Motley Crue Quotes Novels & Stories

Let me guess, since I'm not entirely new to this rodeo: if we don't fulfill this oath? We will die, my demon sent. Craptastic. ***

You got mud on your face, you big disgrace Kickin’ your can all over the place singin’ We will, we will rock you We will, we will rock you

he turned slightly, letting the moonlight glint off his scarred cheek, “I fucking hate bitches that don’t know their hoe behavior.” He chuckled. I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose. What kind of ass-up motivational speech was that? We were about to face a legendary soul-devouring, seal-breaking beast, and this man’s speech sounded like he was prepping for a turf war with ghost strippers.

His voice cracked, but the madness in it was undeniable. “I AM CALLOWAY! DO YOU HEAR ME? I BUILT EMPIRES WHILE YOU WERE STILL CRAWLING AT YOUR MOTHER’S FEET! PEOPLE LIKE ME DON’T ROT IN CELLS. WE OWN THE PEOPLE WHO BUILD THEM!” His words still echoed down the corridor, wild, unrestrained, it sounded like it came from the throat of a mad man. “I’M UNTOUCHABLE! DO YOU HEAR ME? UNTOUCHABLE!” The veins in his neck bulged, his face red and slick with sweat as he smashed himself against the bars like a man possessed.

“You are the only person who has ever really listened without making it weird,” Zack admits, his voice dropping to a lower register. “Everyone else either starts crying or tries to give me inspirational quotes or something.” The wind rustles through a nearby oak branches overhead while they sit in comfortable silence for a moment. “Inspirational quotes,” she echoed. “That is a new one. What like ‘hang in there’ cat posters? Weird.”

Next to it, a quote read: The best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them. “That’s the work of Black Crimson,” I said. “You like it?” “It’s breathtaking,” she murmured. “And the quote sounds like someone famous should’ve written it.” “Someone famous did write it. Ernest Hemingway,” I said. When she glanced at me, I shrugged. “I had to look it up after the first time I saw the painting.” Nodding, she glanced back over her shoulder to take in the last of the masterpiece before we’d driven past it completely. Turning forward again, she asked, “Who’s Black Crimson?”

I snort. What a cliché quote some or other happy drunk motivational speaker concocted when he was at a loss for words. It must be the same asshole who suggested grabbing life by the horns, that winners never quit, and that everything happens for a reason. “Well, keep on dreaming, girl.” Cause that dream is not gonna happen. Luckily, that’s Axel’s shit. Not mine. I fake a smile, “Cheers!” and throw the alcohol down my throat before I bite into a piece of lemon. The sour taste causes goosebumps on my skin.

“It’s going to get crazy up in here. It’ll start with me singing off-key to Def Leppard and will end with tea and a few more chapters of a rather steamy werewolf-vampire romance.” “You like Def Leppard?” “I do. Motley Crue, KISS, and Skid Row will be on repeat as well.” I turn on the sink to rinse the dishes. “You sound surprised. Are you judging me, Mr. Mount?” “I am. I am judging you hard, and I will admit you do not look like someone who’d be a fan of 80s hair bands.” “Looks can be deceiving.” “Apparently so.” I laugh and start loading the dishwasher. “Don’t be mad if I teach Edward the words to Pour Some Sugar on Me.”

“If your intention was to show us that you’re a psychopath that mutilates his own people due to his own personal fuckups, then let me assure you, message received. Wouldn’t you say, Clutch?” “Roger, 10-4. I read ya loud and clear, good buddy.” Clutch turned to me and smiled. “Hey, remember when we were little kids and we saw Smokey and the Bandit on TV, and for like a month we were obsessed with being truckers?” “We drove the nuns crazy practicing CB slang—” “Clearly, you don’t understand what’s happening here,” Viper said, raising his voice.