Welcome to My Jungle by Craig Duswalt Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Craig Duswalt
was in total shock, shouting out what we assumed were Italian curse words. Funny, it was okay for him to plow into our lead singer, but as soon as we defended ourselves, he got upset. And I mean upset.
The frenzy to get a piece of Axl and his clothing had escalated into a full-fledged brawl with hundreds of people wailing at each other—friends hitting friends, brothers hitting brothers, moms hitting grandpas …
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a gunshot went off.
Everyone stopped.
Silence.
We all looked at each other.
Still.
And simultaneously we all started checking our bodies for a single gunshot wound. I felt around my chest, my arms, my legs, freaking out, because in my mind that bullet had to go somewhere, and at that moment, we were the enemy.
I looked around and everyone else was doing the same thing—checking to see if they were hit.
Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, people backed away to reveal an Italian policeman standing at the top of the stairs, seemingly in his own outdoor flood light provided by the hotel, with his gun held high up in the air, smoke coming out of the barrel.
It was like a movie.
The policeman came to save the day.
Axl and I looked at each other for a split-second and without saying anything, took the opportunity and darted into the hotel, untouched. Earl and Robert followed.
We were finally safe.
But we didn’t go to bed … obviously.
We went straight to the bar and got lit, and told everyone the story how we all thought for one second that we were shot.
About an hour later the police arrived and they wanted Robert’s passport. The dirtbag paparazzi guy wanted to press charges and the police were there to arrest Robert.
Now the Guns N’ Roses band members and entourage were big on practical jokes, so Robert wasn’t sure if this was real. But this time it was, and Robert explained later that he kept thinking about what can potentially happen in a foreign jail.
But it just so happened that our promoters and managers “know people” and the charges were dropped. Robert just had to pay for Mr. Dirtbag’s new camera.
Axl paid for the guy’s camera.
ALMOST MISSED MY FLIGHT
We had this thing on the road where if you were late, especially if you weren’t a band member, they would try to leave you in the city you were in, and you would have to make it to the next city at your own expense.
Harsh.
Almost happened to me when I first started with Guns N’ Roses in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
Axl had gone to see U2 with Doug, the band manager. So, I had the night off. And because I was single at the time, I went out on the town, and I met a lady friend. We had a few drinks. Okay, we had a lot of drinks—it was my night off.
A few hours later I took my lady friend to my hotel room, you know, just to talk about life.
After a while, there was a knock on my door.
“Let’s go, Duswalt,” someone shouted. It was obviously someone from the security team.
“Be right there.”
Unfortunately we weren’t finished talking.
About five minutes later we finished our conversation, and I rushed downstairs. I got to the front of the hotel and the cars were gone. I ran around the side of the hotel. Nothing. To the back of the hotel. Nothing.
Suddenly I realized what was happening. They were trying to leave without me. And worst part was it wouldn’t even be their fault because they told me they were leaving. I was just late.
I thought to myself, If i’m not on that plane, Axl is going to be pissed .
I had already left my luggage outside my hotel room door an hour earlier, so that had been picked up. I had nothing. In fact, to make matters worse, my wallet was in my briefcase, and they took my briefcase as well.
I kept thinking what to do next, knowing that if I didn’t make that flight I was screwed.
So I ran back up to my room, and luckily my lady friend was still there.
“You need to drive me to the airport,” I pleaded.
She agreed.
We ran as fast as we could to the
The frenzy to get a piece of Axl and his clothing had escalated into a full-fledged brawl with hundreds of people wailing at each other—friends hitting friends, brothers hitting brothers, moms hitting grandpas …
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a gunshot went off.
Everyone stopped.
Silence.
We all looked at each other.
Still.
And simultaneously we all started checking our bodies for a single gunshot wound. I felt around my chest, my arms, my legs, freaking out, because in my mind that bullet had to go somewhere, and at that moment, we were the enemy.
I looked around and everyone else was doing the same thing—checking to see if they were hit.
Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, people backed away to reveal an Italian policeman standing at the top of the stairs, seemingly in his own outdoor flood light provided by the hotel, with his gun held high up in the air, smoke coming out of the barrel.
It was like a movie.
The policeman came to save the day.
Axl and I looked at each other for a split-second and without saying anything, took the opportunity and darted into the hotel, untouched. Earl and Robert followed.
We were finally safe.
But we didn’t go to bed … obviously.
We went straight to the bar and got lit, and told everyone the story how we all thought for one second that we were shot.
About an hour later the police arrived and they wanted Robert’s passport. The dirtbag paparazzi guy wanted to press charges and the police were there to arrest Robert.
Now the Guns N’ Roses band members and entourage were big on practical jokes, so Robert wasn’t sure if this was real. But this time it was, and Robert explained later that he kept thinking about what can potentially happen in a foreign jail.
But it just so happened that our promoters and managers “know people” and the charges were dropped. Robert just had to pay for Mr. Dirtbag’s new camera.
Axl paid for the guy’s camera.
ALMOST MISSED MY FLIGHT
We had this thing on the road where if you were late, especially if you weren’t a band member, they would try to leave you in the city you were in, and you would have to make it to the next city at your own expense.
Harsh.
Almost happened to me when I first started with Guns N’ Roses in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
Axl had gone to see U2 with Doug, the band manager. So, I had the night off. And because I was single at the time, I went out on the town, and I met a lady friend. We had a few drinks. Okay, we had a lot of drinks—it was my night off.
A few hours later I took my lady friend to my hotel room, you know, just to talk about life.
After a while, there was a knock on my door.
“Let’s go, Duswalt,” someone shouted. It was obviously someone from the security team.
“Be right there.”
Unfortunately we weren’t finished talking.
About five minutes later we finished our conversation, and I rushed downstairs. I got to the front of the hotel and the cars were gone. I ran around the side of the hotel. Nothing. To the back of the hotel. Nothing.
Suddenly I realized what was happening. They were trying to leave without me. And worst part was it wouldn’t even be their fault because they told me they were leaving. I was just late.
I thought to myself, If i’m not on that plane, Axl is going to be pissed .
I had already left my luggage outside my hotel room door an hour earlier, so that had been picked up. I had nothing. In fact, to make matters worse, my wallet was in my briefcase, and they took my briefcase as well.
I kept thinking what to do next, knowing that if I didn’t make that flight I was screwed.
So I ran back up to my room, and luckily my lady friend was still there.
“You need to drive me to the airport,” I pleaded.
She agreed.
We ran as fast as we could to the
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