Ode to Scott Weiland...

I love Scott Weiland. I know he is a heroin-addicted crack whore who has destroyed more hotel rooms than Donald Trump has wigs, but I love him for it. I love him for his bleached out hair, his chiseled cheekbones, his piercing blue eyes, his tumultuous relationship with his ex-wife (She is a former model and he has her face tattooed on his forearm. They once had a fight so extreme that they destroyed a hotel room before she drove like a mad person back to their home and set all of his clothes on fire.) Unlike the anorexic emo boys today all trying to wear the same pair of girl size zero jeans, he is rock and roll. He is the real thing.

A week ago I got to see him in a “rare and intimate” performance at LAX nightclub. I was within 6 feet of the man and was able to touch him. That is right, he reached out his hands to the crowd, and I held on and didn’t want to let go. I am here to testify that Scott Weiland has very soft, yet very strong hands. I am pretty sure the moment meant as much to him as it did to me.

Anxious anticipation before the show! We are so nervous! And, everyone here is nervous!

The man, the myth, the legend himself.

Kids, smoking is very bad. But, wouldn't it be more shocking if he didn't light up before the show? He wouldn't quite be the same without it.

A little fuzzy, but isn't he pretty?

Just sing Scott, just sing.

After his set was over, Scott (cause we are on a first name basis) and the band started jamming to the random song the DJ was playing. This is Scott playing a wooden fish. It was awesome.

Even more impressive, he managed to stay sober for the entire set. We are all proud of you Scott! Keep on trucking!