I didn't change a word of the tipster's story. I will say the musician in question is foreign born but is best known for playing with a band that has sold well over 10M+ records.
The gist of it is I was drinking at the local bar in the little canyon community I lived in. Apparently I passed out in the bar, a first for me. Earlier that evening, the bar had been full for Mardi Gras. The rock star had been hovering around me all night, to the point where I told him he was being really creepy for a married guy and to leave me alone. The last thing I remember is that convo and then walking out back for a smoke by myself.
The next morning, I woke up in my own bed, naked, my hair full of my own vomit and him next to me with a bloody face. Some friends showed up to get him and I started to walk down to the bar to get my car and figure out what happened.
As I walked down the hill from my house my phone started going off with voice mail notifications. I listened to them all and they were all from this guys wife, who was threatening to find me and kill me. Once I heard her voice, I remembered she’d shown up at my door the previous night after she heard he was there and he told her to go home, which she did, but only after an hour of throwing patio furniture at my front door (according to a neighbor).
I lived in a pretty remote spot and had no idea how I’d even made it home (I didn't know these guys) until the wife emailed me a few days later, scolding me for being wasted and allowing myself to be “fucked by a stranger covered in blood”. Apparently, they’d had a fight and she left him and went to a hotel. He went out drinking. When I passed out at the bar, the bartender, who lived on their property, threw me in his car until he got off work. That’s when I puked on myself and in his car. After his shift, he and the rock star hopped in the car. He dropped off the rockstar at home, just down the street from me. He then drove around trying to get me home but I could not speak clearly enough to tell him.
In the meantime, rockstar gets on his 4 wheeler to go for a joy ride. The wife sees this from the home cameras she’s monitoring on her phone from the hotel. When he doesn’t return, she gets nervous - knowing how heavily he drinks - and she decides to drive back to town that night.
I’m still in the bartenders car. The rock star, sure enough, drives his 4 wheeler off the road, but had jumped off of it, landing in the middle of the road. He was picked up by someone who was driving by. That car passed the bartenders car and they all stopped to chat. The driver of the other car looked in and saw me and it turned out he knew my neighbor and knew exactly where I lived. So, they all got in the car, drove to my house and the rockstar stayed there with me.
I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen the totaled 4 wheeler crashed into the brush and the blood in the middle of the street on my walk down to get my car the next morning.
The wife continued to stalk me for months on my cell and on social media. I’m also a musician and at the end of one of her emails she suggested I “write a song about how I ruin other people’s lives”. So, I wrote an over the top passive-aggressive country EP based on it. There wasn’t much else I could do about it. The bar was owned by their good friends and the only people who saw anything were also their friends. I tried to get a restraining order, as she knew where my gigs would be and where I worked and continually threatened to come find me. She never did anything and I never heard from her again after I released the album.
She gave me the old “no one will listen to your music and you’ll be chased out of the canyon and no one will like you for this” but I stayed for 4 years and played every local festival and venue, including the songs I’d written about this fiasco.
