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One day I showed up to rehearsal and Jack and Hillel and Flea, who probably loved me more than any three guys on earth, said, "Anthony, we're kicking you out of the band. We want to play music and you obviously don't, so you have to go. We're going to get a different singer and we're going to go on so you're out of here."

I had a brief moment of clarity where I realized that they had every right in the world to fire me. It was really an obvious move, like cutting off your damn foot because it was gangrened so that the rest of your body wouldn't die. I just wanted to be remembered and acknowledged for those two or three years that I had been in the Red Hot Chili Peppers as a founding member, a guy who started something, a guy who made two records, and whatever else would come after that, that was theirs. Part of me was very genuine in letting go of the band. But part of what made it so easy for me to accept was that now I knew I had zero responsibilities and I could just go off with Kim and get loaded.

Much to their amazement I just shrugged and said, "You guys are right. I apologize for not contributing what I should have been contributing this whole time. It's a crying shame, but I understand completely and I wish you guys the best of luck."

And I left.