Hotel, Cleveland, 2:15 a.m.

I can’t wait to sleep. I’m over-tired. My ears are ringing. I think I’m getting sick…or maybe my visit home is still in my system.



Wow, I just woke up…I really needed that sleep. Thank God the phone rang, we’re supposed to be heading to the airport in an hour. It was a radio interview for our show tonight in Buffalo.

Here we go into New York. NY is almost as bad as LA for me. I’m not sure which is worse…the record company, the drug dealers or the girls. Maybe they’re all the same person.


Hotel, Philadelphia, 4 p.m.

Why do I feel Mick has a gold digger on his hands? Mick Mars is the sweetest man alive, but he attracts dirt…he’s like a dirt magnet.



Hotel, Philadelphia, 5 p.m.

Went down to the hotel bar last night, pretty sedate evening. Just had a few cocktails and met some fans. Kind of a nice evening. I feel good today, but I did get a call from Sacha–he said he wanted to see me. Of course he does…he’s a heroin dealer.

I tell you, the East Coast is bad for me…here come the wolves.

I’m gonna change my rooming name so nobody can find me. How about some of these?

Anita Bath?

Al Coholic?

Seymour Pussy?

Or the best one of all…

Si Cotic

P.S. Now we’re off to the first of two sold-out Spectrum shows. Woo-hoo…later.


Hotel, Philadelphia, 4 p.m.

The crowd was so loud last night, insane. Philly really loves their rock ’n’ roll.


I met this mulatto girl last night who was so beautiful that I couldn’t believe it. She was really, really nice. She came back to my room and hung out. One thing led to another and afterwards when we were laying there (I was thinking, This one’s a keeper), she said that she had a kid and she needs money for rent and could I help her with her car payment…and school for her kid. She was really pouring it on.

It went on forever…blah blah blah. Basically, would I pay her for her services? So I kicked her out. Damn it–maybe I’m the dirt magnet…

P.S. Another Philly show tonight…



ROSS HALFIN: Nikki went off with girls on the Girls tour but they were never really his focus. He was far more into the drugs. We’d get drunk and do lots of krell and he’d want a girl, but essentially he was totally drug-oriented. Often he’d end up staying in his room on his own. We all knew that meant he had drugs and didn’t want to share them with anyone. Or he had a girl and wanted to do her on drugs.



Hotel, Philadelphia, 3 p.m.

Me and Tommy stole the limo last night. It was funny as hell. When we got back to the hotel and our driver got out of the car to open the door for us, we locked the doors, jumped over the seat and drove the car off. He was chasing us around the hotel parking lot and we accidentally crashed it through the hotel gate. The guy was so fucking pissed and then the hotel manager came out yelling, telling us to get the fuck out of his hotel. Fred Saunders had to talk him out of fucking calling the police. We said we were sorry (of course we’re not) and didn’t get kicked out the hotel. Maybe ’cause we’ve spent about $30,000 here so far.

FRED SAUNDERS: You know what? There was always shit like that going on with Nikki and Tommy. Especially Nikki. He had me at my wits’ end. He had so many façades, and was so sporadic and unpredictable. There were countless management meetings called during the Girls tour just to try to figure out what to do with him. By the end of the tour I was hiring security guards at each hotel and just leaving two of them on his door permanently.

ROSS HALFIN: I always said that Tommy should have married Nikki because if they were gay they would be the ideal gay couple–made in Heaven. Tommy would do anything Nikki wanted him to. In fact, they all would.

Nikki was selfish, self-centered and a control freak, paranoid of what anybody else might do, but without him Mötley Crüe would never have been successful. It was his vision and you did what Nikki wanted.

NIKKI: There has been a lot said about control and I admit it: I was a control freak. But someone needs to be in control when everything is always outta control. I felt if I took my hands off the wheel we surely would have crashed. Even if I was drunk driving at least I was driving us somewhere…I was passionate, even when I was skidding outta control…



Philly airport, 2:30 p.m.

We’re sitting on the Mötley jet getting ready to take off to Portland. Everybody is still cracking up about the limo.

I just remembered that Portland is where we started our Ozzy support tour in ’84. What great memories. I miss Ozzy…I hope he’s doing good…

Tommy just sat down next to me and said, Dude, I pissed my bed again last night. He’s always fucking doing that. I said, Why don’t you pee before you go to bed? And he said, I do, man, but I drink so fucking much!

That makes sense.





Four Seasons Hotel, Boston, 1 p.m.

After the show last night we flew into Boston (home of Aerosmith and the Cars). We’re hubbing out of here for a few days. I love being able to get all settled in and not having to pack up every day.

I sorta miss the bus sometimes. The lull of the engine just rocks you to sleep, and the after-show party always ends up as a wet spot on the floor somewhere in the back lounge. It’s hard getting laid on a road case, but beggars can’t be choosers.

We’re flying to Providence for a show and then back here to sleep…if we do sleep.

TOM ZUTAUT: I went to one show on the Girls Girls Girls tour with a girl whom I was on a second or third date with, and took her backstage and introduced her to Nikki. He asked me if I was serious about her, and when I replied that we were just getting to know each other, Nikki started telling her how hot she was.

As he bent her over what was a locker-room bench she complained that she was in the middle of her period. Nikki told her he wasn’t scared by a little bit of blood and proceeded to have intercourse with her right there on the spot, in front of anybody who happened to be there. While I might have expected that sort of behavior from Vince, it was shocking to see Nikki behave like that.

At least he apologized to me afterwards and said he didn’t know what made him do it. Maybe he didn’t, but I certainly did–drugs, alcohol and too much fame and fortune. Only a narcissistic, strung-out asshole would grab his A&R man’s date and do her backstage in front of an audience.


Four Seasons Hotel, Boston, 3 p.m.

I’m going back to bed. We have the whole floor of the hotel and it was completely insane last night…it was like a Four Seasons orgy. All the room doors were open and people were running up and down the hallway naked, bouncing from room to room. I finally had enuff at 5 a.m. I think Tommy and Vince saw the sun come up.

Sacha keeps calling the production office leaving me messages. I guess he has got an itinerary from Doc. If Doc really knew what Sacha does for money (besides driving a limo) he would have him shot. Considering Doc used to deal drugs, you would think he’d have a better nose for sniffing out dealers.

I haven’t spoken to Vanity in a few weeks, and it’s fucking wonderful. I wonder if she still thinks we’re getting married?!

DOC McGHEE: Sacha was a Russian who worked for me for quite a while as a limo driver out of New York. I knew he supplied blow to the Crüe guys sometimes, but that was no big deal–some days they would ask doormen or bellboys for blow! But I have to say I had no idea that Sacha was supplying Nikki Sixx with heroin.

NIKKI: It’s no big deal to supply cocaine to the band. I think this comes under the heading of “Keep them fucked up and keep them out on the road.”


Four Seasons Hotel, Boston, 12:30 p.m.

Just ordered some room service. Got to catch the plane to Worcester for two sold-out shows. We will come back to the hotel after…

OK, time for me to bitch right now…

I love playing our music but I can’t take the monotony of playing the same set every night. When we’re playing more than one night in a city (like tonight) or when the cities are real close, I know a lot of the same fans see the same show. I just wish we could have no set list; the band could know 30 or 40 songs, and we could just call them out as we go along. We could have our opening and closing songs but otherwise fill it in as we go. But the bands feel more comfortable with a set list. It’s such a great show, but another night of feeling frustration at playing the same set in the same order for me.


OK, I’m done…room service just came…


Four Seasons Hotel, Boston, around noon

Another great show for us last night. Going back for another in an hour or so. Nothing new to report except that after Worcester we’re going to NY and I’m nervous.

If I believed there was a God, I’d ask him for strength right now…


Parker Meridian Hotel, New York, 4 p.m.

I’ve been thinking about when I was in rehab and how hard it was for me to face my addiction. I couldn’t handle their force-fed God-driven system but what gave me strength was talking to the other junkies. I always have people coming up and talking to me about drugs, how they can’t get off and how they have lost hope. I try to help in my own way…

If I could ever get myself straight I know I could help others. But you can’t help anybody unless you help yourself…

Going over to Scores for dinner in an hour with T-Bone and Vince.


Just got back from dinner. Guess who our limo driver was? Right…Sacha…fuck! When I saw him I knew I was dead in the water…so I ask him if he has any, and then he asks me why I haven’t called him back. It’s like he’s punishing me for not answering his calls. All these dealers are on a power trip, like that fuck Jason.

In the end, when I was in the bathroom taking a piss, he handed me a bindle of Persian smack. I asked him, How much? He said, Oh you can pay me later. Fuck…so now I sit here looking at this shit, knowing I shouldn’t, but I already did a couple of bumps in the bathroom and I have this girl coming over.

Heroin is great for sex. You can’t cum.


At least I’m not shooting it. I’ll call down to room service and get some tinfoil and just chase the dragon.


Parker Meridian Hotel, New York, 7 a.m.

The girl just left. She brought some blow and I kept going in the bathroom and chasing the dragon. I had to kick her out. All these bimbos are the same. I wonder how they can even tie their shoes, they’re so stupid. Sometimes I think I should just buy a blow-up party doll. Same level of intelligence, plastic and full of air…

The problem is, I’d probably fall in love.

I have to go to bed. I have a show today.

5 p.m.

I just woke up. I feel like hell. Too sick to even try to clean up.

The only way out is the hair of the dog…or is it hair of the dragon?

7 p.m.

Off to the Meadowlands–am I demented? I forgot Vanity said she’s coming to NY and I said OK. I’m sick to my stomach in more ways than one…



Parker Meridian Hotel, New York, 1 p.m.

Vanity came in just in time for the show last night. The first hour or so it’s nice to see her, then I start to get this uneasy feeling like she’s gonna say something and embarrass me. It’s like the same movie over and over again. I need to stop this. She’s not a badperson, I know she can’t help it…she had a fucked-up childhood like me and it’s her struggle with God and cocaine that is driving her insane. But I need to just end this. We don’t belong together.

I’m gonna hide these diaries ’cause if she found them she would lose what’s left of her mind. Also I’d better hide my lil bindle of Sacha special blend and the packet of fresh rigs he gave me at the show last night. Or better still, take them with me.

P.S. We have a gig in Troy tonight, I think I’ll leave her here. I’ll be back about 2 or 3 a.m.


NIKKI: I had good reason to be nervous about New York City. In 1985 Mötley played Madison Square Garden. After the show we all went back to the hotel, and as soon as everybody was in their rooms I jumped in a cab and went to Alphabet City with a couple of thousand dollars in my pocket.

I found a shooting gallery, went in, scored some dope and went back to the hotel. It was pure china white. Eddie from Twisted Sister was hanging out with me, and there was a girl with us. Eddie was high on coke and he wouldn’t shut up. I wanted to fuck the girl but I couldn’t get him out of the room, so I asked him if he wanted a bump. When he said yes, I gave him a big line of smack and told him it was coke. He snorted it and passed out.

I fucked the chick, then when she passed out I went to the bathroom and started shooting coke and china white. In no time I was freaking out. When I came out of the bathroom and saw this girl passed out on the bed and a guy unconscious on the couch, I lost my mind. I thought people were coming to get me, so I threw all my drugs out the window.

A couple hours later I came down and realized I’d just got fucked up and gone to that psychotic place again. So at eight or nine in the morning I ran down to the street. People were walking past on their way to work, and there I was in just my leather pants, no socks or shoes or shirt, makeup all over my face and hair all matted and gross, looking for my drugs. Amazingly, I found them–so, of course, I went back upstairs and did it all again.

When Eddie and the girl woke up, they found me in the bathroom puking my brains out. I wasn’t addicted to heroin at that time, so it really fucked me up. At the show the next day I was so fucking ill, so I told everybody I had the flu. I have no idea if they believed me. So yes, New York and I had a little history.


Parker Meridian Hotel, New York, 4 a.m.

Just got back from the show. Drunk. No sign of Vanity.


11:30 a.m.

I’m laying here in bed and can hear Vanity in the other room talking a mile a minute on the phone. I have no idea when she got in. It’s probably better not to ask.

Heather is out here and so is Sharise with Vince. I’ve always liked Sharise but I sorta feel sorry for her. Vince really can treat her like shit…not that I’m an angel.

Of course, fucking Mick has fucking Emi.

It’s strange when Heather comes out to join Tommy on tour. I always feel like I’m her albatross. I know she doesn’t even understand me. She grew up in Westlake, she was a cheerleader, the most popular girl in school, her dad was a doctor. She was the kind of human that was my fucking enemy as a kid! I don’t think she understands this dark animal called Mötley Crüe but she loves Tommy as Tommy and that’s all that matters.

Off to Providence tonight…I’m gonna leave Vanity here again. Sacha gave me some china white last night in the limo. I can only shoot for a couple more days or I’m gonna be hooked again.

NIKKI: As the years pass, I think Heather Locklear is the one girl Tommy let get away. She had everything as a kid that I never had, so in the end, maybe I was jealous. She has proven to have class and always takes the higher road, and ironically that is exactly what I believe Tommy desires.

TOMMY LEE: If somebody’s girl came out to join the tour, we’d leave them alone for a few days, then as soon as they’d gone, we’d reconvene and crank up the fucking madness machine–“Yay! The girls are gone!” It wasn’t really a question of the girls are gone, let’s get some fucking pussy, although there was an element of that. It was more about now they’re gone, we can fucking party! We can stay up all night and be weird.


Parker Meridian Hotel, New York, 4 p.m.

The show was shitty last night. I played like shit. I can feel the tension in the band…maybe it’s because the girls are out here. Everyone is acting like a bunch of bitches. I came back to the room and Vanity wasn’t here, so I shot up. I overdid it…fucking OD’d.

When Vanity came in I was passed out in the bedroom with a needle laying next to me. When I came to she was just screaming at the top of her lungs. She was freebased out her mind and I’m sure it freaked her out, but she wouldn’t stop screaming. She kept shouting about the Devil. THAT wasn’t much fucking help.

I had Fred calm her down and put her in some other room. She told Fred I was shooting up and I lied and said I was just drunk. He didn’t believe me, but he went along with it.

I sorta feel dope sick today. I can’t get hooked on the road. I’m just gonna take some sleeping pills and get through today. I’m outta junk and that’s fine by me.

P.S. Axl called me today and told me Slash is strung out and wants me to help him…talk about bad timing…

EVANGELIST DENISE MATTHEWS: Do I believe in the Devil? Well, the Devil believes in the Devil, and plays the greatest con game of hide-and-seek. He has most believing that he doesn’t exist; that’s how he wins them over. I think the greatest deceit is that there is a party going on in Hell, and the Devil is throwing it and he thinks you’re special because it’s your Death Day.

We go backwards when we should be going forwards, and forwards when we should be going upright. Satan is the principality and power of the airwaves. Ultimately he is stealing our prayer life and we romance his witchcraft, not to mention our children’s tiny innocent eyes. Sin breeds sin and it is nothing for us to enjoy. Yes, I had much to repent for.




On the jet, 2:30 p.m.

Sitting on the Mötley jet waiting to take off for Hartford. Everybody is in good spirits…both Hartford shows are sold out.

I never saw a chick shop as much as Emi…fucking hell. I see her in the hotel lobby with carts full of clothes, then she just sends them home. Mick’s gonna need a bigger house just for her fucking shoes.

We’re taking off now. I’m feeling a bit sick still, but I’m gonna be all right…I stopped just in time. I almost got hooked again…almost.


Parker Meridian Hotel, New York, 1 p.m.

Wake-up call just woke me. I’ve gotta leave for the Mötley jet in 30 minutes. We have another Hartford show tonight…then back here. I’m really sick of this hotel…it stinks in here. I won’t let housekeeping in for fear of what they might find. I can’t wait to break the news to Vanity that we’re finished.


Parker Meridian Hotel, New York, 2 p.m.

Spoke to my grandfather today. I miss him. He’s been fishing and hunting a lot lately. We always end up talking about Nona. I know he’s lonely.

We’re a lot alike.


Backstage, 7 p.m.

Backstage at the Garden among all the hangers-on, groupies, assorted business people, record company pigs, promoters, radio people, girlfriends, wives and managers. It’s the hottest ticket in town. It’s like a movie back here. I smirk and nod as people talk to me. Mostly I’m uninterested but I do see a few friends and people I respect.

I was actually looking for Bob Timmons, hoping he might be here. I want to talk to him about trying to get clean when the tour is over. I have this feeling I’m gonna die if I don’t stop…at some point I’m gonna run out of luck.

Time to get ready to go onstage.


Today my radio won't play You-you died and left me here this way I guess you lived your life Like a loaded shotgun You thought that your choice Was no choice at all I wanted to be just like you

All of my heroes are dead now Left me here In this wasted ghost town All of my heroes

Yeah-your exit had such charm And you-you ran a fortune Through your arm You lived your life like A Molotov cocktail Always set to explode Behind the veil I wanted to be just like you


Parker Meridian Hotel, 2:40 p.m.

Last night’s show was one of the best we’ve ever played. New York can be a hard audience to win over, but we got them…tore the place up. Great night, and we all celebrated together. Lots of whisky, champagne and lines for all, nothing but smiles on everybody’s faces…

I even found myself not fighting with Vanity. I guess knowing I’m done with her drama has made me more forgiving. I didn’t see Bob, but I still didn’t do any dope. Going to Doug’s house in the Poconos in a couple of days…gonna BBQ and hang out.

I’m going shopping before tonight’s show. I need some new T-shirts and boots.


Parker Meridian Hotel, 1:15 p.m.

We’re leaving this hotel in a couple of hours. This fucking room is like a tomb. I’ve OD’d in here, fought in here, fucked in here (a few different chicks) and I need to get out. There’s room service trays all over the room, blood on the sheets and the towels are black from hair dye. I bet they’re gonna charge me some stupid destruction fee, and to be honest I didn’t (really) destroy the place. I mean the TV and furniture is all intact, ha ha.

I think we’re gonna have a killer show tonight. Off to Nassau Coliseum then off to the Poconos, staying on some lake up there by Doug’s house.


Poconos, midnight

We all went to Doug and Jeanne’s house for a BBQ. A nice mellow night. Doug’s kids were running around. No drugs, just a few beers. We play Pocono Downs tomorrow. Vanity is getting a car down to NY to catch a plane back to LA. I’ll tell her on the phone when she gets there that it’s over. I have a feeling she won’t care. It’s the best for both of us.

I’m gonna start cutting the bad people out of my life. I hope she does the same. One would be me. Goodnight.

DOUG THALER: During the Girls tour, my wife Jeanne and I were living in Pennsylvania, and I would commute to Los Angeles each week. Mötley came out to our house the day before their show at Pocono Downs racetrack–I remember it was a beautiful Sunday evening. We even did some boating. Nikki was OK that day, but that was how he was back then, really in-and-out: he’d do something really shitty and look wasted, then the next day he would somehow pull it all together and be part of the group again.


Backstage, 6:40 p.m.

Everything smells like horseshit. I guess it would, right? It is a horse track. It reminds me of growing up in Idaho.

I just told Fred I was done with Vanity. He said that’s probably for the best…I’m sure the guys will be relieved too. I wish her well.


P.S. This place is huge. It looks like about 30,000 people. The weird thing is, there’s a racetrack around our stage…ha ha ha…


Backstage, 7 p.m.

Some kids broke into Vince’s room and stole his wallet and clothes. He had $5k in his wallet–he’s fucking pissed (I don’t blame him…).

11:20 p.m.

Vince is such an asshole sometimes. I’m sitting here backstage waiting for him to return from the hospital. In fact, so are the fans…waiting…nice. Tonight he was making a sandwich and he reached for the mustard to put on it. There was only Grey Poupon (my fave) which he hates, so he threw the mustard jar against the wall. It exploded and flew back and cut his hand wide open. He’s now at the hospital and we’re still waiting to play the fucking show. Nice move, bro…can we say spoiled brat?

VINCE NEIL: Fuck, the mustard jar incident was pure Spinal Tap. It was me being a fucking idiot. I don’t like Dijon mustard but catering always had it backstage–they never had yellow mustard, even though I had been asking them for weeks to change the rider. So when I saw Dijon mustard yet again, I was pissed and I took the jar and threw it against the wall.

The glass smashed, bounced right back and sliced my finger almost right off: it was just hanging by the skin. I severed the nerves, the artery, the tendons; blood was spurting out of it. We were about to go onstage but they had to rush me to the hospital because I was going to bleed to death, and a week later I had an eight-hour surgery to re-attach the finger. It was just a temper tantrum–me being Prince Vince.

FRED SAUNDERS: I couldn’t believe it at the upstate New York show when I saw Vince Neil pouting and throwing this fucking mustard at the wall. It bounced back and sliced his hand right open. Vince said, “Well, I guess that the tour’s over,” and Nikki said, “Bullshit–there are two hundred people on this tour.” The tour continued, and for weeks Vince had to wear these gloves that looked like boxing gloves. Like I said, what a piece of work.


Hotel, 2:15 a.m.

Bored…going to sleep. This is a ghost town. There’s nothing on TV or the radio, no clubs…no room service. Even the bar is closed. This is surreal at best. I think I must have died in NY and this is Nikki Sixx’s hell. Bad time to have quit sniffing glue…

But at least I don’t have a cast on my arm from a mustard jar, ha ha…

2:30 p.m.

OK, it’s official…I have cabin fever.

We woke up early and came here to the beautiful Utica (exactly). We have a show tonight here. Poconos to Utica is like going from the pot to the frying pan for me. I mean, I’m the first to admit the countryside is so pretty here. It’s green and the air is clean. Everybody looks like they’re taken from a Norman Rockwell painting or from the cover of a postcard. Dogs are running around wagging their tails as a squirrel scampers up a tree with his newest trophy (an unopened acorn). I looked up at a cloud as it was slowly drifting by changing shapes from a heart to a smiley face. To top it off, this ice cream truck just drove by playing a nursery rhyme song out of tune. There are a trail of kids running down the street after it, yelling and screaming, “Ice cream, ice cream!”

God save me…I’m in hell.

P.S. The good news today is I finally spilled the beans on the phone to Vanity. She just said OK…no emotion at all. I guess she really didn’t care–cool.


Hotel, Landover, Maryland, 2:15 p.m.

Got in late from the show in Utica last night. Pretty good show considering the squirrels and ice cream trucks. I just woke up. Need to order some coffee and breakfast. What am I gonna do today, diary?

I’m so bored. I smell trouble. Thank God for Halcions…I slept so good…



Hotel, 2 a.m.

Now that was fun! I just went and broke into housekeeping and picked up 20 or so garbage pails. Then I collected loads of chairs. Everybody was asleep or doing stuff in their rooms. I balanced the chairs against the room doors all along my corridor, filled the buckets with all kinds of shit–piss, water, beer, basically anything I could find–and put them on the chairs…

I sprayed hairspray on every one’s door, set it on fire, knocked the door and ran. I had my system down pat…hairspray, light, knock, hairspray, light, knock, etc etc. So then when everybody opened their door, their door was on fire and then this bucket fell on them and soaked them!…ha ha ha…

Fred Saunders was fuckin’ some chick, so he came to the door with a big fucking hard-on and the bucket fell on his dick. He ran down to my room and said, Sixx, fuckin’ come out, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass! I said, Fuck you, dude! and he kicked the hinges off my door. But as usual, he didn’t do anything ’cause he saw how much fun I’d had.

I love Fred, I hope he can get it back up…I’m sure I’ll hear about it tomorrow.

Backstage, Capital Center, 11:55 p.m.

Band was tight as hell tonight, everything was right in the pocket. Damn, I love it when all pistons are firing…great crowd.


Not a lot to do here. Gonna go look for a club or something with Fred and Tommy. I’m sure Fred has a little ace in the hole. If not, I know some of the truck drivers said they were getting a shipment of krell in.

P.S. I just got a blow job from this girl who started crying and thanked me afterwards. What the fuck?

FRED SAUNDERS: Ace in the Hole was like our tour catchphrase. A friend of mine gave me a gift of an 1888 silver dollar coin that he had machine-drilled hollow so it would hold a gram of coke. I’d carry it around. You just had to twist it to open it and there was the coke. If we were out in a club, Nikki and Tommy or Vince would ask me for Ace in the Hole if they wanted a little jolt.


Sometimes we would get to the hotel in a new city, check in, and Nikki and Tommy would start ringing my room right away and pester me for Ace in the Hole. I’d say to them, “Come on guys, we’ve got a job to do”–there would often be interviews or an in-store signing. But those guys wouldn’t quit hounding me.


Hotel, 3:10 p.m.

Just woke up. I sat in the room with Tommy and Fred and did coke all night, talking, listening to music, drinking. Right now I feel like shit. I’m so tired and hungover. I still feel drunk.

On the jet, 1 a.m.

The band sucked so bad tonight. Everyone was hungover.How can we kick ass last night and suck tonight? I wonder if any of the fans that saw both Landover shows thought they saw two different bands.



Mars was knee-deep in Mars-ade and Vince lost his voice halfway through the set. I know for sure I was just sucking ass as well. We never suck like Aerosmith did in their drug days–I mean, we don’t forget our own songs or anything. We just lose the groove and lag or pull the music. We’re more metal and Aerosmith is more groove-oriented, so when we suck it just sounds like the engine is outta time. It feels…whatever…

Hotel, Hampton, Virginia, 5 p.m.

I need to stop.

I don’t care about our shows some days–just how am I gonna find some drugs? Coke, pills, heroin, I don’t give a fuck. Just gimme something, anything…I feel like I’m dying and I don’t know why.


We have six shows in the next eight days before we get any time off.

I’m depressed…this tour seems to be going on forever.

NIKKI: I used to look at the tour dates and think, When is this going to end? And when it does, what do I have to go home to? It was a very confusing time. I resented that management just put us on the road and left us there. Tommy and Vince were both married–it must have been hard for them to keep things together. I was different. I felt detached from everything.

We knew we needed a break or something was going to break. We asked for time off and Doc always said no. I was so immature and fucked up that I didn’t know he was actually breaking the band up, little by little. In the end, 15 percent of nothing is nothing, so our management was killing the goose that laid the fucking golden egg.

DOC McGHEE: I always had a real problem with this line of argument of Sixx’s. Sure, the tours were too long for them, but only because of the way they behaved on them! Don’t forget, these were guys in their twenties who were only being asked to work two hours per day. What about all the guys who get up at 5 a.m. to lay bricks and only get two weeks off a year? If Mötley Crüe was burned out on the road it was purely because they had stupid fucking drug habits. It’s not rocket science.