Somewhere around 15 years ago, my band was the house band for awhile at a legendary club at the base of a famous snowboarding mountain up in Washington St. Adam was a snowboarder, and was at one of our shows. He came up to me during a break between sets, and asked if he could use our bass player's bass and play some until we returned from break. I said, sure, and our bass player said it was ok, and we were all delighted to have a Beastie Boy jam on our stage during our break. Then he got up on stage with someone I didn't know, and I allowed this person to use my guitar.
Unfortunately, they were shit faced drunk out of their minds, and proceeded to play an astounding cacophony of sounds far removed from anything that might be recognized as music by other human beings. This went on for maybe 15 minutes in front of a pretty drunk but gracious crowd, and past the time when it was time for us to start our next set.
Finally the club owner, a crusty local business woman I'd known for several years, gets up from her bar stool and comes over to me, her trademark long brown More cigarette dangling from her lips, and looks me in the eyes and says, "Honey...that's your stage. and you need to get them off of it right fucking now".
It took me several attempts to get them to stumble off the stage, but I finally succeeded, much to their drunken displeasure.
Anyway, I had the unforgettable dubious honor of throwing a Beastie Boy off my stage.