Contains “old” categories from before website rebuild.

Marking Your Turf: The Rock Star Tradition of Peeing in Public

As all dog-owners know, male canines urinate in specific outdoor areas to indicate "top dog" status. Are men prone to pee in public to achieve the same goal? And, if so, what tactics do women employ to establish turf? Well, that's a lot more complicated and would take a much longer time to answer. As any guy will tell you, it's a liberating experience to take a whiz in the great outdoors. However, some do actually get busted for it, none more so than male rock stars who tend to be rather indiscreet when it comes to leaving their scent. Here's a look at some famous offenders.

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Robert Plant: In the House of the Holy with The King

Rock blaster Robert Plant, like his Led Zeppelin bandmates, was known to have "entertained" thousands of groupies in hotel rooms all across the land, back in the day when cocksure male rock gods reigned supreme. But when Elvis came to town, the tables were turned, and Mr. Plant found himself playing the part of adoring groupie. Just what went on behind closed door between those two? (It's safe to say it didn't involve a mud shark.) Actually, the story goes like this...

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Keith, You Still Got the Silver

Today I extend a lusty black-and-blue birthday greeting - and a bouquet of the finest dead flowers - to Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards, the man who, for the past 50 years, has embodied the true spirit of rock-n-roll rebellion like no other artist. I love lots of rockers for lots of reasons, but Keith will always be my bad-boy fantasy object. "Oh, that old junkie!" you say? "How can you idolize a heroin-loving, speedball shooting hedonist who's snorted everything from the finest cocaine to his dead dad's ashes?" Well, if that's all you know about the man we fans call Keef, then you don't know diddly about the guy who can out-diddle Bo and just about everyone else when it comes to jamming out distinctive guitar licks. Here's my tribute to the seemingly indestructible Mr. Richards.

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Come Together. Right Now. Over ME (Not those Limey Losers)

By Donald J. Trump --"Dear Leader" and Emperor for Life I stumbled upon this shit-hole blog one day while Googling hips — you know, HIPS — a big hunk of a dame’s body that’s just waiting to be grabbed. And I find this STUPID website called The Hip Quotient (what the hell is a quotient, anyway?) written by some socialist…

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The British Rock Olympics: The Style Icon Competition, Part Two – The ’70s

Ask me where I would love to have lived in the 1960s, and I'll say LONDON in a Big Ben minute. The fashions, the music, the clubs! Imagine the chance to sit in on the drug trials of Mick and Keith! Or being able to crawl through Paul McCartney's bathroom window, as fans once did. Blimey, the bobbies didn't even carry guns (and still don't, except for special circumstances). Alas, the swinging times came to an end in the 1970s, as inflation, unemployment, high taxes and strikes eventually made for a very unmerry old England. But when times get rocky, rockers liven things up. And nowhere was this more evident than in London, where artists helped quell the chaos with new sounds and provocative fashion. Here, then, is Part Two of my take on London's 2012 Olympic games: The 1970s' British Style Icon Competition.

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