See: Crazy From the Heat: Part One

When David Lee Roth loosed his autobiography, Crazy From the Heat, upon the world last year, he set aside one full page to thank his editor, Paul Scanlon, who cut the Diamond One's opus down from a whopping 1,200 pages to a mere 403.

Surely, this was one of the great intellectual losses of the 20th century - until now. GettingIt heard that Diamond Dave was hard up these days, so we offered him a case of bourbon whiskey, a crate of papayas, and a one-legged Nepali whore in exchange for his old PC. Dave took us up on the deal, and after scouring his hard drive, we are proud to present the lost chapters of Crazy From the Heat.

It's no secret, I like all kinds of women. Big ones, small ones, broads with faint moustaches and varicose veins; girls from Turkey, Guam and the not quite Virgin Islands. If you laid all of the women I've laid end to end (not necessarily the back end although that's a place to start) you could go around the block and still not find an albino in the whole bunch. Try that at an Indigo Girls show. And speaking of lesbians, I'm the one that converted Hillary Clinton to the "other side." Now she goes weeks without shaving her armpits and Chelsea's afraid to bring home the Stanford softball team for a glass of warm milk. Just doing my part for National Security.

Lesbos always liked me, I guess because I'm in touch with my feminine side. That's the side that likes pretty flowers and new hats and stuff. I figure, a man is just a woman with a little more brainpower, y'know, and life is too damn short not to double up every once in a while.

So we're playing this hall out in Idaho -- The Boise Milkdome or something -- and these two young ladies tell me they want to make a Dave sandwich and would I consent to being the meat by-product. Now, I've been all around this great big world and I've seen all kinds of girls, so I said sure, no problemo. Lose the dress but keep the shoes.

Well, one thing led to another, led to another, and another and pretty soon the whole room is full of corn-fed teenagers groping and carrying on with reckless abandon and me like the proverbial bottom feeder pinned at the bottom of the pile. About three hours later I'm on my ninth cigarette when this pushy little tart saunters up and presents me with a bill for the evening's festivities. $45,000 and an extra charge for the whipped cream. Turns out the whole party was put on by Heidi Fleiss and Rob Lowe's been filming it through a two-way mirror fixed to the ceiling and now they just need some close-ups for the Dutch TV version. I guess I bring a little bit of Hollywood with me wherever I go.

The royal couple had only been married for a couple of weeks when Van Halen toured the UK and it turns out the Princess is a big fan and wants to know if I'm available for tea and crumpets tomorrow night. Now everybody knows that the Prince is a goofball with elephant ears and a pasty white complexion and the Princess is ready for something a little more down home, so I accept with gracious salutations, etc., etc.

So the big day comes, I put on a pair of leather chaps and three pounds of eye makeup and I arrive at Windsor castle. Diana's in a snit and won't leave her room, can't see anyone, never heard of Mr. Roth and all that sort of rot. Now I'm pissed, so I look up this Lady in Waiting I'd banged the last time we were there and she gets me in to see Her Princesship. The first thing I do is grab a hairbrush off of the dresser, turn her over on my knee and start spanking away like there's no tomorrow. Whap! "This is for the Boston Tea Party." Whap! "This is for the War of 1812." Whap! "This is for Herman's Hermits and The Dave Clark 5."

Well, by now we're both more than a little excited and you can smell sex like a caged ferret loose in the room. I figure anything can happen now, when the "Princess" drops trou and Dude looks like a Lady! Turns out Bonny Prince Charlie likes to dress up like the Princess and scamper around the bedroom singing "I Feel Pretty" when the mood strikes him. We decided right there just to be friends, but I can never see the movie Dumbo anymore without getting just a little excited.

By Junior Downey
Junior Downey is the author of Greedy Media: The Blind Leading the Retarded and a past recipient of the PEN/Faulkner award for bad writing.