Explosions in gothic poodle fatories, the multiple dicks of Frank Iero, and evil, evil, mind reading siblings...NEW CHAPTER UP, PLEASE R&R, guys!! :D
“Oi, wake up, fucker!”
“Get your lazy, co-ordinationally retarded ass up, Gee!”
“You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being, you know that, don’t you?”
“…’uck you…’m sleeping..”
“Gerard Arthur Way, GET THE FUCK UP!”
My sleepy eyes immediately snap open and I instantly shoot abruptly upright in bed, blinking blearily in the soft golden sunlight that shimmers through my bedroom window and into my messy room, heart pounding wildly in my nervous chest, all my moronic little fuck-up brain cells suddenly extremely alert and wide awake.
“What….where?!” I ask blearily, eyes darting apprehensively around my haphazardly arranged room from behind my dishevelled hair and coming to rest on the skinny, evil, evil younger sibling with intensively straightened mousy hair, standing over my bed in a sleeveless Metallica shirt.
Mikey’s lips twitch suspiciously.
I narrow my eyes. “Mikey…?”
Mikey’s lips twitch more dangerously this time, and then he’s sniggering like a sugar-high elf in a candy factory humping a high and hysterical lemur on cocaine imitating Justin Beiber, shaking his head wordlessly at my utterly disgruntled, sleepy, perplexed face and just-dragged-myself-backwards-through-several-hedges-and-then-backcombed-my-hair hairstyle/explosion.
“Are you actually as stupid as you look, Gee?” Mikey snorts incredulously.
I scowl crossly, shaking my tangled raven hair over my eyes in attempt to shield them from the blindingly bright sunlight that filters through the blood red curtains. “I’m sleepy, okay?! You just woke me up, you little motherfucker!”
“You actually thought Frank was here?!” Mikey says in disbelief, still sniggering infuriatingly at me in a way that can only be described as extremely disrespectful.
Mikey starts howling with laughter.
Okay, it’s official; I seem to spend every waking hour being laughed hysterically at by my family members or cat snogging, ‘fro rights supporting best friends. It’s not my fault I’m completely and utterly retarded and am going to be re-incarnated as a snail in my next life, or that I’m pathetically obsessed with my beyond evil stepsister’s knee-destroyingly sexy boyfriend who may or may not have kissed my nose and called me ‘fucking cute’ last night.
Hold the meesefucking herd of meese.
That wasn’t a dream?!
Oh holy motherfuckingmooseshittingfroabsorbingsnailshit.
Frank Iero, god of utter sexiness and knee-melting smiles actually thinks I’m cute? And he kissed my nose?!
“Gerard?” Mikey’s voice cuts through my brain cells’ gaping mouths of utter shock and delight.
“…Huh?” I drag myself from the utterly world combusting thoughts that the events of last night might just not be some crazed hallucination or fucked up dream.
“You’re thinking about Frank.” Mikey states, because now he can read my mind as well as blow up toasters and laugh hysterically like a lunatic on lunatic pills.
“N-no I wasn’t.” I stutter, blinking stupidly.
“Yes you were, fucktard,” Mikey rolls his eyes at me. “You’ve got stupid, gooey-eyed twelve year old girl look.”
“Fuck you,” I scowl.
“That is a slightly worrying statement, considering you like cock,” Mikey teases.
I chuck my pillow at him, but of course, being the total and utter clutz I am, the pillow somehow manages to ricochet off the wall and bounce back to hit me full on in the face, causing Mikey to laugh harder still, clutching onto my desk for support, and reminding me only too well of last night when he decided to return my make up and call me a sad gay transvestite.
In front of the most insanely gorgeous guy in existence.
While my hand was in his lap.
Dangerously in his lap.
Dangerously close to-
Hey, brain, think there might be a good time to shut the fuck up?
Oh, fine then.
Dangerously close to-
Shut the fuck up, you useless piece of shit! Your brother is in the room and you’re thinking about people’s dicks.
Dick. Singular. As far as I know, he only has one.
Well, you don’t know, do you?
No, sadly not.
For all you know, he might have six.
Six? Any particular reason why you chose that number?
“Gerard, stop thinking about cocks,” Mikey’s voice cuts through my inner argument between my moronic brain and idiotic cerebellum and once again proving his disturbing ability to read my thoughts.
And wait…the brain and the cerebellum are the same thing, aren’t they? Oh great. My brain has multiple personality disorder. Or is just an extremely fucked up Gemini.
Which wouldn’t work anyway, seeing as I’m born in September.
“I wasn’t!” I protest, feeling my cheeks flood pink.
Mikey rolls his eyes. “Jeez, even Mom could tell that, Gee.”
I say nothing, but scowl furiously at my carpet.
“Anyway, the reason I woke you up was to tell you that I’m off out- the parents left ages ago to go to the beach, and Jamie’s round at one of her bitchy friend’s houses learning how to file her nails or something…so, yeah. My Misfits CDs should be arriving today, so I need someone to answer the door.”
I say nothing and remain scowling sulkily at the carpet.
“Gee? What are you doing? You look like a mentally unhinged sulky baby vampire with a seriously bad hair day that looks like an explosion in a gothic poodle factory.” Mikey sniggers.
I scowl more furiously at the carpet.
“Oh, this all because I called you a sad, gay transvestite last night in front of the wondrous Frank Iero?” Mikey asks, still sounding infuriatingly amused. “Cause if it is, you’re even more of a pathetic moron than I thought you were.”
I remain even more scowly and sulking.
“If that is why you’re looking sulkier than a petulant baby vampire on a sunny day, then I’m sorry.” Mikey says, sounding transparently insincere and still as if he’s having problems not howling with laughter at the pathetic excuse that is my life.
“I hate you.” I say at the carpet, still scowling stubbornly and refusing to look up, as if the carpet will somehow translate my anger to my younger sibling for me. “I hate you so much that I’m not gunna answer the door for your Misfits CDs. And I’m going to break your straightners. And I’ m gunna tell Jamie you sucked off her boyfriend.”
“Okay,” Mikey says, sounding slightly less amused now, no doubt due to the threat about the death of his most prized possession. Okay, not just his most prized possession- his entire life.
Oh jeez, I’ve just realised I have a best friend who is sexually attracted to cats, and a younger brother who is sexually attracted to straightners.
“Firstly, I’ve made your coffee for you as a small apology for last night. Secondly, if you answer the door to get my new CDs from the postman, you can listen to them first. Thirdly, if you break my straightners, I will break you. In half. With the garden shovel. And lastly, it’s far more likely that Jamie will believe you sucked off her boyfriend than me.”
I scowl again as all my hyperactively moronic little brain cells start fantasising about sucking off one of my stepsister’s boyfriends’ six dicks.
And seriously, do they ever shut up?
“Did you say coffee?” I ask, looking up from the carpet.
Mikey nods. “Yep. It’s downstairs and waiting for you.”
In the hope that a copious amount of black caffeine will shut all the squealy little voices inside my head up for a short amount of time, I fling back the covers and stumble up sleepily, staggering slightly and knocking over the pile of old Kerrang! Magazines stacked on my bedside table while Mikey sniggers.
I give him the finger.
“So, you’ll answer the door for me when the post gets here?” Mikey asks, tactfully looking away and biting his lip to stop himself laughing as I hop around the room, looking for some item of respectable, clean clothing to put on to hide the fact that I’m clad in only a pair of slightly holey pair of purple and zombie green boxers with ‘I eat brains’ imprinted all over them in garishly pink writing.
“Do I have to?” I groan, searching desperately for something clean to chuck on; something I’m pretty sure never has, or will, exist in my room.
“Yes.” Mikey says. “Or I’ll take all the coffee away from you and tell Jamie that you fantasise about her boyfriend’s cock.”
“I do not!” I say indignantly, flushing brighter pink than the tasteless writing on my boxers.
Mikey raises his eyebrows more sceptically than a sceptical camel on sceptically sceptic pills.
I guess the guy has a point.
“But you’ll answer it, Gee? Cause I really have to go now- I have to go down to the shops to get some aftershave stuff because I’m seeing Tilly again tonight.” Mikey says impatiently as I just about disappear inside my wardrobe, flinging crumpled garment after garment over my shoulder.
“The one with the purple lipstick?” I call from the depths of my overflowing wardrobe.
“Yeah, but how the hell do you know that?” Mikey calls back.
“Because your neck, face and t-shirt was covered in purple lip-stuff when you came back after seeing her yesterday.” I shout. Seriously, does this wardrobe open out into fucking Narnia or something?!
“Oh,” Mikey says, and there’s silence for a moment, before he calls; “What the actual fuck are you doing in there, anyway, Gee?!”
“Trying to find something to wear!” I reply, practically upending the remainder of my closet.
“Just chuck on your PJ bottoms and come and drink your fucking coffee.” Mikey says impatiently.
“I’m LOOKING for my fucking PJ bottoms!” I call crossly.
“There’re right here, moron.” Mikey says despairingly, as if he’s utterly ashamed of having such a beyond idiotic moron for a brother.
Fair enough, I guess.
I’d be embarrassed of me too.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that?!” I groan, removing myself form my wardrobe and scooping up my red tartan PJ bottoms from on top of my chest of drawers.
“Cause it was much more fun to watch you look for them.” Mikey grins evilly as I scramble into the much awaited PJ bottoms.
Evil little meesfucker.
By the time I’m eventually sitting down at the kitchen table, sipping from a mug of the blessed liquid that is coffee, Mikey has smudged on a little of my black eyeliner and is admiring his reflection in the kettle after downing not one, not two, but three mugs of coffee.
“You do know it’s not healthy to be that obsessed with coffee.” I say, taking a huge gulp of my own. “Or anything, for that matter.”
“You can talk…” Mikey mutters under his breath.
“Oi, can you pass me the pop-tarts?” I ask, choosing to ignore Mikey’s mutters.
Mikey chucks them my way, and for once, they don’t hit me, but just land innocently on the table. Fuck yeah. That has to be a good omen for today.
“Franks.” I say absentmindedly, helping myself to one.
Mikey turns round and looks at me incredulously.
It takes a few minutes of coffee gulping, sleepy eye-rubbing and pop-tart munching before I notice him looking at me as if I’m more retarded than a guinea pig attempting synchronised swimming with an extremely peckish python.
“What?” I say defensively, feeling slightly puzzled.
“Franks?!” Mikey says incredulously, snorting disbelievingly at me.
It takes a couple of moments for my mentally handicapped little pink knicker wearing morons of brain cells to realise what they processed my mouth to say in their stupid, Frank deluded state.
“Oh.” I say stupidly, wanting to bash my head on the table top and kill all the nincompoops that claim to be brain cells that live so stupidly inside my head and make my life such a pathetic mess.
“You were saying how bad it is to be that unhealthily obsessed with something, but I’M not the one who has the most pathetically sad crush on my stepsister’s boyfriend!” Mikey says.
“I do not!” I lie. Badly.
Mikey rolls his eyes to the heavens. “Oh yeah right, moron face- you just said FRANKS instead of THANKS…how much more pathetically obsessed can you get?! I mean, he’s so unbelievably out of your league that you might as well live on different galaxies-”
“He kissed me.” I’m not really sure why I decided to say that, but suddenly Mikey’s choking and spluttering coffee all over the kitchen, spraying his reflection he’s been admiring so much in the kettle.
“W-WHAT?!” Mikey chokes, gasping desperately for air, eyes wide.
“Last night.” I add, munching on my pop-tart casually, when actually my stomach is turning cartwheels at the memory and my brain is bleating out the most inappropriate things. But I guess that’s nothing new.
“W-WHAT?!” Mikey splutters, eye size not decreasing.
“On the nose.” I clarify, and his choking subsides slightly, eye-size shrinking subtly.
“Seriously?” Mikey asks, massaging his throat and attempting to mop up the coffee he so gracefully decided to spray everywhere.
I nod, trying very hard to ignore the fact all my stupid little fuck-up brain cells are currently dancing an extremely retarded version of the tarantella while squealing in an embarrassingly girly manner- ‘He kissed me!’
“Yup.” I nod, taking another gulp of coffee.
“Did he escape from the mental hospital in town?” Mikey says incredulously. “I mean, first Jamie, and now…YOU?!” he shakes his head as if he’s been trapped in some very peculiar parallel world.
“He doesn’t see me like that!” I roll my eyes. But my heart’s thumping, all my brain cells stupidly hopeful. I try very, very hard to squash that hope- I mean, there is no way in a billion light years that Frank Iero would ever like me like that…I mean, he’s cool and calm and unbelievably, excruciatingly sexy, whereas I’m…well, a clumsy, ugly, moronic imbecile with skin paler than an albino in Black Veil Brides make up.
So, yeah…you get my point. I’m not exactly what anyone (unless they’re heavily drugged or extremely drunk) would find attractive.
The only time he might ever consider the possibility of even thinking of me in that way would be if a giant meteorite obliterated the rest of the universe into smithereens and we were the only two people left to rebuild the human race. Or if he too becomes a snail in his next life.
And I seriously need to stop thinking about rebuilding the species with Frank Iero. It’s making my brain cells dizzy and deluded. Well, more so.
“Oh god, you’re lost in your own little world again.” Mikey sighs, and I suddenly realise he’s been talking for the past several minutes and I’ve been completely zoned out, listening to the insanity of my brain cells rather than the…insanity of my younger brother.
“Sorry,” I say, chugging down the dregs of my coffee as Mikey rolls his eyes so heavily I’m surprised they don’t get permanently stuck inside his skull.
“It’s fine,” Mikey sighs, checking his watch. “Listen, I really have to go now- you’ll get my CDs off the postman for me?”
Great, that’ll be just what the poor postman needs after being traumatised yesterday- a half naked, scowling, coffee and Frank Iero addicted teenager with hair like a serious, backcombed explosion in a gothic poodle factory.
The arrival of Frank Iero in my pathetic existence has not only destroyed my knees; it has obliterated all my wondrous thoughts of wisdom and killed all the remnants of sanity in my brain.
Okay, maybe I never had any wondrous thoughts of wisdom. And I’m pretty certain sanity has never set foot inside the disaster that is my mind. But now I can’t think AT ALL (unless it involves a 5’4 measurement of red-eyeliner wearing perfection, of course), and all that seems to fill my skull is utter, deluded insanity and the retarded imbeciles that call themselves brain cells constantly bleating out ‘Frank! Frank! Frank!’, which is actually pretty distracting.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, attempting to read an article about The Misfits in an old copy of Kerrang!, but my brain just won’t shut up and give me a moments silence.
Frank! Frank! Frank!
Shut up, you retard. He has a girlfriend.
So, he’s not available.
She can be exterminated if necessary.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Don’t you call me ridiculous!
Well, you are!
Well you are too cause we’re the same person.
Fuck. My. Life.
Hey, that’s my life you’re fucking too!
Luckily, before I can be driven mad by my own brain or remove my own skull with the breadknife, the harsh, shrill ringing of the telephone cuts through the silence of the empty house and I jump up, scuttling through to the sun-soaked living room to answer it, grateful for an interruption of my crazed brain cells.
“Oh, hey cat snogger.”
“I don’t snog cats!” Ray’s indignant voice crackles through the receiver.
“Whatever, puff head.”
“It’s a bit strange calling someone up and then telling them to shut up, y’know. The usual point of phoning someone is to speak to them.”
“Oh, give it up, Gee. I was calling to ask if you wanted to hang out later? I really need to talk to you about something.”
“Oh, what? Doesn’t your cat want to snog you anymore?”
“Why so grouchy? Doesn’t your pathetic obsession want to sit in a tree with you K-I-S-S-I-N-G?”
“Shut up, you’re just jealous.”
“Jealous of the fact you seem to accidentally kill the guy every time you see him?”
“No, jealous of the fact he kissed me last night.”
There’s a loud clattering sound at the other end of the line, Ray’s muffled voice saying ‘Shit!”, a couple of strange, crunching sounds and then Ray’s voice faintly saying ‘No, Maisie, don’t eat it!’
“Gee?” his voice crackles back over the receiver.
“I’m still here.”
“Sorry, just dropped the phone. And WHAT?!?!”
“He kissed me,” I repeat, sitting down on the arm of the sofa. “On the nose.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.” I say, about to launch into the utterly baffling events of the previous night when the doorbell goes. “Oh, hold on a sec, Ray…that’s the door. I’ll take you with me,” I say, taking the portable phone of its hook and going down the hall, unlocking the door and yanking the door open.
Trembling violently on the doorstep is the traumatised looking postman from yesterday, clutching a small, CD shaped parcel with shaking hands. He looks up to see me and his look of terror increases.
I suddenly feel very aware that my hair looks as if it’s been backcombed by a very angry porcupine, I’m wearing nothing but a pair of slightly too tight red tarten PJ bottoms that expose a sliver of the top of my garishly ‘I eat brains’ embellished boxers, and I probably have the remains of last night’s make up smeared around my face. I’m also blinking and squinting at the bright sunlight that invades the hall as if I’m a sort of deranged vampire that never leaves its darkened lair except to torture small baby animals.
“Ummm…thanks..” I say as kindly and calmly as I can to the trembling postman, taking the parcel while hearing Ray cackling over the phone.
The postman blinks, terrified, and the scuttles off down the path and out the gate as fast as his trembling little legs will carry him.
“The postman you terrorised yesterday?” Ray asks.
“Yep.” I sigh, watching him fleeing down the street, and then freezing suddenly as I spot something utterly heart stopping and terrifying at the end of the road, getting closer and closer to the house.
“Oh meesefuckers…” I breathe, heart stopping.
“What?” Ray asks as I slam the door shut and peek through the window by the front door, only confirming my worst fears.
“Gee, what’s going on?” Ray’s voice repeats.
Oh. my motherfuckingrencarnatedsnails.
Mikey is walking towards our gate. With FRANK IERO.
“They’re coming!” I whisper, panicking slightly.
Okay, slightly is an understatement- I start trembling more than the postman, and promptly knock over Mom’s best vase on the hall table, my heart feeling like it’s going to beat right out of my chest and vibrate all the way down the road to meet Frank and Mikey.
“Who’s coming?” Ray’s beginning to sound slightly worried.
“Death!” I gasp.
“Stop being so dramatic, Gee.”
“Frank! Frank motherfucking Iero and Mikey fucking Way!! Coming!” I stutter, desperately shoving the broken remains of Mom’s vase under the hall rug with trembling hands, heart pounding fearfully.
“When you say coming…”
“SAVE YOUR SICK MINDEDNESS FOR YOU CAT! MY LIFE IS ABOUT TO BE TERMINATED! MIKEY. FRANK. COMING UP THE DRIVE!! WHAT DO I DO?!” I yell into the receiver.
“Well, for a start, you may want to stop shouting- if they’re coming up the drive, they can probably hear you.”
I mentally facechainsaw.
“I have to hide!” I cry. “I can’t see him or…or….or…”
“You’ll lose the ability to form sentences?”
“Shut up, Toro.” I growl, hitting the end call button and glancing round frantically as I hear Mikey and Frank’s voices getting closer.
Then there are keys in the lock, and I wildly dive for the coat cupboard beside the door, scrambling inside and squeezing in beside all the winter coats and hats, pulling the door shut just as I hear the front door swing open and Mikey and Frank’s voices fill the hall.
To my utter horror, I feel a bout of hysterical giggles coming over me at the terror and complete ridiculousness of the situation and have to stuff my hands over my mouth in attempt to stifle the giggles that would most certainly be heard by the two people in the hall.
Seriously, is that little mousy, obsessively hair-straightening little fucker trying to kill me?!
Likey? No Likey? Pleaseeee R&R- it would really cheer me up and make my day after not one, not two, but THREE maths exams D: D: hope you all enjoyed it- if I hadn’t written this, I think I’d have gone insane with maths percentages and geometry and algebra and division and….ARGHHH!! um, yeah- I kinda hate maths :L anyway, please rate and review- it was really difficult to get this up today with all my exams- I was meant to be revising haha! Hope you all enjooooyed! Love you guys- you all make my fucking week! I’ll update as soon as I can (reviews help! xD) and thanks you so much for reading!
p.s. would you please please check out and review my new story I’ve started now that I’ve finished You’ll Never Fit In Much, Kid? I’d really, really appreciate it as I’m pretty nervous about posting a whole new story! Thanks (:http://www.ficwad.com/story/173331