"I was in Dallas (1991), I had the flu. A doctor came to my hotel room and gave me antibiotic shots in the ass and feeling the results of the antibiotics and heavy booze, I stumbled onstage and played four songs. In the middle of the fourth song, I took my guitar to the monitor board, smashing it to bits as the crowd cheered ‘bullshit, bullshit.’ The bouncer, who was also the owner of the monitor board, didn’t appreciate what I’d done. For the next five songs, he paced back and forth, punching me in the ribs. I jumped into the crowd with my guitar. He pretended to save me from the vicious crowd, yet he grabbed my hair and punched me in the ribs a few times. I swung the butt-end of my guitar into his face. He bled, and proceeded to beat the shit out of me. I was saved by my Scottish tour manager.
After the show, Krist and I got into a cab in front of the club, only to be greeted by the bloody bouncer and ten of his heavy metal vomit friends with Iron Maiden and Sammy Hagar t-shirts. The bloody bouncer smashed his hand through the side of the cab and choked me senseless. We couldn’t move because we were stuck in the traffic. After twenty minutes of cat and mouse, we fled away into the night.” - Kurt Cobain, 1993.