young, crazy, and always wore a Cinderella costume. One night, we picked her up and brought her home so that Tommy could try to sleep with her. And while he was in bed with her, we stole her costume. After she left the house in tears with Tommy’s clothes hanging off her, no one ever saw her in the streets again.
Once we had taken clothes from a homeless girl, there were no taboos. I even tried to fuck Tommy’s mother, but failed miserably; when his dad found out, he told me, “If you can get in there, you can have it.” After that, I started dating a German model or at least a skinny German who told me she was a model. She had photos of herself hanging around the guys in Queen, so I was impressed. Her upstairs neighbor, Fred, wanted to teach me how to freebase, and that annoyed the German girl, who we nicknamed Himmler. Every week, Himmler came by the house and we celebrated with Nazi Wednesdays. We walked around in armbands, goose-stepping and sieg-heiling. Instead of torching the cockroaches on the wall with flaming jets of hair spray, we scooped them up and burned them with their compatriots in the oven. When they died, they’d stand up on their back legs and then keel over while we barked at them in fake German.
“Hey,” she scolded, in her deep, guttural accent, “zat eez not vunny. Many millionz of people haft died in zee ovens.”
After we broke up, I dated a groupie with a narrow waist, a Sheena Easton haircut, and fuck-me eyes. Her name was Stephanie, her parents owned a luxury hotel chain, and she was smart enough to know that the quickest way to our hearts was to bring us drugs and groceries. I met her at the Starwood when she was hanging around the guys from Ratt. I loved dating her: We’d go to her apartment and do blow and quaaludes, and then I’d get to fuck her, which was great because I didn’t have any money to buy blow and quaaludes and I couldn’t fuck myself. (Though I’m about to fuck myself over with this story.) She would let me do anything: On one of our first dates, she took me out to dinner and I used a bottle of wine on her underneath the table.
One night, Vince, Stephanie, and I were hanging out at the Rainbow, eating quaaludes and escargots, and throwing up under the table every fifteen minutes. We got plastered, took her back to the house, and all ended up in Vince’s bed. That was never my scene: Tommy and Vince were always piling chicks together. But having a guy there wrecked the moment for me. I couldn’t get it up and eventually went back to my room, leaving the two of them alone. That was the last time I saw Stephanie naked, because once you put Vince in the same room as a girl with money and a nice car, it’s all over. They dated for months after that and were about to get married when Vince found a richer girl, Beth, with blond hair and a better car, a 240Z.
I don’t know how we ever dragged our incestuous, partied-out little selves to the next level as a band, because we didn’t even believe that a next level existed. It was just about packing people into our shows and making sure they left talking about us. We even called Elvira one night, who agreed to introduce us if Coffman paid her five hundred dollars and picked her up in a black towncar. The longer we lived together, the better our concerts became because we had more time to dream up stupid antics. Vince started chain-sawing the heads off mannequins. Blackie Lawless had stopped lighting himself on fire because he was tired of burning his skin, so I took over because I didn’t give a shit about the pain. I would have swallowed tacks or fucked a broken bottle if it would have brought more people to our shows.
fig. 12
With Elvira backstage at Santa Monica Civic Center, New Year’s Evil Show, 1982
fig. 13
Nikki with Lita Ford
With each new gig, our stage setup looked better and better: Mick had a dozen lights he had bought from Don Dokken and a PA he had stolen from his old Top 40 band, White Horse.
Once we had taken clothes from a homeless girl, there were no taboos. I even tried to fuck Tommy’s mother, but failed miserably; when his dad found out, he told me, “If you can get in there, you can have it.” After that, I started dating a German model or at least a skinny German who told me she was a model. She had photos of herself hanging around the guys in Queen, so I was impressed. Her upstairs neighbor, Fred, wanted to teach me how to freebase, and that annoyed the German girl, who we nicknamed Himmler. Every week, Himmler came by the house and we celebrated with Nazi Wednesdays. We walked around in armbands, goose-stepping and sieg-heiling. Instead of torching the cockroaches on the wall with flaming jets of hair spray, we scooped them up and burned them with their compatriots in the oven. When they died, they’d stand up on their back legs and then keel over while we barked at them in fake German.
“Hey,” she scolded, in her deep, guttural accent, “zat eez not vunny. Many millionz of people haft died in zee ovens.”
After we broke up, I dated a groupie with a narrow waist, a Sheena Easton haircut, and fuck-me eyes. Her name was Stephanie, her parents owned a luxury hotel chain, and she was smart enough to know that the quickest way to our hearts was to bring us drugs and groceries. I met her at the Starwood when she was hanging around the guys from Ratt. I loved dating her: We’d go to her apartment and do blow and quaaludes, and then I’d get to fuck her, which was great because I didn’t have any money to buy blow and quaaludes and I couldn’t fuck myself. (Though I’m about to fuck myself over with this story.) She would let me do anything: On one of our first dates, she took me out to dinner and I used a bottle of wine on her underneath the table.
One night, Vince, Stephanie, and I were hanging out at the Rainbow, eating quaaludes and escargots, and throwing up under the table every fifteen minutes. We got plastered, took her back to the house, and all ended up in Vince’s bed. That was never my scene: Tommy and Vince were always piling chicks together. But having a guy there wrecked the moment for me. I couldn’t get it up and eventually went back to my room, leaving the two of them alone. That was the last time I saw Stephanie naked, because once you put Vince in the same room as a girl with money and a nice car, it’s all over. They dated for months after that and were about to get married when Vince found a richer girl, Beth, with blond hair and a better car, a 240Z.
I don’t know how we ever dragged our incestuous, partied-out little selves to the next level as a band, because we didn’t even believe that a next level existed. It was just about packing people into our shows and making sure they left talking about us. We even called Elvira one night, who agreed to introduce us if Coffman paid her five hundred dollars and picked her up in a black towncar. The longer we lived together, the better our concerts became because we had more time to dream up stupid antics. Vince started chain-sawing the heads off mannequins. Blackie Lawless had stopped lighting himself on fire because he was tired of burning his skin, so I took over because I didn’t give a shit about the pain. I would have swallowed tacks or fucked a broken bottle if it would have brought more people to our shows.
fig. 12
With Elvira backstage at Santa Monica Civic Center, New Year’s Evil Show, 1982
fig. 13
Nikki with Lita Ford
With each new gig, our stage setup looked better and better: Mick had a dozen lights he had bought from Don Dokken and a PA he had stolen from his old Top 40 band, White Horse.
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