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The Dirt Will NEVER Wash Off,
This review is from: The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band (Paperback)
Motley Crue. The Dirt.
You want The Dirt? You got The Dirt. You couldn't make this up. Honestly. If you thought Spinal Tap are shallow parody of a rock band, then Motley Crue are THE Rock band. They not only wrote the Rule Book, they snorted it, they screwed it, toured it, played it, sold it, overdosed on it, crashed it, filmed it, toured it, flew it, injected it, drove it, recorded it for posterity, stole it, and then sold the book rights. Everything they could think of doing they did. And a few things you couldn't, shouldn't, and never ever would even imagine of doing. They did that too.
There's death. Divorce. Overdoses. Carcrashes. More prison stretches than the Krays. Sackings. Reinstatements. Writers Block. More Sackings. Riots. Punchups in Airports. Armed guards. There's Haircuts that Kill. And Guitars that squeal. And Millions of dollars abandoned in two decades of obscene overindulgence and overdubs.
It astounds me how Tommy Lee seems to have worked out a way to get arrested that matches every occasion. Weddings, bar mitzvahs, parties. And a lot of parties. You even get the Tommy Lee's handscrawled, appalling poetry from the depths of a US prison where he is no doubt some old-timers rich rock star bitch.
There's squalor. Poverty. Living out of dumpsters and vans. Depraved sexual practices. Ejaculating women known as The Moose. A TV show called "Who Wants To take Advantage Of Me?" hosted by Nikki Sixx. There's houses stripped whilst the millionaire rock stars are temporarily incarcerated on trumped up assault charges. There's death in the back of ambulances racing around LA, and adrenalin injections to resurrect these losers, crucifed like Christ on a cross made of guitar strings, syringes, and spandex.
America it seems, is a land where you can find anything you want. You want Ozzy Osborne snorting ants like cocaine? You want Bruce Dickinson's girlfriend having anonymous sex with American rock stars in hotel toilets? You want a manager that sells a stake in the band to a college student (who stole $25,000 off his Dad to own 5% of Motley Crue PLC.) and then disappears off the face of the Earth donating his money to God? You want Satanic Rituals,poltergeists, and pentagrams that bring forth demonic visions before you've even touched the Drugs? You want a book that not only you can't put down, sometimes you don't even want to pick up? And yet you can't help yourself. Like a carcrash, a funeral, an overdose - and there are plenty of those - you can't help but watch disaster unfold before your eyes. You want death, depravity, desecration, degradation? You want the most amazing unbelievable sordid story ever told? You want a tale of people who wanted it all, had it all, and snorted it all, fuelled by their own egos, stupidity, imagination, and above all, an appetite for destruction unequalled by anyone else you've ever heard of?
Of course you do. You want The Dirt.