Mötley Brew

I just began reading The Dirt by Mötley Crüe, and although I’m only a few chapters into it, I find myself relating, you know, to the sex and booze and drugs. But I also can relate to the descriptions of the Mötley House, where Tommy, Vince and Nikki were living when they were first starting out.

Until last week, for the past few months—while in between apartments—I’d been living with the band Drunky Brewster.

This is the band:

This is their crib:

And these are their house rules:
1. If your dick ain't working, bet your mouth still is! (It ain't gonna lick itself."
2. Don't stop til you geterdun! (Or the lady doth protest.)
3. Just 'cause you made it in here doesn't mean we're gonna fuck you. We may just wanna smoke your weed.

The rules are actually framed and hanging on the wall.

Brewster HQ reminds me a lot of Whitney Houston's bathroom.

There're dirty knives and spoons, cigarette butts, empty baggies, bowls, beer cans cum ashtrays, and dildos/vibrators strewn about.

But unlike Whitney’s throne, what’s missing in the Brewster palace is toilet paper. You’d be hard pressed to find any paper towels or napkins without a Burger King logo on them. I asked Calisha what she’d been using to wipe and very seriously she said, “Coffee filters.”
But the Brewster’s nest is a party house, and if you know their music and its subject matter, you’d understand. (Each stage performance employs the use of a keg, 2 beer bongs, and many blunts.) There are constantly other people rolling through the Brewster house, whether they’re crashing or just hanging, like bands passing through town, foreigners seeking asylum, or random hookups left over from the night before.

Here is one particularly insane night when a male stripper named Elvis showed up at their house, unannounced, because he had the wrong address. They filmed the whole thing and edited it down to this little nugget of awesomeness.

I had been with the gang earlier that night, getting wasted at Union Pool, but parted ways after last call, because I left to have sex with someone, natch. I’m so pissed I missed it, but I’m so glad those bitches own a video camera, and were able to find it in the heaps of clothes and garbage.

On Cribs they show the inside of celeb’s fridges. This is the inside of Drunky’s fridge.

Although I appreciate the milk that expired well over a month ago, and the molding piece of something in that bag, I think I like the plate of nuggets and ranch dressing best.

I also like that someone decided to make this a “penis” fan. Hey, I’m a penis fan too!

And if you’re not familiar with the Brewster, here’s a little clip of them doing an impromptu street jam of my favorite song “Weapons of Mass Destruction in North Korea (Put It In You).”

Hungry for more? They've been posting their other videos on YouTube.

Comments

[brian b.]

hi, this site is the tits. elvis sexily dragging his belly across chloe is pretty much the reason that the national interweb was invented for.

[c]

the tits? who are you? max?

[Neocon-pincher]

Oh my god

Those chicks are bigger slobs than my crew back in the day at the "party house."

And that's saying something.

Oh, those were the days. Nothing like waking up on the floor at 2 p.m., grabbing a dried triangle of pizza jerky and washing it down with a beer.

*wistful sigh*

[kevin]

you could smoke my pot anytime. (got that herra-herra)

[avin]

The old me so badly wants to hang out with you and Drunky. Sometimes growing up sucks.

[spunutu vag]

holy shit! i haven't seen a stripper as delightful as that since the amateur stripper wing of the dufferin was shut down by the vancouver health authorities.

[J Planet]

Hey ~ Elvis belongs in the Probs Gay Dept! What was that shit with his artful arm swing when he laid down on Chloe? Looked like a dramatic figure skating flourish to me