If you know me at all, then you know how much I like Poison, and not because me and Bret Michaels have been friends since before Rock of Love aired on VH1. We became friends when I met him backstage when Poison played here in like 2006. Although he won’t respond to any of my fan mail, I still feel a strong connection with that great man.
I was fortunate enough to score two tickets by pulling the rank card in the SLUG office. I could have taken some mega babe to the show, but opted to take my roommate Abu because he loves the New York Dolls, but hates Poison and Mötley Crüe, and I needed a ride and he lets me drink beer in his van while we drive. We pounded tall boys in his white child molester van on the way to USANA, and as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, we could hear the New York Dolls. With no time to waste, we started running through the muddy parking lot only to stop so Abu could take a piss on the biggest jacked-up small-penis-driver truck we could find. Then it was off to the show.
Abu danced around in bliss as the rest of the crowd had a, “Who the fuck are the New York Dolls?” look on their faces. They were everything you would expect a nearly extinct punk rock band to be: Slow, with new members, and thoroughly entertaining for those who gave a shit, like Abu. Too bad the price he had to pay for seeing the Dolls was sitting through Poison and Mötley Crüe.
Poison came out next and boy did they look great! Although I love Bret Michaels C.C. DeVille is by far my favorite member of the band, mostly because the best interview I’ve ever done in my entire life was with that guy. It’s so fucking funny, I charge people just to listen to it. Next time you see me at the bar, buy me a shot and I just might let you hear it. I keep it on my phone for just such scenarios.
Poison’s set was kinda short cause they weren’t headlining. Bret wished all the dads a happy father’s day, but failed to thank the troops like he usually does. On a good note, his wig looked exceptionally good for the show. People always talk shit on him for the wig/bandanna/crappy cowboy hat combo, but he has started a fashion revolution, and if Ed Hardy isn’t paying that man well, then it’s a shame. Besides, the motherfucker just had a brain aneurysm, of course he needs to wear a wig. You think they didn’t have to shave his head for that shit? Geeze people.
Then Mötley Crüecame out. I’ve read their auto bio, The Dirt. It’s a good read. It will make you hate Vince Neil and Tommy Lee more than you already did and fall in love with the guitarist, Mick Mars. Mick Mars is officially the only one in that band who I still like and respect. The rest of the Crue can eat a bowl of warm dicks. Mick was slowly staggering around stage and looked like he was going to die at any second. But the man does have a crippling disease of some sort—I forgot which one—it’s been a while since I read The Dirt.
Between songs, Abu and I decided it was a good idea to heckle the Crüe by chanting “HANOI ROCKS! HANOI ROCKS!” as loud as we could to remind Vince Neil how he killed the drummer, Razzle, of that awesome band in a drunk driving crash, followed by long chants of “RAAAAAAZZZLE! RAAAAAAZZZLE!” No one got it but us. Anyway, about halfway through Mötley Crüe’s set, some drunk troll-looking motherfucker behind me started getting mad at me for flipping off Nikki Sixx and called me a pussy dick sucker for wearing ear plugs to the show. Apparently earplugs aren’t very “Crüe.” I tried to tell him to shut the fuck up, but he wouldn’t. He was standing next to a boy who was probably 12 years old. I unleashed a string of profanities along the lines of “LISTEN YOU TROLL-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER, I WILL THROW MY FIST THROUGH YOUR STUPID FUCKING FACE SO FAST IF YOU DON’T SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW! AND WATCH YOUR MOUTH IN FRONT OF THIS FUCKING KID!” Guess what this True Crüe fan did? He went and tattle-taled on me to security. How metal of him.
I spent the rest of the show getting eyeball fucked by the dudes in yellow jackets, unable to enjoy Mick Mars and Tommy Lee’s jackassary. So Abu and I left and beat traffic before they played “Kick Start My Heart,” the only song I cared to hear those douchebags play.