Whoa! Slow down, Johnny.
Man, it's the best blow I've ever done.
It's got little green flakes in it, man.
That's the coke right there.
What...
God.
Wow.
Bro, are you all right?
Yeah!
♪ Lots of money ♪
♪ Plenty of cocaine, yeah ♪
♪ Somebody somewhere gonna know my name ♪
♪ I'm gonna hit this city tonight ♪
♪ Where it lives and breathes ♪
Well, honestly, if it weren't for the Heathens,
I don't think there would have been a Nirvana.
We saw the Heathens at CBGB's,
and holy shit, man... It changed our lives.
♪ Sex and drugs and rock and roll ♪
It was like if The Who The Clash.
They had four kids called The Heathens.
♪ Rock and roll ♪
♪ All right ♪
♪ Yeah ♪
♪ Mick Jagger can do anything he wants ♪
♪ Fly his jumbo jet to his own Caribbean haunt ♪
Johnny lived with all three of his backup singers.
And they were hot.
He was so musically gifted.
He had this magnetism
and confidence about his fate
that drew us to him.
He was writing songs that expressed
the anger and turmoil of an entire generation.
Plus, he always had a lot of drugs.
♪ Sex and drugs and rock and roll ♪
♪ Gonna save my dirty soul ♪
Johnny wasn't just in a band called The Heathens.
He was an actual heathen.
There's always blow in the rug.
♪ I don't want to die ♪
♪ Not a word ♪
♪ No I don't want to die ♪
♪ Not a word ♪
♪ No I don't want to die ♪
They were the real deal.
And that song, Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll...
They were gonna be huge. Made the record.
Record company snuck it to the critics.
Critics were raving about it.
The album cover was dope.
I hated that album cover. It was just his big head.
You had to squint to see the rest of us.
Being in a rock band... There's no such thing as a democracy.
There's always someone at the wheel,
and it's usually the biggest up of them all.
♪ All kinds of people ♪
♪ Worshipping whatever I do ♪
His ego? Out of control.
I spent half my time breaking up fights
between Flash and Johnny.
- Guys. - Come on!
Johnny never cared about anybody but himself.
He didn't care about the rest of the band. He never listened.
Bullshit, man. That band was like a family to me.
All I thought about was The Heathens 24/7.
He slept with my fiancée.
He did.
Did not sleep with his fiancée.
You didn't sleep with Simone?
Simone was his fiancée?
He slept with my wife.
I did not sleep with his wife.
She blew me.
How is that my fault?
Album came out on Tuesday morning,
and the band broke up that night.
Cat, who was an amazing singer/songwriter
in her own right, split.
I do a lot of session work.
Hired gun kind of stuff.
I'm on tour right now with Lady Gaga.
I got 770,000 Twitter followers.
I'm @Gagaleadguitar.
You put "Gaga" into anything...
@Gaga "blah-blah-blah."
@Gagamycock.
@Gagashoe.
@Gagabanana.
You're gonna get a million followers.
I'm on tour with The Whigs right now, and I guarantee you
Johnny crashes the New York show
high on blow asking me for a favor.
I can't believe Dulli had security
keep me from going backstage.
Wait till he sees this chick that was staring at me.
My feet hurt, and, like, 20 minutes already.
Okay, let's wrap this up. There's no girl in the blue dress, John.
Looks like you're still stuck with me.
- Or vice versa. - She had a blue dress on.
Big blue eyes. She was looking at me the whole gig.
Sure that was coke you snorted and not some household cleaning product?
There she is.
That girl?
- That's her. - What?
- My God. - Ho!
You think that girl is interested in you.
- Yeah. - Wow.
She's gorgeous.
I wish my tits still looked like that.
Maybe she thinks you're David Bowie
out on a big-ass bender.
Or David Bowie's dad.
What?
Holy shit. John.
Those vicodins I gave you... How many did you take?
- Snorted all three. - You snorted all three?
You can understand him?
I was on tour with The Pogues for nine months.
I speak Shane MacGowan.
Okay. This I got to see.
Get on over there, big boy.
Come on. Pony up.
- Yeah? - Yeah.
Okay.
Ladies and gentlemen...
My chariot awaits.
Now he's quoting the Bible.
Yeah, you're gonna need divine intervention
just to make it across the room.
- Okay. Watch this. - I'm watching.
Ten bucks says he pukes on her.
♪ ♪
♪ Flame ♪
♪ The diamond in the chain ♪
♪ Still I would... ♪
He's up.
Piece of shit.
You're an asshole.
You want proof?
All right, go. Go, go. Go.
What's the lowest thing you guys have seen me do?
Today?
Turns out that girl I was trying to slip the tongue to...
She's my daughter.
Holy shit.
So...
She's available?
Man, you go to bed one night.
You wake up... It's 25 years later.
It seems like just a few years ago
everything was sitting right in front of us.
All of our dreams just...
waiting for us to make them pop.
And then, one day, you wake up, and it's like
three decades later.
I got my mom's hands and my father's tits.
Honey, you don't have your father's tits.
30 years ago, I thought I was gonna meet David Bowie.
Instead I ended up with you.
Baby, I'm sorry.
I don't know what to say.
No, no, no, no.
I didn't mean it that way. Listen.
When we're up on that stage together
and the spotlight is shining down on us
and you're singing your newest songs
and I hear the pain and the soul in your voice,
I realize there has to be a reason.
There has to be some reason
why we haven't made it yet.
Some reason why it's taking so long
but we're still chasing these dreams.
You know what that reason is?
What?
No, I'm asking you what the reason is.
I don't know.
Shit.
You're dropping me as a client?
- Not in here. - This is bullshit, Ira.
I'm out of options, my friend. You won't play covers,
which cancels out weddings, hotel lounges, cruise ships.
- You won't sing jingles. - I'm an artist.
An unbookable artist.
You book a monkey who does balloon animals.
His name is Steve,
and he does balloon humans. That's his hook.
Steve stays, but I go.
Steve works; he's booked at birthday parties
from now until next Easter, unlike you.
John, you're 50 and you're not famous.
And you won't let other people sing your songs.
In rock and roll, you know what that makes you?
- What? - A bartender.
The dream is over.
Time to move on.
Ira, listen.
You know I can't work a regular job. I don't have the skills for that.
You got to get me a gig. I'll take anything. Come on.
There's got to be something.
Bears With Bikes needs a rhythm guitar player.
I can't play with a bunch of pretentious Indie-rock assholes.
They're four bears who ride bikes.
You play them on and offstage.
You want me to join the circus.
Summer of '69.
- What's that? A sex show? - Bryan Adams tribute band.
Their Bryan Adams left
to be the new Sting in Stung.
What, I can't be the new Sting in Stung?
Not when you look like Bryan Adams's grandfather.
Jon Non-Jovi.
Jon Non-Jovi...
What?
Their fake Sambora fired their fake Bon Jovi
because he's going bald.
For real; now, you still got a nice head of hair.
What do these assholes make for playing other people's songs?
15 to 20 grand.
- A year. - A week.
A week?
Summer of '69 is less than half that.
Still very, very nice.
All right. Bryan Adams. Non Bon Jovi.
That's all I got for you, my friend.
Okay? This is about Steve. I got to take this.
Listen.
I've never asked you for anything.
Okay, I did ask you to keep me from having a heart attack
that one time we did the pink blow from Peru...
The two times I did the pink blow from Peru...
But you got to help me out here.
I'll... I'll quit drugs.
For real this time. I swear to God.
You just... you...
You got to give me something, man.
Some kind of a sign or something.
I... I can't just be, like, a bartender
or just like a regular person. I mean, why did you give me all this talent
if I was just gonna fail?
What am I doing?
Praying to a guy I don't even really believe in.
Or a chick.
- Hey. - Okay.
What gig did Feinbaum get you?
Bryan Adams tribute band.
All right. Listen. No, honey. It sounds worse than it is.
- Okay? It could be way worse. - Really?
- Yes. - How?
- Jon Non-Jovi. Okay? - My God.
- What? - My God.
- This is it. This is what happens. - Honey...
Hacking knock-off bands after three goddamn decades.
Honey. Honey, listen to me. The Bryan Adams tribute thing
pays, like, eight grand a week,
and the Non-Jovi thing could be twice as much as that.
My God, you're actually considering this.
- Look... who's gonna know? - I'm gonna know.
- Nobody's gonna know. - Okay? I'm gonna know.
Go to hell, Johnny. Wait.
You're in a fake Bon Jovi band.
Well, guess what? You're already there.
- Honey, I just... - Hang on, you guys.
- We got company. - What do they want?
Probably money.
Yo, bitch.
If it's money you're looking for,
you're barking up the wrong friggin' tree.
So screw.
I don't need any money from you assholes. I'm rich.
I love your shoes!
- Hey! - What's going on?
I'm so sorry about kicking you in the nuts last night, Dad.
- Nah. Not a problem. - This is my friend Becky.
- Hey. - Hi.
It's our first time in New York.
How's it going?
Well, we went to the 9/11 museum at Ground Zero.
It was so awesome.
Yeah, and then we saw some famous people
- at this club downtown last night. - Yeah,
Miley Cyrus's half-sister, Brandi,
and Lindsay Lohan's mom... Deans.
Those people are not famous.
I know, right? They're beyond famous.
- They're huge. - No, the Beatles were huge.
- Yeah. - Sinatra. Paul Newman. They were huge.
What do you mean were? What happened to Paul Newman?
Paul Newman died, like, five years ago.
- The popcorn guy? - No, no. He was a chef.
Speaking of fame, that's why I'm here.
I need you to help me get famous.
- Aww. - Aww.
Famous how?
She's an unbelievable singer.
No, no, no. I'm not getting involved in some hick from Ohio's
ridiculous pipe dream... No way.
You know, my mom would never let me be in a band
or anything because she hates show business,
but she told me that once I moved out,
I could do whatever I wanted.
So this hick from Ohio moved out.
Congratulations.
And then she gave me $200,000.
- Pipe Dream. - Yes.
I can sing, but I can't write,
so I need you and Flash to write me some songs.
I don't need Flash to write 'em.
- I can write 'em on my own. - I'm sorry. Your solo album sucked.
His solo album sucked.
But the songs you guys wrote together for The Heathens were awesome.
- Plus, he's kind of famous. - Really famous.
He's not kind of famous. He's not even close.
I'm sorry, are you Gaga's new guitar player?
My God.
- Does he know Gaga? - Yeah. He does.
Does he breathe the same exalted air that she does on a daily basis?
- Yep. - Let me explain something to you, okay?
He should apologize to me because he broke up with me, not vice versa.
God, you don't have to be such a little bitch about it.
Tell Flash not to be such a bitch about it.
My God, I will pay you two grand in cash
if you go sit down with Flash.
I'll tell him myself in person.
I booked a rehearsal space, and I want to sing Animal
off the only Heathens album ever recorded.
What do you say?
Done deal. Yeah.
- Right? Cool. - Yeah.
All right. Good.
Hey, maybe Mom was wrong about you.
Why? What did she say?
She said you were a lazy, selfish pothead alcoholic
with a small dick and a death wish.
Can I talk to you alone for a sec?
Okay.
What, is this gonna be your "I'm sorry I was never there for you
because I never knew you existed blah blah blah" speech?
This is, you know, gonna be my
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you
'cause I never knew you existed
because I didn't stay in touch with your mother
and I feel bad about that."
It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.
Really?
I forgive you.
You do.
No.
You should not only feel guilty
about never knowing me,
but you should feel really, really shitty
about me growing up without a father figure
in friggin' A-hole Ohio.
So leave your feelings out of this.
I don't want to hear them. I don't need a dad.
I need a goddamn songwriter.
Flash and the entire Gaga crew
are staying at the Gansevoort,
and in case he doesn't respond to money,
because, unlike you, he actually has some,
you can show him this.
What?
You want me to be your pimp?
See? We're bonding already.
Tell him I have a thing for him.
Do you have a thing for him?
I have your number.
I'll text it to you.
You...
Thank you, Daddy.
Come on, Becky. Let's go.
Bye, girls! I'll text you! Bye!
- See you later, Mr. Rock! - Yeah.
That's my girl.
What if she can't really sing?
Well, then we do what's best for everybody involved.
Send her back to her mom?
No.
String her along until the money runs out.
Hey.
How you guys doing?
- Move. Move. - Move it!
- Move out of the way! - Move!
- What? - Brody. Brody.
Brody. Brody, here. Here. Brody!
Who's that guy?
Bruce Jenner's son Brody.
What?
World-renowned club DJ.
That's the guy you guys are taking photos of?
That douchebag?
The only reason his whole family's famous
is because his fat-ass half sister
is good at sucking celebrity dick.
I mean, seriously. That's her talent.
Google "Kim Kardashian blowjobs,"
'cause you know how many entries come up?
481,000.
That's what I read in the paper.
I mean, is that what it takes to be famous nowadays?
Sucking semi-famous penis?
'Cause if it is, sign me up.
I'll suck Bruce Jenner's cock
right here in front of the Gansevoort Hotel.
That's if he still has one.
I'm serious. I want to blow Bruce Jenner.
What? What?
What? Let me go. Hey.
Freedom of speech. I can say whatever I want.
Hey, man. I got him.
You want to blow Bruce Jenner?
I can explain what happened.
I... I can't explain what happened.
I am not lending you any money.
Who said anything about money?
I talked to Dulli this morning.
We're not getting the band back together either.
Listen. Okay, listen. That's not.
I just want to have a conversation.
Hey! Hey! Hey! Hello. Hey!
You're the guitar player!
We loved the show last night.
- Can you sign my tit? - Sure.
She wants to be a singer just like Gaga,
and she's really, really, really talented
and she's 19, so she's legal,
if you're interested.
- Right, honey? - Yeah.
Are you anybody?
You never heard of Johnny Rock, girls?
No.
Hey! There goes Gaga.
Go, go, go, go.
Are you shitting me?
What do you want, John?
Small favor.
Doesn't involve any money from you.
I'm never playing with you again.
As in never ever, asshole.
Listen. You owe me.
I was the one that said, "Hey, let's start a band
together," and then I was the guy that said,
once we had the band, "Hey, let's start writing
some songs together," so when you think
about it, you wouldn't be sitting here
in this plush limo today without me.
You sound like my ex-wife.
I was with you for twice as long as she was.
And I gave you that really nice skull-and-crossbone ring.
- Not her. - Who gives a shit?
- I give a shit. - We're grown men now.
And I'm playing in Gaga's band in spite of you
'cause you held me back all those years.
- I held you back. - Your ego.
And your rock-and-roll destructive bullshit ways.
- Okay. Whatever. - You still doing blow?
No, I'm not doing blow. I haven't done blow in ages.
'Cause you quit, or you can't afford it?
Flash...
this isn't about drugs.
I'm talking about a different high.
A connection between me and you, man.
When we were working together, man,
live on stage, our vibe was killer, dude.
Just the two of us. Wide awake.
We were taking our emotions...
Not Gaga's, not Jon Bon Jovi's
or anybody... Our emotions, man,
and our angst and whatever we were feeling
and we were throwing it into the amps,
and it was coming back out genius stuff.
Remember when the record came out
and the guy from Rolling Stone
wrote that early review
and he called you the wizard spawn
of Pete Townshend and The Edge?
We were so happy. That's what I'm talking about.
When we were making people dance and scream
and changing their lives, man.
That's the drug I'm after, dude.
That's... that's the high I want.
Me too, Johnny.
I mean, I'll do some drugs, if you have some.
Not blow, but, like, prescription stuff.
- Get out. Get out! - Okay. Okay.
Let me explain the favor thing.
Cat, when she went to Ohio... turns out,
long story short, she was pregnant by me.
She never told me and now I have a daughter
and she's here and she's 25 years old and she thinks she can sing.
She rented the big room at SIR tomorrow at 10:00
and she's paying me and Bam Bam and Rehab to be there
and we really need the money, man,
and it doesn't cost you a dime.
- All you got to do is show up. - Let me think about it. No.
Come on. They need the bread. I need the bread.
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
What?
Never mind.
- What do you got there? - No. No, no, no, no. Give me.
Holy shit. Is that her?
No, that's not her. That's... that's a guy.
That's the lead singer. Remember chicks with dicks?
- She a Gaga fan? - No.
- She hates Gaga. - I'm in. I'm way in.
She's too young for you, man. Give it to me.
You just saw me sign the tit of a 19-year-old.
See you tomorrow at 10:00.
Payback's a bitch.
Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.
We don't have a lot of time, and I got a couple things
I want to say, so I don't want to be interrupting.
What?
Listen, this probably isn't gonna take very long,
'cause like you, I'm assuming
that Gigi's not exactly the real deal,
but let's look at the bright side.
We can get a nice little jam session in
on her dime after she's done,
but I want to lay down a couple hard-and-fast rules.
Number one: nobody sleeps with my daughter.
Number two: nobody sleeps with my daughter.
And number three: sleep with my daughter,
I pull off your fingers with a socket wrench.
Well, forget that, 'cause Bam Bam told us
you already tried to bang her two nights ago.
That was before I knew she was my daughter, okay?
I thought she was just a hot chick with a great-looking...
No looking at her ass, by the way. Or her tits.
Matter of fact, that word's out when she's in here.
- What word? Ass or tits? - Both, all right?
What about rack?
Why would rack be okay?
Puppies. She's got a great set of puppies.
Swear to God. Stop right now.
- Beams. - Guns.
- Grenades. - Guys.
- Cadillacs. - Apples.
Hey! No more nicknames for my daughter's...
Chesticles?
Chest area. Okay?
Enough. God.
What about her pussy?
What?
Like, if she has a camel toe,
may we say "camel toe"?
Or CT?
No camel toe. No CT. Okay?
How do we refer to it, then?
My daughter doesn't have a pussy, okay?
She has a vagina, which is off-limits
to each and every one of you, all right?
Well, Johnny, you should've thought of that
25 years ago, when you were banging our chicks.
Really, guys?
Can we not just put the past where it belongs?
It was a quarter of a century ago.
- Of course we can, John. - Thank you.
But we're still gonna need a code word for your daughter's pussy.
Muff.
Muff is not a code word, asshole.
- They know what that means. - No, they do not.
Absolutely they do.
Like you're some kind of pussy-code-word genius.
Actually, I am.
- How 'bout pooch? - I like that.
- It's Italian. - Well, it's American.
In Ireland, they say Gee.
- No, we're not... listen. - Ooh, you're Irish.
- That means her vag is Irish. - Okay.
And nobody's looking at her...
puppies.
What the hell are we gonna look at, then?
How 'bout her face, asshole, okay?
Ever heard of eye contact?
Assholes?
Ooh, she does have adorable eyes.
No eye contact. There's no eye contact.
I vote "pooch."
Well, it sounds so soft and fluffy.
Here's the deal, though.
My pooch is not really up for grabs,
and, knowing myself as well as I do,
I'm probably gonna sleep with Flash
because, well, he's not bald.
And he's not the bass player.
Plus, he's got this Slash-meets-Joe Perry
Elder Statesman rock god kind of thing going on,
which the rest of you absolutely do not.
What are you doing here?
I invited him.
I'm gonna need a manager once the music world gets a load of me.
So are we gonna sing or what?
Animal in E.
One, two, three.
♪ If I didn't want you ♪
♪ Would I cry your name out loud? ♪
♪ Cursing as I wander ♪
♪ Into this manic crowd ♪
♪ And if I didn't need you ♪
♪ Why do you run right through my veins ♪
♪ Savage and so dangerous ♪
♪ You linger and remain ♪
♪ And if I didn't want you ♪
♪ Would I arrive outside your door? ♪
♪ Bent but still unbroken, babe ♪
♪ Crying out for more ♪
♪ More, more ♪
♪ Ooh, more ♪
♪ More ♪
♪ I'm an animal ♪
♪ Ooh, yeah ♪
♪ Yeah ♪
♪ Ooh, you are, yeah ♪
♪ Yeah ♪ ♪ Yeah ♪
Shit.
♪ ♪
♪ Ooh, baby ♪
- Sync and Corrections by peterbrito - - www.addic7ed.com -