You put up with a lot of shit. A lot of shit. A lot of damned, endless shit. A mountain of shit. An avalanche of shit. A metric ton of shit.

When it comes to Mustaine, you know what to expect. No matter what form all this shit that happens takes — whether it's a drunken aggressive fit, an unreasonable bout of depression, or a three-day binge — there's always more shit that just needs to be endured. and you put up.

You put up when Mustaine talks endlessly about Lars Ulrich. You put up with Mustaine showing up at your apartment at three in the morning. And when Mustaine comes to rehearsal drunk as a fiddle at nine in the evening, you know what?

You put up that too. As usual.

But today? You're exhausted as hell today. You're tired beyond measure. You are already close to complete exhaustion from empty chatter, fake moans and the half-strangled clang of guitar strings. And when Dave pulls out a magazine, starts reading out pieces of text and mocking Kirk Hammett's stupid interview for rock beat last week, you're exhausted from the rage that's boiling inside.

Dave is sprawled out on the couch, reading the article aloud; the magazine hides his face from view, but you know that his lips are curled in a grin as he digs into the page with his nails.

The last straw comes when he moves on to sluggishly replaying Kirk's answers. You grip the pick tighter in your hand, feeling the cold plastic stick into your palm. Mustaine notices and pauses to snort, "Why are you so tense, Junior?"

And, damn, that stupid nickname again. Thanks to Mustaine and his friends, you hear it every single day, it is repeated from the mouth of every fan, photographer and interviewer you meet.

Junior.

It’s like you're some kind of weak, simple-minded child. Inglorious hilbilly from nowhere-town, Usa. A useless assistant.

When you look up, you see Mustaine looking at you with narrowed eyes. For the briefest of seconds, you can feel heart racing alarmingly. "Is there something you want to tell me, Junior?"