“Well, it's one louder, isn’t it?” – Nigel Tufnel

Alright, now pay attention.

You didn’t wash up here looking for comfort. You’re here because there’s still static in your veins, because your heart kicks every time a needle hits wax and the world tilts sideways. You’re not chasing safety—you’re chasing that primal roar, the one that rattles your ribs and sets your blood on fire. The Attitude isn’t here to hand out participation ribbons. We’re here to blow the doors off, summon the ghosts, and yank the ugly, beautiful truth out by its frayed, sparking guitar cable.

We don’t shine trophies—we smash ‘em. We’re not here to curate the museum of rock—we’re here to torch mediocrity and dance in the ashes. This is a syringe full of distortion straight to the vein, a bare-knuckle brawl between history and heresy. With Damone riding shotgun, the bar isn’t just high—it’s dangling from the rafters, and the only way up is to climb, bleed, and howl.

Sure, we tip our hats to the giants—Zeppelin’s thunderstorm strut, Van Halen’s sugar-rush pyrotechnics, the punk kids turning church basements into riot zones and flipping the bird to every corporate handshake. But we don’t light candles in the mausoleum of rock. We break in, shatter the glass, and steal the flame—because we know there’s still something in there that burns.

You want the guts behind the grooves? The sin behind the solos? The reason every cracked snare and shattered tooth matters more than a million empty streams? That’s what you get here. Not the myth embalmed—the myth on fire. No PR gloss. No algorithmic gruel. Just the raw, unfiltered truth, from alleyway confessions to backstage brawls.

If you still believe a song can hit like a car crash and save you like a midnight confession…

Pour one. Light whatever you’ve got left to burn.
And crank it until the walls shake.

Because this isn’t a blog.
This is your front-row ticket to the only thing that ever mattered.

That’s The Attitude.

Wussies. —Damone

Concert poster featuring Tom Petty with a guitar, with text for "Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers" and "Damn the Torpedoes."

Illustration of a woman with blonde hair wearing a red shirt and jeans, riding a skateboard, reaching out with one hand, in front of a brick wall with a record player and guitar in the background.

Illustration of a rock musician with curly hair passionately playing an electric guitar on stage, with the text 'VAN HALEN' below.

KEITH RICHARDS’ BLOOD TRANSFUSION

🎤 Here’s the deal, kid

You ever party so hard your blood gets kicked out of the band? Keith Richards did. Allegedly. This is the kind of story that comes crawling out of a foggy Swiss clinic, lights a cigarette, and dares you to believe it. Whether it’s a myth, a metaphor, or medical marvel, one thing’s certain: only Keith could turn rehab into a horror story that sounds like it was ghostwritten by Hunter S. Thompson’s spleen.

🧸 The Story

Late ‘70s. Richards is deep in the heroin trench. We’re talking trench-foot-deep. So he hops a jet to Switzerland, where—according to legend—he undergoes a full-body blood transfusion to clean out the junk. Like changing the oil on a Bentley made entirely of riffs and bone dust. Word is he walked out fresher, meaner, and ready to tour again, with a new circulatory system and the same old death glare. Some say it never happened. Some say it’s the only reason he’s still ticking. Me? I think Keith found the loophole in the Reaper’s contract.

📜 Published Accounts

Biographer Victor Bockris wrote about it. A few Stones insiders hinted at it. Richards himself? Depends on the interview. Sometimes he says it was a simple detox. Other times he shrugs like a vampire asked about garlic. One of the best quotes comes from Keith himself: “I was in Switzerland. I did go to a clinic. But it wasn’t a transfusion. I just had my blood changed, that’s all.” Kid, that’s the same damn thing with extra swagger.

🧙‍♂️ Why It Sticks

Because it’s the most Keith Richards thing imaginable. It’s a story that explains his immortality without really explaining anything. It became the cornerstone of the Keith myth: the man who beat death by swapping out his fluids like a blues-snarling Terminator. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t even matter anymore. It’s rock ’n’ roll scripture. And like all good scripture, it leaves room for resurrection.

⚡ Damone’s Take

Look, I don’t care if it was a transfusion, a detox drip, or holy water from an ancient Swiss spring. What matters is what the story says about Keith: that he’s beyond the normal human lifecycle. The Rolling Stone who just. Won’t. Roll. Over. This isn’t about medicine—it’s about myth maintenance. Keith knew what people needed to believe. And he gave it to them, veins first.

🎵 Soundtrack to the Madness

🎵 “Before They Make Me Run” – The Rolling Stones
🎵 “Take It So Hard” – Keith Richards
🎵 “Memory Motel” – The Rolling Stones

🌽 Filed Under

Rock Mythology Blood & Vice Keith Richards Immortality Allegations

📩 Tell Damone What You Heard

Heard a better version? Got your own theory? Or just wanna send Keith a blood donation? Now, that’s the attitude. —Damone

“This riff goes to eleven.” – Nigel Tufnel

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