I've always been drawn to the dark side, me. But here I am: ready to tell my story, in my own words, for the first time. When I was growing up, if you'd have put me up against a wall with the other kids from my street and asked me which one of us was gonna make it to the age of sixty, which one of us would end up with five kids and four grandkids and houses in Buckinghamshire and Beverly Hills, I wouldn't have put money on me, no f**king way. People ask me how come I'm still alive, and I don't know what to say. Then I almost died while riding over a bump on a quad bike at f**king two miles per hour. I survived a direct hit by a plane, suicidal overdoses, STDs.
I took lethal combinations of booze and drugs for thirty f**king years. I shot the chickens in my house that night. I've killed a few cows in my time, mind you. I've got eighteen of the f**king things at home. ' Now me, kill fifteen puppies? I love puppies. But then you hear things like, 'Ozzy went to the show last night, but he wouldn't perform until he'd killed fifteen puppies.
I mean, okay: 'He bit the head off a bat.' Yes. They've said some crazy things about me over the years.
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