I think a tiny piece of my soul cracked off last week when this Axl Rose video was spread around the Internet like a bad high school rumor. (Click with caution—you can’t unsee this.) Perhaps I was so bummed because Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction is high on my list of the most influential albums in my life, and I’d like to keep its glory untarnished. When I was in grade school, I stole the cassette from my older brother. I would rush home from school to play it repeatedly through my lavender boom box in my pink-striped bedroom. The opening notes on side one, song one’s “Welcome to the Jungle” bouncing around into the anticipatory build was so. Very. EXCITING! My naive ten-year-old mind dedicated hours to dissecting the mysterious lyrics across this album—who is this Mr. Brownstone character, anyway, and why is he always knocking? Everyone else is so tired but he still wants to dance that badly? While a lot of girls my age were choosing which New Kids on the Block boy they wanted to marry, I wanted to be Slash. I got out my dad’s acoustic guitar and wrote my first song. It was dark. It was deep. It was dissonant. It was the worst song anyone has ever written. But still. GNR was the first band that made me desperately want to play the guitar.