Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > Through The Eyes Of...

Who The Fuck Wants To Work With Us

by MaryJaneSixx 0 reviews

Axl is fed up

Category: Guns n' Roses - Rating: R - Genres: Romance - Warnings: [V] [X] [R] - Published: 2017-06-25 - 2179 words


We fucking met with so many would be producers. The fucks would take one look at us and turn and practically fucking run. Seriously. Who could blame them when they walk in to your guitarists and drummer nodding off while fucking playing! And let’s not forget the bassist who stumbles over everything like his feet were ten sizes too big. Fuck no nobody wanted to work with us. Fuck the guys even tried to get Nikki to take the job. Let’s just say Nikki is on the same page as most of this band. Granted this band is no group of choir boys, but fuck, talk to us ten minutes before you judge the book by its cover.

Eventually we somehow fucking managed to get this guy called Mike Clink. Luckily for us he was the kind of guy who snorts rails of coke for breakfast, drinks Jack Daniels for lunch, and eats Quaaludes with his dinner. Don’t ask me how but somehow something gets laid out that’s pretty fucking awesome. It was like a child. The seed of our twisted loins, all five of us. We weren’t singing sg shit that was boiling out of radio stations. We cursed probably more than any one had on record. Not even Nikki and his misfits could touch our lyrics. They weren’t party anthems that sound great blasting from speakers but have no fucking meaning. They weren’t fucking nu wave. Not heavy metal. We were a goddamn unicorn! We actually had some shit to say. We took you into the seedy underbelly of LA life for us. Well, some of it.

Geffen was sending us out on the road. It was time to introduce the world to Guns N fucking Roses. I was going to make it my personal mission to leave a big shit stain in the pants of this goddamn world. There was no Bill Bailey now. That guy was gone. Dead. I’m Axl Rose and I’m a goddamn singer in a rock and roll band. You hear what I’m saying? No more sleeping on floors. No more hotdogs. No more fucking chicks just to pay bills or to get what I need. There is nothing past this band for me now. It’s just this band I breathe for. I’m going for gold and world fucking domination. And I will have it, one way or another.

On the flipside, shit could not be fucking worse, yeah, thanks for asking the raving dictator lunatic. Where the fuck do you want me to start? Steven? Well most recently he slammed me down on a glass coffee table for fucking his girlfriend, Adriana. She got all pissed off and come down to the studio to flirt with his band mates. Well Izzy spent 90% of the time in the bathroom. Slash drinking and flirting with chicks like me while we worked on Rocket Queen. Duff was on the other side of the glass watching what Mike Clink did so he would know how next time. Well, I got this cool idea that some live sex noises would sound pretty good in Rocket Queen, right? No one volunteered the bitch for this mission. No she took it upon herself to be the voice that would go down in history someday. Naturally Steven knows within an hour and is throwing me down on the coffee table. He threatens to tell Erin. Oh no, worry me dude! She would never believe it simply because of Izzy.

Next in line in the shit stream we have Duff and his no fucking end in sight love for Slash. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the two fuckers being blissfully in love and shit. That’s not the problem, the problem is how much he enables Slash to be a fucking junkie. Trust me, I wrote the fucking book on enabling someone. He thought he was just loving him, but he was hurting him and hurting this band. And let’s not ignore sweet Duff’s drinking. Well that problem had exploded into cocaine too. I’m not saying Duff couldn’t function, I’m just saying he enabled everyone to sink lower as I was steadily, to put it mildly, going the fuck off. Yeah, that’s right, Axl’s the bad guy. As fucking usual. Yeah, fuck you world.

On to Slash. I was watching some sick twisted movie that was stuck on repeat in my head of me and Izzy…just…like…this. Not too strung out to function, but too strung out to care. Fucking blank. Smiles start to fade into this one permanent expression. And every junkie gets that look, you can see it in their eyes. I’m thankful as shit the kid wore his hair so that you couldn’t see his smacked out eyes. Right now Slash would blow whatever way the wind blew him. I needed my lead guitarist to help me take over the fucking world. His world stops about halfway to the tip of his nose, right about there is where Duff’s world began. They goddamn make me sick with their perfect fucking relationship. Come on, who the fuck is that happy?

And of course let’s not leave my semi-fake girlfriend out of this. Erin took a lot of shit. I mean she’s really getting the short end of the stick here. She is in a relationship with me knowing all about Izzy and our constant problems. The way we run hot and cold. One day it’s love, the next it’s hate. Let’s face it, mine and Izzy’s love was bipolar. And Erin took that shit. She got stuck playing referee to so many of our squabs. Izzy hated that shit too. Izzy hated Erin and it was really starting to show. And she was always so fucking nice and understanding with him. I guess I was gaining an admiration out of respect for her. It’s not love, not like with Izzy. But one day, maybe?

So naturally I save most of my breath for this. Goddamn Izzy. Izzy is doing everything in his junkie powers to just completely erase me from sight. Still, I know that when the bastard opens his eyes the first thing that crosses his mind is me. Yeah, me then smack. What do you think was the reason behind the smack? Izzy loves me. Just as much as Duff or Slash love one another. But we aren’t 14 year old Indiana boys anymore. Jeff Isbell and Bill Bailey were two guys who disappeared. We were NOTHING of our former selves, and I do mean nothing. The problem is that we are both still in love with the people we once were. The reckless kids from a long ago past didn’t live here now. They had grown. They had experienced things that would forever change them. I’m talking the kind of shit that is just tattooed in your fucking brain. Things that made us unable to ever fully let go. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you my life started the day I met Izzy. As long as I could remember it had just been the two of us. Izzy was such a huge part of me. I had shared most of my life experiences with this one person. I’ve loved before, but Izzy’s the only one who ever loved me back. The only one I didn’t question anyway.

But right now Izzy is…is gone. I don’t know who the fuck this clone is but I wish somebody would take it back. Exchange and a fucking refund. Izzy was…losing his goddamn mind, I guess you might say. Sure, point the finger at me. Take it out on the bad guy, remember? Yeah, just turn your blind eye to what was happening to Izzy. Enable him like Duff does. Axl’s the bad guy. Izzy’s the dark angel, bet you thought I forgot huh? It’s ok for Izzy to be a junkie because Izzy has problems. Know what, boo fucking hoo! At what point do the junkie start to create his problems just so he has an excuse to get high? Oh you want me to answer? Simple. Look at Izzy. Clothes that once fit tight fall off him. And he literally wears shit for like a week before changing, not showering, changing. His hair suggests it’s been a long goddamn time since it met water. Fuck we can be in the middle of playing Mr. Brownstone and he’ll just fucking start playing his part of fucking Night Train. Really Izz? Not like the guy didn’t help write the fucking things. But it’s ok for Izzy to do it. He’s hurting.

Well what the fuck about me, the bad guy? This is where I yell and throw shit, right? The part where I try my best to get revenge? No, not this time. Somebody has to pull the fucking emergency brake for a change. It’s time to switch drivers or get the fuck out of the car all together and walk off down the sidewalk into the fucking sunset. I’m done with this constant round and round Ferris wheel thing. Somebody had to do something differently. Remember when I told Izzy what the dictionary definition of insanity was? Let me remind you. Doing things over and over and expecting a different outcome. And they say I’m the insane one? At least I fucking see it in front of me and I’m not talking about my reflection. Izzy fit the script. However no one seems to see that but me. Ironic.

Fast forward to the living room of mine and Erin’s apartment with no front fucking door knob. Now I’m currently explaining to my beloved smacked out Izzy that I plan to take Erin out on the road with us. He’s so not thrilled by this at all. He’s lit like a fucking cop’s spotlight and swaying in some imaginary breeze. His face is unshaved. With Izzy it didn’t show up as much as it did when I didn’t shave for weeks. He smells like stale booze. I’m embarrassed for him.

“She’s going with me. End of discussion,” I sigh and run my hand over my face in exasperation.

“The fuck she is,” he points his finger in my face.

“Like you have a say fucker!” I shout. I’m starting to get that unhinged feeling in my gut which tells me I’m about to erupt.

“This is our band, not the fucking Axl Rose show!” Izzy shouts as he sways and spills whiskey all over the fucking carpet.

“Jesus Izzy,” Erin sighs and runs off to grab a towel.

She returns and starts to clean up his mess. Izzy looks down at her with rage boiling and fuled by the whiskey. God I hate him when he drinks like this.

“Yeah bitch,” he growls at her, “On your knees like a good girl.”

“Knock it off Izzy!” I warn him. He’s still staring down at Erin cleaning the whiskey from the carpet.

“Like to knock this bitch off,” he says as his hand brushes his gun.

Again, allow me to point out, I’m insane and Izzy is the perfect angel who it’s ok if they do junk. Got that? “Izzy,” I say in a low tone that gets this fucker to look at me and not Erin.

“What fucking purpose does she serve?! Roadie?!” Izzy yells at me as he spills more whiskey from his bottle. And no I do not mean accidentally. He literally tilts the fucking bottle and looks to what he pours out in front of Erin cleaning.

She stops and just stares up at him, “Really?”

“Shut up bitch, you’re on your knees where you belong. Why don’t you open your mouth for me baby?”


“NO GODDAMN HER!!!” He practically yells as he raises his foot and pushes her in her side and knocking her over. Perfectly sane, right?

I’ll say it took me perhaps a step and a half to have my fist make contact with his fucking jaw. I allow myself to go down with him just so I can be on top of him and block his fucking gun. Would Izzy use it? Is this state of being and frame of mind…you goddamn right he would. I hit Izzy again and again trying to knock him out. Why? Just for pushing Erin over? I’m the bad guy, this is my role right? Plus I know that Izzy is so drunk, smacked out, and coked up that he wasn’t going to stop until he passed out. Well, simply put, I sped up that fucking process. Good night Izzy!

Yeah, welcome to my fucking world.
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