We Don't Fight Fair ;)A Story by The Dark Passenger Some of the My Chemical Romance boys get into a spot of bother when Frank uses a certain band member's afro as an art canvas, Mikey takes a bucket of chicken hostage, and Gerard pulls a lever...? It's complete maniacal nonsense- and I hope you enjoy it, Gerard decided in a moment he would later on describe as “temporary insanity”, that he had been staring at the red lever for far too long. Something had to be done, a man had to take a chance, and a lever had to be pulled. Unfortunately for Gerard of course, nothing involving an epiphany and a mysterious lever ever ended well. And so, this was how Marilyn Manson became doused in red paint. And this was how Marilyn Manson had awoken from his slumber. You see, the lever had been installed by a rather sneaky group of pop-punk rockers who call themselves “Fall Out Boy”. The group had intended the rather lavishly detailed practical joke to be aimed at their bassist Pete Wentz, expecting him to fall asleep on a tattered looking leather couch in the backstage area of the Warped Tour’s new set up. The group, waiting, for about 2 hours, finally gave up when they saw Pete was no where in sight, and instead of Pete, a notoriously hag-witch looking Marilyn Manson decided to have a rest on the well positioned couch. Pete was teaching his bulldog Hemmingway to play dead in his trailer, and had no idea of what was going on. Until of course, the loud clanging noises sounded and some rather high-pitched screams were heard. The rather high-pitched screams came from Marilyn Manson of course, who had woken up to find his white drawstring pants covered in red paint. Worrying for a moment of sheer tiredness, Manson quickly realised he was incapable of having a period, and in consequence, quickly realised that it was paint that had fallen from above. He looked up and saw a now empty can dangling about. Someone was going to have to pay for this outrage, Manson thought, and he decided that the punishment had to be especially harsh, even though the pants were bought for only 14 dollars from a sales rack at K Mart. “Someone’s going to suffer!” He yelled out. Gerard did what any other intellectual would have done in his position. Gerard ran. Meanwhile, Mikey was in a spot of bother himself. He had acquired, well… more rather stolen, a bucket of fried chicken from Green Day’s tent, and was now cornered against a wall with a very angry and frothing at the mouth drummer: Tre Cool. Mikey thought the frothing was odd, and perhaps a little unhealthy, but said nothing. He could only whimper as Tre Cool rose above him and held out his hands like claws. “My chicken,” his voice rumbled, “my original recipe fried chicken!” “Your chicken?” Mikey faked surprise, “I’m really sorry, you see, I thought it was my chicken, and I was obviously wrong, so here, have it back,” he tried to push the bucket towards Tre Cool, but he did not accept the apology. “I will have your belly!” The enraged drummer gurgled. And with that, Mikey took off running as well, with the bucket of chicken under one arm. Now, you might think that the probability of both Way brothers getting into trouble on the same day would be alarmingly small, but as the statistics and numeric calculations will show you, it happens alarmingly regularly. What will shock you even more is that, only meters away from both incidents, a third member of their band was under a siege he had began for himself. Frank Anthony Iero was standing in front of a piece of art work that he had at first admired… but slowly, as admiration for his handy work wore off, he began to think about the possible repercussions of his actions. Ray’s afro had been dyed every single colour of the rainbow. Frank couldn’t help but giggle, firstly because he had managed to do it without waking the lead guitarist, and secondly because Ray’s hair now reminded him of his favourite kind of candy. “Skittles!” He chirped to himself as he reached into his pocket to retrieve an already half-devoured packet. It was the most hideous betrayal, his muse and his love, suddenly seized the opportunity to work against him. A single Skittle pebble rose into the air and sailed down onto Ray’s nose, bouncing off it and diving straight into his mouth. Frank flinched just as Ray awoke choking and sputtering. “Frank! What did I say about feeding me when I’m sleep-” he stopped short, and noticed Frank was holding a can of spray paint while standing amidst a whole heap of even more spray cans. He raised a single hand to his head. Frank started running. “Fraaaaaaank!” Moments later, in a miracle of probabilities and a spark of fate, a series of very important instances occurred. Bert McCracken received a rather heart warming “You are my special son” card from his mother which made him cry for the first time since rehab. Bob Bryar’s toast popped from its toaster, and he recognised in its dark brown crust an unmistakeable outline of the Virgin Mary. He cast his eyes towards the heavens and began a prayer for more drum solos. Billie-Joe Armstrong received a phone call from Bono who told him they were going to be guest stars on the next Oprah show, a piece of information that immediately had his heart fluttering uncontrollably. Mike Dirnt fell into the third stage of sleep that he had read was called “Rapid Eye Movement” sleep, and it was in this stage of subconscious unconsciousness that Mike saw Buddha before him, urging him to wear red skinny jeans. Dave Ghrol awoke to find a flower sprouting from his baby cacti, Rob Thomas finished writing the first page of his autobiography, Pete Wentz’s Hemmingway finally learnt to play dead, and Frank collided head on with both screaming Way brothers. “What’s going on?” Gerard yelled out, rubbing his sore head. “I painted Ray!” Frank answered, panting loudly. “I stole chicken from Green Day,” Mikey huffed, taking a bite of a chicken drumstick to cool his nerves. “I pulled a lever,” Gerard explained his own misfortune. The two others looked at him puzzled. “It spilt paint on Manson for some reason!” He added, making the others nod before exchanging horrified expressions. “Incoming!” Frank yelped, seeing a tall, deranged looking Goth looming in the distance and screaming something that sounded an awful lot like ‘I’m going to eat your toes’. “Dive!” Gerard screamed as they all leapt out of the way, the bucket of chicken in Mikey’s grasp launching itself into the air. The bucket sailed and was immediately caught by Ray Toro who stopped immediately to inspect the item in his hands. “Chicken?” Ray breathed. “Alright!” and he promptly began eating contentedly. “A clown!” Marilyn Manson shrieked when he caught up to see Ray standing in front of him. “My one weakness!” Manson had always been afraid of clowns, ever since one especially frightful birthday party he had endured as a little boy, where a colourful haired clown had leant forward and grabbed at his nose with a gloved hand. ‘Got your nose’ it had said, and it had scarred him for life. Marilyn Manson shrieked, flailed, and left the area at once, speeding past Tre Cool and splashing him with red paint. “Paint!” Tre Cool announced as he wiped the paint from his face and saw it had stained his fingers. “I have paint on my face,” he spoke in a trance like state as his hands mechanically drew lines on his cheek and bare chest, almost as if he had no control over his actions. “I must be a red Indian!” He announced before hollering loudly and trotting off towards his tent. “Well,” Frank said as he slowly pulled out of his hiding place with Gerard and Mikey, “That was a freebie,” “Indeed,” Gerard spoke, peering into the distance to make sure there was no Manson hiding behind a tour bus or tent. “Crisis averted,” Mikey guffawed as he adjusted his glasses. They all exchanged self-impressed looking expressions and laughed heartily. Another day, another series of crimes, and somehow, they had all managed a great getaway. “We’re the three musketeers!” Frank giggled, giving each Way brother a high-five. “All for one!” Mikey chimed in. “And one for all!” Gerard added with a comical salute. “So, who dismantled our trap?” A voice suddenly said from behind them. They turned cautiously and saw a troop of very angry looking Pop-Punk Rockers. “We know it was one of you,” Patrick snarled, tapping his foot bitterly with his arms crossed. Gerard gulped, Frank reeled back in horror and Mikey bit his lip. “It was him!” They all shouted, pointing at each other blindly before they sped off in different directions. “After them!” Patrick ordered to the other Fall Out Boy band members before running after them himself. It was then that Bob peered out of the tour bus with his now self-declared ‘’Sacred Toast” in one hand. He saw Frank hurdling over a rather bubbly looking Billie-Joe who was yammering away on his cell-phone. The sight made him snigger. “Hey Bob, wanna look at my cactus?” Dave Ghrol yelled out at him happily from the window of his trailer. “Maybe later, Dave,” Bob waved back. “Hey Bob,” Mike Dirnt greeted as he walked past. “Nice pants!” Bob nodded. The red denim had caught his eye immediately. “Thanks!” Mike called back, still walking ahead. “Just another day at the Warped Tour,” Bob sighed to himself as he smiled down at his precious piece of toast. “I can’t wait til the Summer Music Festival!” © 2008 The Dark PassengerAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
474 Views
6 Reviews  Shelved in 1 Library
Added on February 24, 2008Last Updated on February 24, 2008 Author
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
