HOOM! TO NIKKI SIXX: YOU, SIR, ARE A PUSSY

There are at least two indisputable truths in life: Foot police will swarm if you crack a 40 oz. on Huntington Beach and, just as frustrating, self-serving jackass celebrities love to glorify themselves with inaccurate, conveniently omissive biographies. These semi-factual accounts range from boring (Aerosmith's Walk This Way) to insulting (Nikki Sixx's The Heroin Diaries) to good, dirty fun (Motley Crue's The Dirt). One would think that at least a few rockers hate themselves enough to publish unflinching accounts of their evildoings; shit, authors do it all the time and I have a whole shelf of Anais Nin blowing the entire western hemisphere. Let's not even mention Norman Mailer. Anyway, for a second there, it seemed that writer-director Larry Charles (Religilous, Borat) would helm the movie adaptation of The Dirt and at least turn Neil Strauss's tome into some big-screen pulp. Well, Charles is off the project and pissed off enough to burn some public bridges with Paramount. From The Pulse of the Radio:

Charles [states that] the film "had to be an NC-17 [which] would be ballsy to do. When was the last time [Paramount] did a mainstream NC-17 movie? That'd be a good idea." 

Charles is not a fan of the Crue, saying that the memoir was "so much better than they deserve, because Motley Crue is a crappy band but [Strauss] wrote a really epic book about them. It's really fascinating." 

The director also said that the "hardcore" nature of the band's history might have affected its chances as a movie, explaining, "They've killed people, they've hurt people, they've crippled people, they've done all kinds of crazy things. You'd have to show that for real and I think there was a little bit of reticence about doing that ultimately."

I'm pretty sure a memoir is written by the subject, not culled from interviews with the subject then structured by a journalist, but who's counting. So Nikki Sixx and crew are so hardcore and on the edge and whoa-yeah-baby but now they're choking when it comes to putting their exploits onscreen? Pussssssies! It's charitable of Charles to indirectly blame Paramount when Crue could just as soon exec-produce The Dirt themselves. If they weren't bloated, flabby vaginas, that is. So let's have it! Ant-snorting, car-crashing, friend-manslaughtering, sucker-punching, flatlining, junk shooting, Pam-banging ... the whole works. It seems like the rock 'n roll thing to do.