Here's a great snippet from Wonderland Avenue by Danny Sugarman:
"After we scored, we hurried to Wonderland. That’s when we found Iggy. Actually, we saw the mess first. We couldn’t have missed it if our eyes had been closed: we would have smelled it, we would have stepped in it. It began at the front door and continued down the hall: chicken bones, egg shells and crayons. The volume of garbage increased as we neared the kitchen. Crusts of wholewheat bread, Saran wrap out of the box unrolled across the floor, coming to rest at a broken mayonnaise jar, more broken eggs. The refrigerator was face-down against the bar counter, contents spilling and dripping out. The toaster was flipped over and open and there were three burnt slices of toast, cold, inside. The oven door was open and on top, all four pilot lights were out. Nothing was lit. The house reeked of gas. Had we decided at that moment that we wanted a cigarette and lit a match, we would have created a crater on Wonderland Avenue. And there on the floor, not more than six inches away from a broken jar of Skippy crunchy peanut butter, face down and bare-ass naked, lay my hero and friend. Iggy had pulled similar Cat in the Hat type stunts before, but never this severe.
People have asked me, well, what did you expect, inviting Iggy Pop to come and live in your guest room? I didn’t expect the volume and the consistency of the destruction he created. It was never malicious. I half expected maliciousness. But it never was. It was a definite lack of self control, which I sympathised with, and it only happened when he was too stoned to know what he was doing (and consequently seldom remembered doing, come the next day). Lately, he’d been taking excessive amounts of downers and was becoming increasingly spotty in terms of physical coordination. But I was used to excessive behaviour. The only way to deal with it was to ignore it. If you didn’t, and you made the mistake of letting the person know they were getting to you, it only made things worse. Either they’d feel guilty and go get stoned and go do something even worse, or they’d get mad at you for telling them how to run their life and go out and do something twice as bad, or, sometimes worst of all, they’d try and make it up to you and really destroy your sense of justice……
But when I saw Iggy lying in the middle of a garbage dump that used to be my kitchen floor, something inside me snapped. I stomped over to the sink and pulled out a canister of Ajax from underneath it. I slammed it down on the cutting board and sliced off the top and proceeded to dump Ajax over Iggy and the neighbouring area. I turned on the sink. Nothing. I turned on the other faucet. It was broken. He’d managed, I don’t know how, to break the plumbing in the sink.
I raced outside and grabbed the hose, and as I ran back into the kitchen, yelled to Tiffany to turn it on, aiming the nozzle at his platinum blond-with-mayonnaise-and –peanut-butter head.
‘Turn it on!’ I yelled again. She was giggling. ‘It’s not funny’ I yelled louder……..
‘He’ll kill you,’ she giggled.
‘No. No he won’t. He won’t touch me. He won’t be here. Besides I think he’s already dead.’
Don’t say that,’ Tiffany warned me. ‘He could be you know.’
‘No such luck, he’s just passed out.’ I reassured her. ‘Can you imagine how much time and energy it takes to make a mess like this? Hours. It must have taken half an hour alone to empty the refrigerator; turning it over must have taken a real burst of energy. He’s gotta be exhausted. Now turn on that hose,’ I said, aiming it back at his head……….
By this time, Tiffany was in the hallway, stupid with laughter. It was probably her laughter that woke him up. He wasn’t immediately aware of what was happening……
‘Call the cab company Tiffany, and get one over here as fast as possible,’
We got Iggy into a bathrobe, stuck a pack of Camel filterless in the breast pocket, and when the cab pulled up, carried him outside. He still wasn’t coherent enough to disagree……..
‘Just drive’ I told him, ‘All you have to do is drive him.’
‘Anywhere,’ I said. ‘North’ I handed him a hundred dollar bill. ‘Go as far North as this will take you, stop fifteen, twenty bucks short, and then shove him out wherever you are.’ I stuck another fifty in with Iggy’s cigarettes. Enough to help him, but not enough to allow him to return too far too soon.
The driver gave me an odd look, but he took the money and started off in the general direction of the San Fernando mountains. Two days later at 5:00am, we were awakened by a furious banging on the front door. ‘Oh who the fuck can that be?’ I wondered.
Tiffany contributed a typical positive thought ‘one of your asshole friends, no doubt.’
‘Ssssshhh, listen’ I said to her. We both began giggling.
Someone was outside screaming: ‘I don’t think it’s funny; I’m not laughing, let me in, goddammit! Open this goddamn door!’
Iggy had come home."