Disturbing Behavior (A-B)
What constitutes disturbing behavior amongst your acquaintances? Would you cite the time your Uncle Hal told you he often wore a slim, grey meter maid number whenever your Aunt Julie left the house? Would you reflect on your roommate Sally’s peculiar ritual of drinking five cups of coffee before heading off to bed? Or how about all those times when your dad would get that lost look in his eyes while trimming with the electric shrub cutters, the way he turned to look at you with a detached stare, the blades humming madly, muttering, “Know what it’s like to see a blue jay fly into a woodchipper,” as you stumbled back against the garden shed, those blades cutting the air violently, nowhere to run to, his laugh cackling through your very soul, and the…Oh. Sorry. I went on a bit there. Well, you get the picture. Disturbing behavior comes in all forms of distressing displays. The rock world is just full of this nonsense. Yet, don’t we like to hear about these occasions of excessive outbreaks? Sure, we do. The following list begins our multi-part look at instances of outrageous occurrences in the exhibitionist environment of rock. Disturbing behavior from A to B.
Many instances of excess could be documented with America’s premier bad boys of rock, from the miles of coke they snorted, to the piles of heroin they sampled, to the hundreds of groupies the band and crew became acquainted with while on the road. Suffice to say, Aerosmith knew how to have a good time, even if their humor was a bit warped. During their narcotics-fueled heyday of the ‘70s, Steven Tyler would bring a bottle of 150-proof white rum onstage before a performance. As road engineer Dick “Rabbit” Hansen explained in the band’s autobiography, “Walk This Way,” “Steven’s little joke was to take one hit off this bottle and pass it down to the teenage kids in the first row. Five minutes later, they’d all be vomiting because they weren’t used to the overproof firewater. Nothing more hilarious than a row of puking fans.” Well, the yuks didn’t stop there. While on The Aerosmith Express tour of 1977, the band and its crew made sure to pack their own trusty chainsaws which would enable them to slice apart the furniture at the local Holiday Inns in a more precise and efficient manner. Hansen explained another stunt the band was fond of performing: “We liked to wire big TV sets to extra-long extension cords so they’d be playing as they went over the balcony and actually explode when they landed in the hotel pool.” Not that their aberrant behavior was all fun and games. Tyler was very protective of his cocaine and when he found out someone in his entourage was indulging in his stash of Peruvian powder, he had someone crush up old plaster chips and lay them out on a table. The unsuspecting moocher was sure to stay away from Tyler’s coke after he snorted the entire line of chips up his nose.
Tyler exhibited his own brand of disturbing behavior, when he had the worst drug experience of his life. While resting at a hotel, he shot up cocaine, had a seizure, and then locked himself in the bathroom, where he proceeded to squeeze toothpaste into the cracks of the wall tiles because he saw worms and hands wriggling out to get at him. The band’s appearance at the Reading Festival in England in 1977 found Tyler and a friend snorting heroin and then smashing a local museum’s display case to steal an antique knife. By the mid-‘80s, the boys had apparently kicked their urge for booze and drugs, and thus, their antics became much tamer as their music became more widely praised.
The Allman Brothers Band
Originally hailing from the Sunshine State of Florida, The Allman Brothers Band subsequently relocated to Macon, Georgia, and their songs became synonymous with the term “southern rock.” Their brand of music craftsmanship on titles like “Ramblin’ Man” successfully served to mask some of their good ol’ boy leanings behind the scenes. The first signs of cockeyed behavior arose when Gregg Allman graduated from high school, and his brother, lead guitarist Duane Allman, hit upon a novel idea to keep Gregg out of the Vietnam War. The night before his scheduled draft physical, Duane threw Gregg a “foot-shootin’ party,” and invited several girls over to help his brother through the ordeal. Gregg slipped on a flimsy moccasin with a circular target drawn on it, downed many whiskeys, called the ambulance, and then, shot his painted bulls-eye with a gun. The bullet went clean through his foot. The blond-haired sibling probably let out the highest note of his career. The medics were there seconds later to take him to the hospital. And strangely enough, it did the trick; Uncle Sam no longer wished to make Gregg Allman an inductee.
Over the years, the Allmans sure liked to have their fun the good ol’-fashioned way. For example, when guitarist Dickey Betts felt he needed to let off a little steam one night in the mid-‘70s, he laid waste to his label’s office, Capricorn Records, knocking over desks and kicking the gold records off the walls. He then headed to a favorite bar where he punched out a drummer in a country band. When asked what he was doing, Betts simply shrugged, “Just havin’ a little fun.” Betts was also known to be prone to hunger pangs of an extraordinary kind. Once, before he joined the Allmans, he was riding his motorcycle and had a hankering for beef, so, upon spotting a cow in an open field, he ambled over the fence, clubbed the animal to death in the head, and began butchering it. A friendly police officer driving by helped the bloodied Betts into a nice pair of shiny handcuffs and carted his butt off to jail. Things weren’t so cordial between Betts and the law on July 30, 1993, when he was arrested in Saratoga Springs, New York. After a performance, Betts had gotten into a shoving match with an officer who had responded to calls at a hotel citing that Dickey and his wife were having a heated dispute. Dickey spent the night in jail, and the band went back on the road without bailing him out.
Ugly brushes with the law certainly hampered Gregg Allman’s rep with his bandmates when he was subpoenaed to testify against his friend and road manager John Herring in February 1975. The beloved pal was a regular supplier of drugs to Gregg’s voracious habit and had saved Gregg’s life in New York, after the Allman brother had suffered a near-fatal overdose in 1974. Choosing to save his own neck, Gregg offered testimony on drug trafficking charges that effectively sent his bud to the slammer on a 75 year sentence. Betts fumed, “There’s no way we can work with Gregg ever again.” Never say never, Dickey. By 1989, Betts was back in with the Allman clan, and the band continues to play sold-out dates at theatres nationwide.
34-year old guitarist Ian Scott of the hard rocking metal band Anthrax probably wishes his love for the World Series champs, The New York Yankees, hadn’t gone to his head on August 15, 1997. Scrambling over a fence at Legends Field in Tampa, Florida with his 23-year old friend Angela Roberts, Scott made a dash around the bases of the famed Yankees’ spring training infield at around 4:30 in the morning. No real errors had been made up to that point. But when he looked around and set his eyes on a possible souvenir to steal, the drunken rocker soon tagged his behavior across the foul line. Security cameras silently recorded the sight of Scott and his friend, as they tried to drag the Yankees on-deck foam mat circle, emblazoned with the team’s logo, across the field and over to their parked car. The dumb-namic duo also tried to cop a folding cushioned chair, also labeled with the Yankee logo. The city police arrived shortly thereafter, and Scott was charged with burglary and grand theft. He spent six hours in jail and was later released on $7,500 bail. Sheepishly, he related the story to MTV News, reasoning the stunt was caused by “24 years of being a Yankees fan, plus a bottle and a half too much of red wine.” The incident soon faded away, but Anthrax was thrust into the limelight about a half year later when, in early 1998, two men were arrested by the FBI for plotting to release the deadly bacteria anthrax on a New York subway platform. The charges were soon dropped, but Anthrax, the band, was ironically cheery about the potentially-disturbing scenario. The release of their next album, “Volume 8,” was just around the corner, and the band wanted to capitalize on the incident by using promo posters with the words “Anthrax: The Threat Is Real,” and place them in public areas, even in subway stations. The band’s manager stated, “If it weren’t so serious, it would be fun!”
The Average White Band
Sometimes disturbing behavior can manifest itself under the guise of indifference. Such was the case when Robbie McIntosh, the drummer for the Scottish ‘70s funk-rock Average White Band, attended a party thrown by Kenneth Moss, a rich hippie playboy in the music world, on September 23, 1974. After having performed several nights at LA’s Troubadour Club, the band members were having a festive time at the gathering in Moss’ Hollywood Hills home, when bandmates McIntosh and bassist Alan Gorrie proceeded to snort what they thought was a line of cocaine. The drug was actually heroin, and someone had cut it with strychnine. Needless to say, both musicians fell horribly ill. Cher, who was having an affair with Gorrie at the time, phoned her doctor from the party and described the suffering partygoers’ symptoms. The doctor, a gynecologist, said Gorrie should just be kept awake for a long while, but McIntosh required immediate hospitalization. She collected Gorrie, but when trying to coax others to get an ambulance for McIntosh, party bigwig Moss said, “No, no ambulance.” Cher left McIntosh behind at the party with promises from fellow festive rocker friends that they’d get him to the hospital. Cher took Gorrie home and walked him around all night, keeping him alert, and he recovered from the overdose thereafter. McIntosh, unfortunately, relied on his fellow partygoing musicians’ judgement, as well as that of his wife’s, and just went to his hotel room. He passed away a few hours later. Jaded indifference yielded imminent death in this rock story footnote.
The Beach Boys
The familial psychological fallout that has plagued this band of brothers and cousins has already filled numerous biographies and a recent ABC TV-movie. Under the domineering hand of their father/manager Murry Wilson, the three Wilson brothers, Brian, Carl, and Dennis, along with their creative cousin Mike Love, felt the patriarchal resentment and rage that only an overly-consumed papa intent on fame and self-adulation could foster. Mike summed up his feelings about their hurtful manager in 1980 when he offered, “My darling uncle didn’t die soon enough. But I didn’t resent Murry anymore than I resent anyone who stole from his kids, beat them unnecessarily, intimidated them, and screwed them up emotionally.” One big, happy family, it wasn’t.
Brian Wilson seemed to suffer the most at the hands of Murry, and therefore, spiraled into becoming one of rock’s most disturbing, eccentric personalities. After he mustered the courage to stand up to his dad, who had once smacked him so hard, Brian’s hearing was forever ringingly affected, the eldest Wilson brother withdrew into a stoned-out, psychedelic world of hash and hangers-on. He put a giant sandbox in his music den where all the hippies of the day would flounder about, praising his every nugget of drug-fueled wisdom. When he tried to slog through the recording sessions for the album “Smile,” he insisted that everyone in the studio, engineers and union musicians alike, wear toy fire hats during their takes of the song “Mrs. O’Leary’s Cow.” The elder Wilson spent the first half of the 1970s barely emerging from his bedroom, the result of having suffered a nightmarish breakdown (one of his beliefs during this period concerned the notion that Bob Dylan was part of a plot to “destroy the whole of music”). Brian, soon thereafter, fell prey to the psychological manipulations of yet another father figure. Eugene Landy, a dubious psychotherapist, practically usurped the talented musician’s life as his own, and Wilson took to calling the suspect doc ‘master.’ Landy said during this time, “We’ve exchanged names. I’m Eugene Wilson Landy and he’s Brian Landy Wilson. We’ve kind of merged.” Hello, calling Dr. Jekyll. Their relationship took a decade to work itself apart, and Brian was eventually forced to take out a restraining order to prevent the parasitic shrink from having anymore contact with him. Somehow, Brian has now been able to turn his life around to the point where he feels functional enough to tour with his own band. In 1995 he said, “I’ve had emotional gangsters run my life for 20 years. I pray to God with all my heart and soul that it doesn’t happen again.” He is set to perform in city concert venues and casino ballrooms throughout the summer of 2000.
Dennis Wilson, the band’s drummer, also showed signs of disturbing behavior during the group’s heyday. His eagerness to please everyone he came in contact with resulted in his becoming chums with Charles Manson and his “family” in 1968. Charlie and his gang moved into Dennis’ home on Sunset Boulevard near Will Rogers State Park, and Dennis cheerfully let them borrow his Rolls Royce to ride around and scavenge food out of grocery store dumpsters. When the easygoing Beach Boy failed to persuade executives at his label to represent Chaz and his album entitled “Lies,” he subsequently received death threats from the helter-skelter loony. (Dennis often hung out at a house on Waverly Drive in LA’s Los Feliz neighborhood shared by friends Al Swerdloff, Ernie Baltzell and Terry Melcher, all of whom had a connection with Charlie and his album efforts. The house was vacant when Manson’s murderous followers swept into the neighborhood one hot summer night in 1969. The house next door, unfortunately, was not. Leno and Rosemary LaBianca fell prey to their butchery). Dennis went on to exhibit some disturbing behavior of his own when he married his first cousin’s, Mike Love’s, illegitimate daughter, Shawn Love, in 1983. Six months later, the amiable Beach Boy’s life came to a tragic end when, while highly intoxicated, he decided to dive for ‘treasure’ off the back of his boat moored in Marina Del Rey’s harbor and subsequently drowned.
Mike Love has been able to stay out of the disturbing behavior limelight for most of his life, however, in 1988, he did battle with his brothers Stephen Love and Stan Love, a former pro basketballer with the LA Lakers, who both had managing interests in the band. Each were sued by Mike and his business associate Michael Seeman under the charge that Stan and Stephen had kidnapped, assaulted and beaten Seeman and extorted $40,000 from him. The case was eventually worked out without much fanfare. Carl Wilson, the only Beach Boy brother who didn’t display any outward weirdness, sadly passed away on February 6, 1998 after a bout with lung cancer. Despite all the lunacy associated with its tattered past, and even though Brian Wilson was widely reported as saying “the ocean scares me,” we’ll always fondly retain images of sun-baked sand and crystal-clear waves every time a Beach Boys’ classic wafts out the dashboard of our convertible.
The godfather of modern rock who gave us hits like “Rock and Roll Music,’ “Johnny B. Goode,” and “Roll Over Beethoven” has made his mark both as a groundbreaking artist, and unfortunately, as a troubled human being. The very descriptive “disturbing behavior” is crystallized in Berry’s antics in 1989, but more on that later. The duck-walking superstar courted disaster early on, four decades earlier to be exact, when he brought a fourteen-year old Apache Indian girl named Janice Norine Escalanti from Texas to work in his St. Louis nightclub. It seems young Ms. Escalanti was not only skilled at hat-checking, she also had a knack for prostitution. ‘Take a number’ rendered a whole new meaning. The authorities caught wind of the minor’s employment with Chuck and slapped him with a violation of the Mann Act, which forbids the transporting of a minor across state lines for sexual purposes. Hauled before a racist judge in 1959, Chuck was freed when the case was thrown out by a higher court. But in February 1962, after another trial was conducted, Berry was convicted and sentenced to two years at the Federal Penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana. (For the record, Chuck mysteriously denies he ever went to prison. In 1972, he told Rolling Stone Magazine, “You see, there was two or three different trials, and one was thrown out of the courts because the judge was fairly biased and finally I was acquitted, you see. That’s the misconceptions that people have, that Chuck Berry went to jail.” Many journalistic investigations have concluded that Berry is in error on this notion.)
The rock legend sprang back to his feet upon his release in early 1964, taking advantage of the fact that The Beatles had just made his “Roll Over Beethoven” a hit. In late 1972, he landed his only number one charting single, the dubiously-named “My Ding-A-Ling.” The single went gold. Chuck made scads of money. Unfortunately, he forgot to report it all on his next year’s income tax return. The feds took their time, but soon, they collared Berry six years later in 1979 for having underpaid the IRS a few hundred thousand dollars during that glorious year of 1973. He found himself a guest behind bars once again, this time for four months at the Lompoc Prison Farm in California. No harm, no foul. Berry was back in the limelight in no time at all as he entered the 1980s, with his induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and his receiving a Grammy honor in the form of a Lifetime Achievement Award.
In 1987, Chuck bought a restaurant called the Southern Air in Missouri. In 1988, he published his autobiography cleverly titled, “Chuck Berry: The Autobiography.” Somewhere amongst those pages, he failed to mention the goings-on at that little restaurant he owned in Missouri. The whole dirty mess, if you will, came to light the next year in December 1989, when a civil suit for invasion of privacy was filed by Hosana A. Huck, whom Berry employed as a cook at the Southern Air. Huck’s claims prompted approximately 200 women, who were patrons over the years at the eatery, to step forward with an extraordinary class action suit of their own. Their filing alleged that Berry had secretly installed video camera recorders in the women’s toilet stalls at the establishment. The suit claimed that the subsequent videotapes “were created for the improper purpose of the entertainment and gratification of the abnormal urination and coprophagous sexual fetishes and sexual predilections of defendant Chuck Berry.” Needless to say, the caca hit the fan, as news spread of the incident, and a video showcasing Berry and a girl, who had more than just a twinkle in her eyes, made the rounds in secretly dubbed copies. Spy magazine dropped a load of coprophilic details concerning Berry’s fecal fondness in an investigatory expose of the case. The charges were later cleared after Chuck agreed to a cash settlement for those who wanted compensatory amounts to cover the bum deal. Six months later, his Berry Park estate was raided, and police confiscated marijuana, hashish, and some porn videos, including acts that Lassie never was called upon to perform, if you get our drift. Ol’ Chuck pleaded guilty to one misdemeanor count of marijuana possession and was given a six month jail sentence, with two years’ probation. Ever the consummate legend, Chuck Berry was able to flush the whole ordeal from his adoring fans’ minds, and he continues to nostalgically keep us rockin’ with his constant touring dates into the new millenium.
The Black Crowes
Modeling their rock roots and behavior after the Rolling Stones circa 1969-1972, The Black Crowes have fashioned a Southern-fried bad boy persona that has translated into blues-riff heavy jams and bedrock guitar standards over the years. After the number 4 U.S.-charting debut album “Shake Your Money Maker” led to their exposure on late night television talk shows, The Black Crowes’ follow-up, “The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion” album propelled them to number one. With their unabashed allegiance to all things narcotic, as well as being strong proponents of NORML (The National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws), the group soon became labeled as the ‘druggie’ fan’s dream band. The Black Crowes also had their fair share of rumbles. When lead singer Chris Robinson wasn’t jumping three rows into the audience to smack around paying customers, as he did once in Germany, he liked to get into a little knuckledusting with his brother and Crowe’s guitarist Rich Robinson. Setting the record straight to Rolling Stone magazine in 1996, Chris said, “Literally, me and Rich have fought a lot, but we have one rule: You can have f***in’ body punches and f***in’ choke holds, and f***in’ throw bottles at each other, but we never crack each other in the face.” This kind of brotherly love must not have been apparently appreciated by original members guitarist Jeff Cease and bassist Johnny Colt, who both bolted the group over the course of the ‘90s. The outstanding and most newsworthy incident that gave the band its disturbing behavior status occurred in May 1991. After a Crowes concert in Denver, Colorado, Chris Robinson pulled into a local 7-Eleven mini-mart for a little alcohol pick-me-up. Colorado laws forbade the sale of alcohol after midnight, and the clerk would not allow Robinson to buy beer. Two customers watched the rock superstar getting hot under the collar, and when one of them, a somewhat hearty-eater, by appearance, said to her friend, “Who are the Black Crowes?,” Chris allegedly spat on her, offering that she might know his group if she didn’t spend so much time eating Twinkies. The woman, Elizabeth Juergens, had him charged with disturbing the peace, to which he pled no contest, and Robinson was given six months probation. In this particular case, he was unable to use a Twinkie defense. The band has mellowed as the members have all passed into their 30s, they’ve now released a “greatest hits” album, and their fan base, although somewhat depleted, has still enthusiastically given the band reason to tour well into the new century.
Jon Bon Jovi
Bon Jovi? What’s he doing in the disturbing behavior article? Okay, so this squeaky-clean, Versace-modeling, hunk-rocker hasn’t’ really done anything all that controversial. Maybe a little extra drinks at the bar, or a dalliance or two with a groupie in his very early years of touring. No, the only ‘disturbing’ scenario we could actually dig up on Mr. Jon Bon Jovi was quite harmless. The law, unfortunately, saw the incident in a different light. In 1989, while in the midst of his band’s grueling tour in support of their super-selling hit album “New Jersey,” Bon Jovi went out on the town in New York City with his high school sweetheart and another couple. Jon had dated Dorothea Hurley since their adolescence in Sayreville, New Jersey, where he says, “we were in history class together and she would let me cheat off her.” As the foursome sauntered about the city on this chilly March night, they decided to break their way onto Wollman’s Skating Rink at around 3:00am. The ice capades action was soon curtailed, and Bon Jovi and his companions were charged with trespassing. No jail time was needed, and he didn’t take up a hardcore life of breaking and entering skating emporiums nationwide. Zamboni drivers were able to sigh with relief after the New Jersey sweethearts married the next month on April 28, 1989, and settled down with the promise of a new family and earlier bedtimes.
Separating reality from fantasy in the world of David Bowie is sometimes hard to do. Especially during his formative years, strutting the London stages, Bowie’s behavior was truly an oddity. However, the English lad with the flaming red-orange hair was the most original rock personality to emerge from the music scene in the early 1970s. As Ziggy Stardust, David Bowie was able to hide behind a persona that distanced, yet brought him closer, power-wise, to his adoring fans. By 1974, he was looking for a new direction. The British director, Nicholas Roeg, who had helmed Mick Jagger’s debut film “Performance” five years earlier, sought out David to star in the sci-fi cult movie “The Man Who Fell To Earth.” When he arrived in Los Angeles to begin production, Bowie’s eccentricities came to a boil in his real-life persona as he began to face some truly bizarre occurrences. Having crossed paths with Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page, who was a devout admirer of the occult-worshipping Aleister Crowley, the two musicians had allegedly battled each other psychically over an incident involving Page spilling wine on Bowie’s silk couch pillows. According to authors Henry Edwards and Tony Zanetta in their book “Stardust,” fueled by cocaine addiction, Bowie perceived followers of Crowley had now unleashed bad spells on him in Los Angeles. Staying at his friend and representative, Michael Lippman’s, house, Bowie drew pentagrams and key occult words to protect himself. He stored his urine in Lippman’s refrigerator so that a wizard couldn’t use Lippman against Bowie. He had everyone perform a kind of exorcism, involving spells, candles, dove’s blood ink, spices and salt. But the assault supposedly persisted. When he relocated to actors Robert Wagner’s and Natalie Wood’s apartment, the televisions and stereos flicked on and off of their own accord. After moving into a house on Doheny Drive in Beverly Hills, rain poured down on its roof, on a sunny afternoon, and no other house nearby was caught in the storm. Bowie thought that one of his Los Angeles girlfriends might be trying to have a baby with him for the sole purpose of offering the child up as a sacrifice to Satan. After consulting a white witch, supposedly benevolent, the conjurer informed Bowie that he was an outer space alien who had five years to change the consciousness of the world, otherwise he would die. The witch cited Jimi Hendrix and T-Rex lead singer Marc Bolan as these types of aliens. Hendrix had failed and already died, he said. (Bolan was killed in an auto accident in September 1977). After an excruciatingly long exorcism at the Doheny house, where the participants agreed that the swimming pool bubbled over, Bowie was rid of the dark spirits and his Ziggy persona.
But the disturbing behavior in his real-life didn’t end there. He effectively became an alien in “The Man Who Fell To Earth.” In 1976, he took this alien concept further, in his “Thin White Duke” mode, and while touring Berlin, he stopped off at Hitler’s bunker and was photographed giving a one-armed salute. Now Bowie’s drug-fueled psyche was guiding him to admire those who had attained sheer power through fascistic means. He told a reporter on April 26, 1976, “I think Britain could benefit from a fascist leader. I mean fascist in its true sense, not Nazi. “ The news of his statement spread across the continent, bringing outrage from people who had fought in WWII, yet Bowie seemed unfazed by the commotion as he arrived back in England by train, saluting press and fans with a one-armed extension. His mom was disgusted and held an interview of her own, calling her son a terrible hypocrite. Bowie released his album “Low” around this time, a meandering instrumentally-driven piece, that was not commercially successful. But rock legends like him don’t crash and burn so easily, and by the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, David had fashioned himself into a new-wave pop sensation. Much of the madness phase was now, thankfully, a part of the past.
He had made a name for himself in the ‘70s releasing top ten soft rock singles like “Doctor My Eyes” and “Running On Empty.” By September 1980, when his album “Hold Out” held the number one spot on American charts, Jackson Browne’s signature sense for melody and thoughtful lyrics was lauded by college intellectuals and working-class hoofers alike. So, when the sensitive California musician linked up with the darling mermaid from “Splash,” the hounds of media muzzled their bark and captured them as the picture-perfect couple. Daryl Hannah and Jackson Browne maintained an on-again, off-again relationship for 10 years from 1982 to 1992, but the union dissolved quickly when Browne allegedly became abusive one September night. Police arrived at the couple’s Santa Monica, California home to find Hannah with a black eye, a broken finger, a swollen lip and several bruises. They spoke to Browne, who told them everything was fine. Daryl chose not to press charges, and the police climbed in their cars and left the scene. But the fallout from the incident was irreparable, and Hannah quickly left Browne. She went on to spend time with John F. Kennedy Jr. while Browne let people know he hadn’t toppled completely off the radar by releasing his 1993 album “I’m Alive.” In hindsight, she later told Notorious magazine, “In men I like a certain darkness. (But) I would love to just have someone with no problems, who’s easy.”
More Disturbing Behavior is on its way, from C to Z, in the weeks to come.
© 2000 Ned Truslow
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