Dave mustaine

MUSTAINE
A HEAVY METAL MEMOIR

DAVE MUSTAINE
WITH JOE LAYDEN

To Mom and Dad, I promised I would be Good. This book is dedicated to all of the people who told me I would never . . .

Come, come, come my little droogies. I just don't get this at all. The old days are dead and gone. For what I did in the past, I've been punished. I've been cured.
--ALEX, A CLOCKWORK ORANGE

Regrets,I've had a few . . .
--SID VICIOUS

Contents

Cover Title Page Epigraph Author's Note A Horseshoe up My Ass Chapter 1 - Daddy Dearest Chapter 2 - Reefer Madness Chapter 3 - Lars and Me, or What Am I Getting Myself Into? Chapter 4 - Metallica--Fast, Loud, Out of Control Chapter 5 - Dumped by Alcoholica Chapter 6 - Building the Perfect Beast: Megadeth Chapter 7 - Mission: To Break All theRules of God and Man Chapter 8 - Familiarity Breeds Contempt Chapter 9 - The End of Western Civilization Photographic Insert Chapter 10 - The Traveling Carnival Chapter 11 - Against Medical Advice Chapter 12 - The Living Years Chapter 13 - I Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep Chapter 14 - The Inner Weasel Chapter 15 - Soul for Sale Chapter 16 - Some Kind of God Chapter 17 - Megadeth: Reborn Epilogue: ThreeBoats and a Helicopter About the author Copyright About the Publisher

Author's Note:

Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals. Photograph on page iii by Rob Shay. All photographs in the book and insert courtesy of the author unless otherwise stated.

A Horseshoe up My Ass

Photograph by Daniel Gonzalez Toriso.

HUNT, TEXASJANUARY 2002

If you're looking for bottom, this seems to be about as good a place as any--although I'd be the first to admit that the bottom has been a moving target in
my dark and twisted, speed metal version of a Dickensian life. Impoverished, transient childhood? Check. Abusive, alcoholic parent? Check. Mind-fucking religious weirdness (in my case the extremes of the Jehovah's Witnesses andSatanism)? Check . Alcoholism, drug addiction, homelessness? Check, check, check . Soul-crushing professional and artistic setbacks? Check. Rehab? Check (seventeen times, give or take). Near-death experience? Check that one, too. James Hetfield, who used to be one of my best friends, as close as a brother, once observed with some incredulity that I must have been born with a horseshoe up my ass.That's how lucky I've been, how fortunate I am to be pulling breath after so many close calls. And I must acknowledge that on some level he's right. I have been lucky. I have been blessed. But here's the thing about having a horseshoe lodged in your rectum: it also hurts like hell. And you never forget it's there. So here I am, staring down the throat of another stint in rehab, at a place called LaHacienda, out in the heart of the pristine Texas Hill Country. It's only about two hundred miles or so from Fort Worth, but it seems a world away, with only cattle ranches and summer camps for neighbors. The focus is on healing . . . on getting better. Physically, spiritually, emotionally. As usual, I've brought only modest expectations and enthusiasm to the proceedings. Ain't my first rodeo,after all. You see, I've learned more about getting loaded, more about how to get drugs, more about mixing drinks, and more about how to bed the opposite sex in Alcoholics Anonymous than in any other single place in the world. AA--and this holds true for most rehabilitative programs and treatment centers--is a fraternity, and like all fraternity brothers, we like to swap stories. It's a ridiculousglorifying of the experience: drugalogues and drunkalogues, they're called. One of the things that always bothered me most was the incessant one-upmanship. You'd tell a story, sometimes baring your soul, and the guy next to you would smirk and say, "Ah, man, I spilled more than you ever used." "Oh, really?" "Damn right." "Well, I used a lot, so you must be one clumsy fuckhead." For some reason,...