In 2019 I broke the Hollywood “dude-bro code” by publishing these two blogs. For those who got their panties-in-a-wad, I have made no revelations or accusations in my posts. Zero! Every dastardly deed spoken of in the following blog was common knowledge from 1987 onward. It is a fact that for a decade GNR actively promoted its outlaw lifestyle. Time passed and folks forgot. So I sent Duff a reminder, then consolidated two into one while updating razcue.com

On June 29, 2019, I posted:

An Open Letter to Duff McKagan

Hello Duff, Raz Cue here. How’s it going, buddy? Long time! First, let me say, your fans have been warm and supportive of my book. For that, I am forever thankful. It was fun while it lasted.

I feel compelled to ask you a few questions. Remember, not too long ago, when you said this?

“I’m sure stuff was going on, Harvey Weinstein stuff and all that, but we hated that! If we saw that stuff going on around us, we didn’t allow it to happen around us. We were still good dudes,” he says. “None of our friends said, ‘Grab her by the p****.’ You know what I mean? Who would say something like that? And I don’t mean to be political against the dude who said that; it’s just an idiotic, stupid thing to say, for any man. And that’s the way I’ve always thought. So ’80s, or now — I could’ve written ‘Last September’ in the ’80s.”

Duff McKagan 2019

C’mon man, seriously? You can’t utter such absurdities and expect to go unchallenged. The hypocrisy coming from someone who is a member in good standing of your cesspool of an industry means I am compelled to call bullshit on this one.

You had a heroin dealer in your band. Still consider that the profession of a “good dude?”

Is it okay to make light of domestic abuse, but not to poke fun at that certain type of women who has so little self-respect that she’ll let a famous rich dude do whatever he wants?

Remember that song your band did, about killing one’s girlfriend to shut her up? According to the lyrics, we were told to “take it for what it is.” A joke. Is it okay to make light of domestic abuse, but not to poke fun at that certain type of woman who has so little self-respect that she’ll let a famous rich dude do whatever he wants? You ever meet any women who fit that description? More than one? A thousand?

What about all the credible allegations of abuse, mental, physical, and sexual, that have been leveled against your singer, by several women in his life?

Are you familiar with the #littlemichellelives thing going around? We all knew Michelle was fifteen. Hell, she barely looked her age. Forcible or statutory, you still got a rape. We can all agree that there are different, conflicting versions of what transpired in December 1985. But every version has a fifteen-year-old girl getting tossed naked from your band’s rehearsal studio into a filthy alley, where she was left shaking, sobbing, and wailing from the utter brutality inflicted by your singer, Axl Rose. Does a “good dude” treat another human being like this? Do the other “good dudes” help hide the perpetrator of crimes against a child, then aid in a coverup so that everyone’s dreams of becoming rock stars won’t get smashed? How would your life have changed if your singer got thrown in the pokey before GNR signed a recording contract?

Do you wish the victim would just shut up and go away, so as to not interrupt your virtue-signaling? Does it annoy you that she was scarred for life? Do you feel pestered by her seeking some sort of acknowledgment, apology, or even gratitude for “taking one for the team” so that you guys could live your dreams? I know, what a little bitch. Right?

Personally, I am sick and tired of being preached to about acceptable morals and virtue by the narcissistic, privileged, and dimwitted members of the entertainment industry who have celebrated, amplified, and cheered our country’s moral and spiritual decay.

The perpetually offended shaming whoever does not conform to the politically correct acceptable do’s and don’ts is not a healthy construct.

I miss being able to freely and openly joke around about anything my twisted brain finds amusing. Sadly, our culture has been hijacked by arbiters of outrage. The perpetually offended shaming whoever does not conform to the politically correct acceptable do’s and don’ts is not a healthy construct. If laughter is the best medicine, then why are we cutting off the supply?

Donald Trump cracks me up almost every day. He without a doubt is the most punk rock anti-establishment president in our great nation’s history? We “The Deplorables” knowingly and eagerly elected a disrupter and outsider to deliver a magnitude 8.0 shakeup to the corrupt, inefficient and power-mad “Swamp.” I’m a proud ULTRA MAGA!

Right on, take care, and tell Axl I said “Hey.”

After a couple of phone calls to three different people who were there (Sunset at Gardner rehearsal studio) that night, and wracking my brain, on July 2, 2019, I posted:

I Got it Wrong in My Book

Before my fifteen minutes is up, won’t you allow me a few points of clarification on my open letter to Duff? First, I have never brought politics to my book’s page, and very rarely on my personal page. Neither have I ever openly stated support for any political party or politician. I will never again bring politics to my public pages.

But this begs the question: How does one respond to a political attack, which Duff clearly was doing, without being political?

I admit I was quite exuberant in my response. For this, I humbly apologize to Michelle, her friends, and everyone else dismayed by my hijacking her issue to pontificate as I did. Especially if it made my calling out of utter hypocrisy lose credibility to many.

I am speaking out again to confess that I got it absolutely wrong in my book. Several of you have highlighted the contradiction. I became aware of the issue shortly after my book’s release when friends from back in the day pointed out my inaccurate account. Soon, Michelle herself contacted me to ask if the “Dio Boots” story was about her. We had a friendly Facebook chat, and she told me her side. Which I had never heard, due to her never visiting the Gardner studios after the incident.

I apologized to her and promised to take that untrue story from the book, upon the next printing. But I was afraid to publicly admit it. Or even acknowledge it, believing that I would lose credibility with my audience if it was revealed that I made a factual error.

But after Duff spoke out, it started gnawing on me. Then I read Michelle’s #littlemichellelives recounting of her ordeal, and I couldn’t just keep ignoring the voice in my ear, screaming at me to do the right thing by publicly acknowledging my error.

You see, while working on later drafts of my memoir, I consciously removed all events that I had not seen with my own two eyes. And any stories having to deal with girls that were in the mix at the time.

So, how did this incorrect story make the final draft? Well, I inadvertently blended two incidents, combined with disinformation fed to me at the time. Mix that all together with thirty years passing, and voila – fiction.

He came in the house and straight off told me, “Axl’s such an idiot, he banged that chick Michelle, then she wouldn’t leave.”

The first incident was Michelle’s ordeal. The night that happened, I only heard reports from my brother, who was GNR’s stage manager and piss boy. He came in the house and straight off told me, “Axl’s such an idiot, he banged that chick Michelle, then she wouldn’t leave.” So he tossed her out naked and threw her clothes at her and locked the door. I heard this CYA story the night it happened because my brother lived at my house.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, to what I witnessed. A scruffy hippie chick, the one called “Dio Boots,” wandered down the alley entered the studio, and started tossing gear around. She was promptly removed and helped back out to the street.

About twenty minutes later, she returned with a few uniformed L.A.P.D officers that she had flagged down on Sunset Blvd, claiming that Axl had tried raping her. Axl wasn’t there and hadn’t been there. She wasn’t very credible. I spoke with the cops, telling them that she had been stalking Axl for at least a year, which I knew of. The cops seemed satisfied, and left, insisting that “Dio Boots” leave with them.

Then the next night, or the one after, I showed up to the studio about twenty minutes after Dizzy had been arrested, the cops mistaking him for Axl. I just assumed it was related to the “Dio Boots” babe. So, that’s how I told it in my book. I should have left it out entirely, but instead, I gave an incorrect account that served to offer an alibi against allegations of brutality. Maybe I was subconsciously trying to kiss Axl’s ass. Who knows?

From reading message board posts discussing this event, people seem married to a notion that Michelle’s presence around GNR was a one-time occurrence, during the debauchery of an 80’s late-night party. Then at some point, after being rejected, she cried rape.

In fact, Michelle was around the studio most of the time. She was a cute kid, pleasant, and into much of the same music that I dug. I tried a few times to convince her that a wolf’s den was no place for a little girl to hang out. But her mom was cool with her being around, and her mom’s boyfriend was a musician who spent time in an adjacent studio, so I felt she had some kind of safety net nearby. Plus, she was a somewhat streetwise and savvy youngster.

Another point overlooked, or disregarded by many, she never went to the cops to report the evil mean wicked, and nasty things that were done to her. That was her mother’s doing, upon finding out two weeks after the event. Subsequently, Michelle begged and pleaded with her mother to not have Axl jailed, even refusing to testify or tell her story to detectives.

I believe most of Michelle’s story and find the rest of it possible.

After talking with several people with firsthand knowledge of the events, combined with the facts that I know. I believe most of Michelle’s story and find the rest of it possible. I asked Michelle what she hoped to achieve by publicizing all this right now. In my own words, this is the feeling she expressed.

Imagine you have a dear friend, on their deathbed, and without a new kidney, they will surely die within days. You selflessly donate one of yours. Within weeks, your friend has made a full recovery and is once again happy and healthy. But then, not too long after giving a part of yourself to another, they win a half-billion-dollar lottery prize. Then they ghost you. You’re left in the rearview, while they’re throwing massive parties, traveling the world, buying mansions and fast cars. Never once offering, acknowledgment, gratitude, or even taking you along for even a little bit of their spectacular trip. She kind of feels like that sucker who gave up a kidney to an ingrate!