Jones confesses to the kind of sordid, outlaw upbringing that would make even Keith Richards blush. His frank tales about his childhood addiction to masturbation, run ins with the local pedophile in his rough and tumble London neighborhood, his abusive stepfather, homosexual dalliances, and acute kleptomania read like the tales of a crazy uncle who comes to holiday dinner and shares hard-to-believe stories of his youthful exploits with abandon. But it also ensures that Lonely Boy is unique amongst rock star memoirs: Jones is the real deal, and he isn't afraid to put it all—the good, the bad, and the truly ugly—out there for all to see. In fact, those tales of his early life make Jones' days as a Sex Pistol seem almost the least remarkable part of his story.
read more here @ Esquire, Penguin Books, The Guardian
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