Motley Crue Icon Takes Brutal Shot At Kurt Cobain Family


As Alternative Nation reported yesterday, Kurt Cobain’s widow Courtney Love unloaded on the Motley Crue biopic ‘The Dirt’ in a new interview, calling the film ‘stupid and vile about women.’

Motley Crue drummer Tommy Lee doesn’t seem to think there will be a film, responding, “Hey Courtney, when’s your movie coming out? Oh wait…. Never!!!!!

Lee doesn’t appear to think a Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love biopic about their tragic relationship is coming anytime soon.

Love said about The Dirt, “I recently had three girlfriends over and we sat on my epic Majorelle art nouveau bed. My Rolfer came over to do his thing. We don’t call it massage—they get so pissed off, the Rolfers do. He does deep tissue bodywork on ladies. We watched the dumbest Netflix film ever called The Dirt [a biopic about the band Mötley Crüe]. It’s so stupid and vile about women, and just fucking dumb.

It was super fun to groan together. We had jasmine tea. We all got our bodies worked on and watched this white rapper named Machine Gun Kelly, and we just made jokes. I was like, ‘When’s Ozzy [Osbourne] gonna snort the ant?’ Then, within seconds, he snorted the ant. Then the Nikki Sixx character was like, ‘I have a new girlfriend. She’s sweet. She’s wonderful.’ I was like, ‘And her name is heroin.’ Two seconds later: ‘Her name is heroin.’ I was killing it.”

Courtney is referring to a scene in ‘The Dirt’ where Ozzy Osbourne snorts ants.

In a new Page Six interview, Motley Crue bassist Nikki Sixx was asked if the rumors are true that legendary Black Sabbath frontman Ozzy Osbourne snorted ants in front of him.

“Of course, of course. We were a wild young band, and he kind of took us under his wing, and we thought we could compete with that, but you can’t with Ozzy. He won.”

The story was featured in the Motley Crue book The Dirt.

“I handed him the straw, and he walked over to a crack in the sidewalk and bent over it. I saw a long column of ants, marching to a little dugout built where the pavement met the dirt. And as I thought, ‘No, he wouldn’t,’ he did. He put the straw to his nose and, with his bare white ass peeking out from under the dress like a sliced honeydew, sent the entire line of ants tickling up his nose with a single, monstrous snort.

He stood up, reared back his head, and concluded with a powerful rightnostriled sniff that probably sent a stray ant or two dripping down his throat. Then he hiked up the sundress, grabbed his dick, and pissed on the pavement. Without even looking at his growing audience–everyone on the tour was watching him while the old women and families on the pool deck were pretending not to–he knelt down and, getting the dress soggy in the puddle, lapped it up. He didn’t just flick it with his tongue, he took a half-dozen long, lingering, and thorough strokes, like a cat. Then he stood up and, eyes blazing and mouth wet with urine, looked straight at me. ‘Do that, Sixx!'”