I first met Jayne County at Club Velvet in Atlanta in 1992. She performed in the upstairs "lounge" - which basically consisted of a bar, some frou-frou chairs, and a small stage. When I saw Miss County screaming into the microphone, rolling around on the floor as if she were having a seizure (which she may have been), that was when I knew seriously knew that punk rock was ALIVE!
My boyfriend at the time, Rob. Walton (now editor-in-chief for Playboy.com) and I were somehow enlisted to chauffer this bewitching creature home.
Mr. Joe: "Which way, Jayne? Where are you staying?"
Jayne: "Take me to Buckhead! I'm crashing at Angie Bowie's place!"
As we drove the Goddess back to Angie's at around 5am, we were trapped at an intersection with an apparently broken stoplight (it never went to green). Just when we were about to run the light, a gorgeous, hunky jock was limping by our car on crutches. Jayne was out of control!! She rolled down the window, howling at the hunk, and hurling herself through the backdoor window, tried to grab one of his crutches.
"GET IN HERE, HONEY!" And bringing her torso back into the car, she says (deadpan to us): "He cain't run that far on one crutch!"
I gunned it.
