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Here's what the arrogant unpatriotic punk told "High Times" in an interview:
High Times: How did you get out of the draft?
Nugent: Ted was a young boy, appearing to be a hippie but quite opposite in fact, working hard and playing hard, playing rock and roll like a deviant. People would question my sanity, I played so much. So I got my notice to be in the draft. Do you think I was gonna lay down my guitar and go play army? Give me a break! I was busy doin' it to it. I had a career, Jack. If I was walkin' around, hippying down, gettin' loaded and pickin' my ass like your common curs, I'd say "Hey yeah, go in the army. Beats the s**t out of scuffin' around in the gutters." But I wasn't a gutter dog. I was a hard workin', mo********in' rock and roll musician.
I got my physical notice 30 days prior to. Well, on that day I ceased cleansing my body. No more brushing my teeth, no more washing my hair, no baths, no soap, no water. Thirty days of debris build. I stopped shavin' and I was 18, had a little scraggly beard, really looked like a hippie. I had long hair, and it started getting kinky, matted up. Then two weeks before, I stopped eating any food with nutritional value. I just had chips, Pepsi, beer-stuff I never touched-buttered s**t, little jars of Polish sausages, and I'd drink the syrup. I was this side of death. Then a week before, I stopped going to the bathroom. I did it in my pants. S**t, piss, the whole shot. My pants got crusted up.
See, I approached the whole thing like, Ted Nugent, cool hard-workin' dude, is gonna wreak havoc on these imbeciles in the armed forces. I'm gonna play their own game and I'm gonna destroy 'em. Now my whole body is crusted in s**t and piss. I was ill. And three or four days before, I started stayin' awake. I was close to death, but I was in control. I was extremely antidrug as I've always been, but I snorted some crystal Methedrine. Talk about one wounded mo********er. A guy put up like four lines, and it was for all four of us, but I didn't know and I'm vacuuming that s**t right up. I was a walking, talking hunk of human s**t. I was six-foot-three of sin. So the guys took me down to the physical, and my nerves, my emotions were distraught. I was not a good person. I was wounded. But as painful and nauseous as it was-'cause I was really into bein' clean and on the ball-I made gutter swine hippies look like football players. I was deviano.
So I went in, and these guys in uniform couldn't believe the smell. They were ridiculin' me and pushin' me around and I was cryin', but all the time I was laughin' to myself. When they stuck the needle in my arm for the blood test I passed out, and when I came to they were kicking me into the wall. Then they made everybody take off my pants, and I did, and this sergeant says, "Oh my God, put those back on! You f***in' swine you!" Then they had a urine test and I couldn't piss. But my s**t was like ooze, man, so I s**t in the cup and put it on the counter. I had s**t on my hand and my arm. The guy almost puked. I was so proud. I knew I had these chumps beat. The last thing I remember was wakin' up in the ear test booth and they were sweepin' up. So I went home and cleaned up.
They took a putty knife to me. I got the street rats out of my hair, ate some good steaks, beans, potatoes, cottage cheese, milk. A couple of days and I was ready to kick ass. And in the mail I got this big juicy 4-F. They'd call dead people before they'd call my ass. But you know the funny thing about it? I'd make an incredible army man. I'd be a colonel before you knew what hit you, and I'd have the baddest bunch of mo********in' killers you'd ever seen in my platoon. But I just wasn't into it. I was too busy doin' my own thing, you know?
PLEASE tell me you were kidding! I don't care who he hangs with, he's a walking pus pocket.
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