B004FEF6RO EBOK

by Wylde, Zakk

  Mongoose: Follow him, just like in animal house when Stork led the band down the dead end alley. Idiots!!!

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS OUR*TRUE**LORD**OF*METAL! A*LEGEND! #ZAKKWYLDEBLS

  Blond Bomber: “LORD”, “LEGEND”-care to add to this list my Black Label brethren?? :)xo

  Mongoose: Yep – “Lord Lesion”.

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS Thanks for answering me! You are the guy.

  Blond Bomber: I am quite “THE GUY” don’t ya think, Goose?? :)xo

  Mongoose: Quite the gay guy … not that there’s anything wrong with that!

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS You’re good at doing everything you want! You can be a great Comedian! … You’re a great Comedian! =)

  Blond Bomber: I notice whenever you’re around me you are always smiling!!!! :)xo

  Mongoose: You are pretty funny! Just look at ya!!

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS Huge fan of your work here. Haven’t taken Order Of The Black out of my truck cd player- going on 3 months now. Lol!

  Blond Bomber: He likes it!!!! :)xo

  Mongoose: Mind you, he hasn’t turned on his cd player.

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS Just wanted to say you are fuckin’ amazing and a huge inspiration! Thanks for being awesome:)

  Blond Bomber: I do exude Awesomeness. Don’t ya think buddy?? :)xo

  Mongoose: Boresomeness!!

  Tweet: Randy Rhoads, Eddie Van Halen, and @ZakkWyldeBLS are overrated??? #yeahright

  Blond Bomber: Did you write this buddy??? :)xo

  Mongoose: There’s only one overrated douche on this list. Care to guess?

  Tweet (from a Twitter name with a John Lennon reference): @ZakkWyldeBLS ZAKK WYLDE! You are the best guitar player, man!!

  Blond Bomber: Amazing!!! A Beatle thinks this of me!!! Thoughts??? :)xo

  Mongoose: Seeing as how he’s been dead for 30 years, I don t think he is thinking too clearly!

  Tweet: You are nothin’ special, you act like a fuckin’ kid and got daaaamn lucky. You’re not superman, so shut the fuck up!!

  Blond Bomber: Did you write this silly???!! :)xo

  Mongoose: No, but he’s dead on!

  Tweet: I’m going crazy right now listening to @ZakkWyldeBLS stuff!! Oh man, he’s one of the best fucking guitar players of all time!! Big Influence!

  Blond Bomber: Just wondering buddy - How much do you listen to “Your” Buddy in the morning?? The Blond Bomber :)xo

  Mongoose: Only when I’m on the toilet bowl, to gimme that extra push!!!

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS The world becomes more influenced by the iconic Zakk Wylde when I have to fill them in on what I’m listening to. † GIFD †

  Blond Bomber: And this is just my Bowel Movements!!! Some guys have all the luck and some guys have all the pain!!!! :)xo

  Mongoose: Living with you - guess which one I have?

  Tweet: @OfficialOzzy @ZakkWyldeBLS No More Tears (Album) is the soundtrack of my life. Thanks Mr. Ozzy and Mr. Zakk Fuckin’ Wylde.

  Blond Bomber: It is Quite the Soundtrack I might add… Don’t you agree JDiesel?? :)xo

  Mongoose: I haven’t heard any Ozzy since Diary!! Was it good?

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS Thanks for the inspiration, boss. I’m gonna learn this Les Paul inside and out because of you. TBLO. God Bless.

  Blond Bomber: ZAKK WYLDE-Not only an All-Around Good Guy, but an “INSPIRATION” as well....:)xo

  Mongoose: Now you’re self-imposing “all around good guy?” That’s up for debate.

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS you are my biggest influence to become a Heavy Metal Singer one day. I am just an amateur for now. You are the man Zakk Wylde!!!

  Blond Bomber: In order to be the “MAN”, you gotta beat “THE MAN”!!!! whooooooo!!!!! :)xo

  Mongoose: In this case that won’t be hard.

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS is a fucking rock god. #allimsaying

  Blond Bomber: You already know this but I thought you’d like to see this tweet buddy … :)xo

  Mongoose: A fucking cock gobbler?

  Tweet: The fact that @ZakkWyldeBLS adds smileys to his tweets only adds to his badass factor :)

  Blond Bomber: I am quite the “BADASS,” ain’t I, Goose?? :)xo

  Mongoose: You’re just an ass.

  Tweet: @ZakkWyldeBLS wearing my Wylde shirt and have had 6 people tell me how much they love you. Chicago misses you.

  Blond Bomber: Want me to get you one Buddy?? You LOVE ME don’t you JDiesel??? :)xo

  Mongoose: I have one. I use it to wipe up the leakage from the garbage can outside my house. You know I love ya boss!!!

  After this cover came out, Vito said to me, “You couldn’t do the cover all by yourself, could ya?” I said, “Yeah, but at least I’m in a band that plays cool fucking music. And who’s got the biggest picture? Go fuck yourself, douche.”

  One of my prize possessions—my Randy Rhoads pinstripe concord made by Father Shannon, who made Randy’s original. Mrs. Rhoads signed the back of the headstock. Love you, Mom!

  Dime rules! Nuff said.

  As always, we had a cool day with the gang down at Guitar World. Alexi is a cool kid and an amazing player. His publicist asked if it was okay if Alexi drank during the photo shoot, knowing that I don’t drink anymore. I said, “No problem, I just smoked some crack-cocaine and mainlined some heroin.” I enjoy my Shirley Temples as well. But when I’m around the guys, I only drink the Roy Rogers. ’Cause I’m a Baaaaad Man!

  From the Desk of John DeServio

  DEAR READERS, FANS, AND BERZERKERS WORLDWIDE,

  This is John DeServio. Not JDesus, not Meatball Lasagna, not the Italian Stallion—it’s JD, bitches. Let me tell you a little something about this self-proclaimed “Viking Berzerker” whom you all have come to know as one Zakk Wylde. First off I’m going to let you know that you’ve completely wasted your time and money on his thoughtless book, which is full of countless self-appreciative (and overexagger-ated) tales. I guess he’s still trying to prove to himself that he has actually added some kind of value to the universe and that people really do want to hear what he has to say.

  He calls himself the Fiihrer, the Great One, Sweetness. What the fuck? You think he makes this shit up himself? No chance. He basically steals nicknames from everyone else he knows and then regifts them to himself. Well, we, the members of the band and Doom Crew, have given him a few titles of our own over the years!!

  Douchebag—A perfect blend of jerk and asshole, reflecting that his overinflated ego, combined with his extremely low IQ, causes frequent maladaptive behavior.

  The Vortex—A complete disaster where time stops altogether, absorbed by the infinite abyss created by his delusions of greatness.

  Nothin’ for Nothin’—I’m not even sure what the fuck this means, but he starts every sentence with it as if it gives credibility to everything he says… Asin“Nothin’ for nothin’, my calves are much beefier and sexier than that guy’s.” As he points to one of his almost-naked-man magazines.

  This is a guy who grew up in fucking New Jersey but proclaims his love for NYC (mostly Christopher Street). We’re talking major identity crisis here. He doesn’t even go by his real name anymore. Wikipedia says his birth name was Jeffrey Wielandt, before Ozzy made him change it to Zakk Wylde. But I’m here to testify that this is a farce. When we were in grade school, Zakk’s real name was Stewart McNutsac, or as the schoolkids called him, Stewie Nutsack.

  That’s actually the reason he got so good on the guitar. You see, I used to have to save his ass from a daily playground beat-down. And after school I would walk him home to make sure he didn’t get jumped along the way. Stewie would run up to his room, lock the door, and after crying himself out, he’d pick up his guitar and practice for the rest of the day. He was terrified to leave the house for fear of receiving another ass-whoopin’, and that’s why he was able to put so much time into his playing. While the rest of us were out in the streets playing baseball and hockey, he honed his skills on his axe. I guess I don’t blame him; it was far less dange
rous for him to wiggle his fingers around for six hours than to face the wrath of New Jersey street kids.

  The Order of the Black album was supposed to be my band Cycle of Pain’s next record. Instead, the cocksucker drew me in by tantalizing me with a “co-producer” or “associate producer” credit. By the time we got into recording I began to refer to myself as the disassociate producer. I mean, do I really want to associate myself with a complete wanker like this? Anyway, he suckered me in. I soon started to realize that every riff I had already recorded and mixed for my album had mysteriously found its way off my computer and ended up being released as the new Black Label record. I’d like to see him do that to Zeppelin (who did that to Robert Johnson) … Oh wait, he already did! The phrase void of originality is a complete understatement when talking about this prick.

  Never mind the platinum albums, the Grammy, and all the other musical accolades this dipshit has piled up. My scumbag brother’s actual crowning achievements in life are: not showering for seventy-seven days and being told by David Lee Roth, “Get the fuck off my stage!” while Zakk strutted around wearing George Lynch’s wife’s high heels (he still hasn’t returned her kicks and proudly wears them whenever he works out in the Black Label gym).

  And it’s not only his music that makes me want to puke. Zakk’s love for testosterone has led him to many horse stables around the country, a few bathhouses, and a plethora of same-sex marriage rallies. What kind of man plasters his own gym with oversized photos of nearly naked, muscle-bound men? Zakk does. I mean, if I’m in the gym getting my lift on, the last thing I want to see is another man’s steroidal gluteus maximus tightly wrapped in a banana hammock. I also find it disturbing that he leaves his muscle magazines around the tour bus, as if he is trying to lure others to peek over the homoerotic hedge alongside him. Strength in numbers, as he always says.

  Zakk has never been sick a day in his life. He’s what we call a “carrier.” His mere presence has caused SARS, dengue fever, the bird flu, and even some bad cases of gingivitis (don’t ask me how he spread the swine flu …“Squeal like a pig, boyeee!!!”). Why do ya think I have three crucifixes on me at all times? Just being in the same room as this guy causes my immune system to weaken and bodily fluids to begin seeping out.

  Why do you think I smoke so much weed? It’s to keep my sanity in a world of Zakk preaching how incredible he believes he is. And just for the record, it’s herb, not crack!! Every crack that I’ve ever sniffed smelled like shit! But Zakk seems to like to talk about crack, and for that matter ass, a little too much for my liking.

  What can I say about my brother that hasn’t already been said by millions around the globe? He’s in a talentless hack, a repetition in redundancy, “Bombo the Clown”—and these are what his closest relatives and loved ones call him!!! Despite everything we’ve been through though, I still love him like a brother. He’s the Tom Hagen of the DeServio family. Well, he and his Irish Coalition brother Rob, and any other drunken Mick we find along the way. It’s no surprise though; the Italians have had to keep the Irish in line for years now, so we’re used to it.

  And while I’m on the topic of douchebags, meaning talking about Zakk, let me tell you a little bit about Zakk’s “coauthor,” Eric Hendrikx. Here’s a guy who can barely manage a legible text message. His writing is so bad that it only makes sense for him to pair up with an illiterate like Zakk to do a book about shitting and puking on the road. Seriously, guys, how much talk about excrement do you need to put into a book to get your point across? Hendrikx needs to have his head checked because I’m sure he has some sort of fecal fetish going on. I’ve heard rumors that he looks in the toilet bowl to see what kind of animal shape his dumps fall into. Who the fuck does that? His next book is probably going to be a how-to guide for stuffing Play-Doh up your ass and squeezing it out into the shape of a giraffe. This boy is not right in the head and he is completely unsafe to be around. I don’t like him on the tour bus with us either. I can’t sleep knowing that his disturbed mind is on board. I sleep with one eye open and my ass cheeks pressed firmly into the mattress.

  Order of the Black

  We all know that my bass playing is the foundation for Black Label Society’s heavy sound. I’m the mothafuckin’ heart and soul of the band. I keep the band in time, lay down the fat rhythms that everybody grooves to, and keep Zakk from sticking a spoon into his own eye while he’s eating. Zakk plays guitar to my rhythms; I don’t play to his leads. Oh, and in the studio, you think he’s coming up with all that shit on his own? Think again, buddy. If Zakk were left alone in the studio to make a record, he’d come out with finger paintings and a copped version of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” squeaked out in a series of Auto-Tuned farts!

  Oh, and just so you know … after these two jag-off s’feeble attempt at reaming me in their futile book, they offered me a back-of-the-book rebuttal. But in fear that my prose would dominate their own, I was given only two words to defend myself. How is it even possible to defend yourself in two words? So instead I directly contacted their editor, Matthew Benjamin, over at HarperCollins, who gave me a legitimate platform to defend myself, and without the consent of the aforementioned shitbirds. Thanks, Matthew!

  Still want those two words for your book, fellas? Here they are… SUCK IT!

  Thank you, bitches.

  I Remain,

  John “JD” DeServio

  Order of the Black

  Cycle of Pain

  †WEED†

  Photo Insert

  With Jeff “The Grimm Cracker” Graham, Black Label Special Ops, and the legendary Billy “F” Gibbons, from whom I stole all my pinch harmonics and the beard. Thanks, Father Gibbons. You rule!

  Me and JD—TV shopping with Meatball Lasagna. If I could somehow get all those TVs to continuously show footage of me, I’d never have to worry about seeing JD again.

  JD, me, and Adam Klumpp, the Black Label engineer extraordinaire as well as our favorite Irish Catholic rabbi.

  Dime, the boys, and me. Playing “In This River”—Dime’s song.

  Me, looking up to my savior, Jesus Christ, knowing that his eternal shield of strength protects me from all that is evil, since JD is standing just to my right.

  My guitar solo—one of the highlights of the show, not so much my playing but the opportunity it presents for everybody to gather at JD’s Bar and Grill. People hang out over at his side of the stage, drinking and having a good time while JD picks up some guy to have sex with after Black Label Mass.

  Rockline Radio with JD, Nick, Father Bob Coburn, me, and Will Hunt.

  Phil Ciulo of Black Label Special Ops, me, Father Leslie West, and Mark “Field General” Ferguson. As Leslie says, he’s my father, but neither of us has any idea who my mother is.

  Z-Man and the Cracker, Black Libre Society—a tag team of Doom.

  Hanging with Father Jericho and my Black Label brethren at Ozzfest. Everyone is having a great time and drinking adult beverages except for me, the pussy with a Shirley Temple.

  Ozzy’s birthday. After a couple of cocktails, wearing a dress sounded like a great idea.

  JD’s surprise birthday party. And, man, was he surprised when Father Fergie yelled, “Open fire!”

  Father Bubba and me backstage. I’m about to play the national anthem for a TNA Wrestling event.

  Playing the national anthem, also displaying that I wear Secret deodorant—Strong enough for a man but made for a woman. I prefer to say, “Strong enough for a guy who likes eating pussy but made for a woman who likes sucking cock.”

  We had a good run, old friend.

  Father Dime, me, and Father King on August 8, 2004, at the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion in Houston, Texas. Father Dime gave me the posters of our hero, Saint Rhoads, in the background, and they still reside in my music room at the compound.

  October 31, 2009—Times Square, New York City. Several minutes after this photo was taken, Eric and I were beaten up by a bunch of senior citizens who took Eric’s wallet a
nd my guitar, and they hurt our Black Label feelings. I fully believe in taking care of our elders, but after being on the receiving end of this ass-whooping, I found myself questioning this belief. What are they getting in Medicare packages these days—STEROIDS??? I mean they beat the living fuck out of us!

  On top of Valhalla Mountain on the grounds of the Black Vatican.

  About the Authors

  ZAKK WYLDE resides atop a mountain on the outskirts of Los Angeles, California, with his wife, Barbaranne, and their daughter, Hayley Rae, and two sons, Jesse John Michael and Hendrix. When he’s not out on the Black Label Crusade, Zakk spends his days at home trying to convince his family that the year is AD 912 and that his mountain is Valhalla.

  www.zakkwylde.com

  www.blacklabelsociety.com

  Follow Zakk on Twitter: @ZakkWyldeBLS

  Writer and photographer ERIC HENDRIKX is a notable contributor to more than ten books, including the New York Times bestsellers Got Fight?: The 50 Zen Principles of Hand-to-Face Combat and Be Ready When the Sh*t Goes Down: A Survival Guide to the Apocalypse (both HarperCollins). Eric lives in Southern California with his son, Stone.

  www.erichendrikx.com

  Follow Eric on Twitter: @EricHendrikx

  15 † 15 † 20 † 2

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  ON THE COVER: The spiked wristband I’m wearing on the cover of this book was a gift for my thirty-ninth birthday from my good friend and Black Label brother Kerry King, a true Berzerker who also calls upon the OdinForce of Valhalla to forge the Metal for his band, Slayer.