times. Izzy understood human nature in a way I wished I could grasp. It’s like Izzy is always 10 seconds ahead of the game because he pays such close attention to people’s body language. Izzy had more street smarts than the whole bunch put together. He may have stood silently at the sidelines and let Axl pretend to run shit, but when it came down to it, Izzy had a lot more say than people thought. The guy wasn’t quiet because he was fucking shy, he was sizing your ass up. I promise you Stradlin learns someone inside and out before he ever even tries to hold a conversation with them. And to deal with Axl on a constant basis…had to tip my hat to the guy.
Right now as we speak he’s outside dealing with Mr. Fireball. I hear his voice pitch every so often as he bitches Stradlin up one side and down the other. But Izzy never gives in and maintains this same calm rational voice the entire time. Eventually he calms the bastard down enough to break free from him. It would appear as if they had made up. Not that it would last, these two honestly got hard from fighting with one another. It was like their passion or some shit.
Stradlin comes back in with a sigh and rolls his eyes at everyone staring at him. I wipe sweat from the back of my neck with my hand. My joints are starting to ache.
“Hey Izz,” I say, “Um think I could maybe get some breakfast…in a spoon?”
“I’ve gotta go score man, I’ve been calling my dude since last night but he’s dry,” Izzy shrugs.
That’s about the time my skin starts to crawl in panic. My own fucking dealers were dry. Apparently Border Patrol seized LA’s shipment of smack. This meant one of two things, involuntary detox or traveling to score. I glance out the window to my Vette out there. Two passenger vehicle only. “You think your car will make it down to Tijuana?” I ask Stradlin as I scratch my neck.
He just shrugs wondering what I’m getting at. “Why?”
“To score,” I answer and twiddle nervously with the chain and padlock on my neck.
Izzy cocks an eyebrow, “In fucking Mexico?”
“Yeah,” I nod, “Six hours of driving time. You’ll be back in plenty of time to meet with producers.”
Tommy shakes his head. “No Nikki, the last time you went down there those guys…”
“Shush,” I turn a cold gaze at Tommy. Of course he minds me ever so obediently.
“Yeah, shit’s dirt cheap and as plentiful as fucking home grown down there,” I nod adamantly.
I can see Slash sit up a bit straighter and try not to look at Duff. Duff was already eyeballing him suspisciously. I knew the kid wanted a hit. Pretty sure McKagan knows it too.
“Say Duff,” Izzy says to him, “Think you can manage to keep Fireball off our trail for the day? Tell him we went shopping or some shit?”
“I’m coming too,” Steven says standing up and waiting to go.
Duff looks back at Slash. Slash just bites his lower lip and looks down. Duff knows he wants to go. He sighs still looking at Slash, “It’s ok,” Duff finally whispers to him and Slash lifts his head looking a little shocked. “You promise you’ll be back in time to make it to the studio?” Duff asks Izzy.
Izzy nods as he draws from his cigarette.
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