When he finally does the world a favour and shuffles off to the rest home, Scott Weiland is going to get priority entry into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s Flaming Douchebag wing. In an industry filled with obnoxious asswipes, few are more self-deluded than the man who’s just announced he’s had enough of singing for Velvet Revolver.

Just how oblivious to his own worthlessness is Weiland? Well, somehow he got it in his head that the world has a boner for the reunion of the pitiful Stone Temple Pilots, who were to grunge what the Knack was to punk rock. Yes, STP is back together and ready to remind you why the ’90s sucked more than you might remember.

For the moment, though, the headlines are all about Weiland having a queen-sized hissy fit last week while on-stage with VR in Glasgow, Scotland. In a performance that would have embarrassed Naomi Campbell, the rehab frequent flier told a sold-out crowd that they were witnessing “something special.…the last tour by Velvet Revolver”.

That, of course, wasn’t entirely accurate. What they were really witnessing was various members of Guns N’ Roses saddled with the biggest poseur in rock. Let’s face it—no one goes to see Velvet Revolver because they loved Weiland’s B-grade work with the Stone Temple Toilets. They go to get an in-the-flesh look at Slash and Duff McKagan, who, just like Keith Richards, prove they don’t make rock stars like they used to.

In fairness, it’s not like Weiland has no idea how to keep the unwashed masses entertained. As spectacles go, they don’t get much better than his 2007 Burbank, California, run-in with his long-suffering wife. Mrs. Stone Temple Toilet finished off a protracted domestic dispute by gathering up her husband’s clothes and starting an impromptu bonfire on the couple’s front lawn. This proved the Weilands are, despite their millions, white trash at heart. That at least gives them something in common with Velvet Revolver’s fans.

As detestable as Weiland is, you can’t blame him for wanting out of VR, a so-called supergroup so lacking in chemistry it makes Audioslave seem like a good idea. It’s well documented that the band is divided into two camps. In one dressing room, you find Slash, McKagan, drummer Matt Sorum, and guitarist Dave Kushner; in the other, there’s no one but Weiland, which is understandable: unless you make your living dealing outside the Carnegie Centre, you wouldn’t want to be around him either.

After throwing down the mike mid-performance in Glasgow and stomping off-stage, Weiland reportedly returned for a petulant performance of “It’s So Easy”. His next move was a blog attack on Sorum, suggesting that the drummer is too immature to have a real relationship or kids (the implication being he’ll never know the joy of roasting marshmallows over burning clothes with them). Continuing on the low road, he then dredged up Sorum’s latest rehab stint, and added a swipe about how he was a career hired gun until Velvet Revolver. The latter might be true, but at least he never fronted a faux-grunge band so atrocious that it was publicly mocked by Pavement.

The one good thing that’s come out of all of this—besides the promise of never having to suffer through another Velvet Revolver record—is that Slash and McKagan look like free agents again. Hopefully, somewhere in Los Angeles, a bloated Axl Rose is thinking it’s time to stop dicking around with Chinese Democracy.

After all, he’s got a score to settle with Weiland, who last year took a shot at him as a “fat, Botox-faced, wig-wearin’ fuck”. Surely Rose is aware that revenge is a dish best served cold. What better way to prove that Weiland is a fraud than reuniting with G N’ R and showing him what a real on-stage hissy fit looks like. May we suggest that the tour kick off in St. Louis, where concert organizers could give Mr. Stone Temple Toilet a video camera and a seat in the front row. If he asks extra-nicely, he can even bring his bullhorn.