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Okay, thanks for that. I’m going to take a breath now.

Panicking over the fact that my wife was giving birth to my twins at that very moment, I booked the next flight to Tampa and flew home. I rushed to the hospital and there in an incubator in the newborn intensive care unit were my daughters Cheyenne and Sierra. They weighed two pounds seven ounces and two pounds five ounces respectively and were the size of large ferrets.

I started freaking out inside, but tried to remain as calm as possible for Jess’s sake. I took the doctor aside and he told me as plain as day that he’d seen much smaller babies and chances were good that everything was going to work out. I believed him, but it was hard to comprehend that as tiny as they were they would be okay.

I sat with my little girls all day and night as they clung to life. Then the next morning I got back on a plane and flew back to Toronto to do the play. The old adage says that the show must go on, but I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I was leaving my traumatized wife and my two premature babies in the NICU to fly to another country to perform a comedy. Thankfully my dad had flown to Tampa for a visit and was there for our family, but it should have been me who was there. With the luxury of hindsight I see that now as clear as day. But just as I had done with my mom’s passing, I ran away from the possibility of tragedy and left everything in God’s hands. I don’t know why I left my family when they needed me, and I’m not proud of it.

Thankfully God was listening, because he kept my babies and my wife safe while I was away.

The play was a huge success, but it didn’t matter because my heart and mind were back with my family in Tampa and all I could think about was getting back to take care of them.

When I got home four days later, I spent the next ten weeks in the NICU. Even though there were a few ups and downs along the way, because of the healing powers of the Lord (and a little help from modern medicine), our miracle babies were released from the hospital with a clean bill of health only two and a half months later.

Ash was so excited to meet his sisters, as he wasn’t allowed in the NICU and had never seen them. He was (and still is) obsessed with sea creatures, and when we brought them home he was quite disappointed to find out that his siblings were human beings, not sharks.

I’m thankful to say that now my daughters Cheyenne and Sierra are healthy, happy, beautiful little girls (not fish) and a true testament to the strength of prayer and the power of God.

Thank you, Lord … I owe you one. Or should I say two.

My little angels Cheyenne and Sierra were born at two pounds seven ounces and two pounds five ounces, respectively. They were so tiny that their diapers were the size of small napkins, and I could fit them both down the front of my shirt at the same time.

CHAPTER 45

The Howard Hughes of Rock and Roll

Eddie Trunk is the most trusted and recognized hard rock DJ in the country and I’d gotten to know him over the years through Fozzy and the WWE. Whenever I was in New York I’d guest on his show in what we called the Metal Summit and discuss useless metal minutiae with whoever else happened to be in town, whether it be Mike Portnoy, Mike Piazza, or Zakk.

One week I was guesting along with Sebastian Bach and Scott Ian and we were debating whether Iron Maiden was better than Judas Priest. I was in the middle of a well-thought-out dissertation on why Maiden was better, when I was interrupted (as usual) by Sebastian.

“Holy shit! I just got a text from Axl Fuckin’ Rose,” he said in his high-pitched stoner voice. Axl was in town rehearsing for an upcoming Guns N’ Roses tour and Bas hadn’t heard from him in years—until now.

Axl was quite reclusive and didn’t do many interviews, so it was quite the coup when Bas called him and put him on the radio by holding the phone up to the mic. The audio was horrible, and when Eddie suggested that Axl call in, he surprised all of us by actually doing it. Eddie made small