Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Let's Play Find the Body!

chapter 1: the tinman needs a heart too

by genocider 3 reviews

brie's an extraordinary machine, but what happens when she's not first this time?

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres:  - Published: 2006-09-28 - Updated: 2006-12-02 - 1445 words

0Unrated
It's pretty funny, I grew up beside two little boys my entire life. We were pretty much a tripod, there was basically nothing we couldn't do without one another (that even included changing in the same room when we were like.. 5 and swimming in each other's pools because we had this fear that some big and green monster was going to come and eat us), what can I say though; both of them were basically the everything I could've asked for in life. No I wasn't some tomboy that turned into some huge lesbo, either.. I'm pretty much the girliest girl you'd ever meet (including the fear of spiders, darkness, and scary movies!) but I didn't like the color pink. Pink was the most hideous color anyone could've ever blended together, I don't know who the hell invented pink but they must've been out of their right mind to think it was pretty. I mean, they used it for Peptobismol. And when you're sick, what color is your vomit? That's right.. it's a pinkish color that just so happens to be the nastiest thing ever. Anyway, like I said... we're the biggest bunch of best friends you'd ever meet. While they started getting into music and following in the footsteps of the big and bright lights of Hollywood, I was too busy obsessing over Jake Gyllenhaal in Donnie Darko (isn't he just a dream boat? I mean.. those blue eyes, you could so get lost in those puppies!).

Thing was, when I was too busy getting lost in Jake's big ol' blue eyes, the boys were focusing deeply on music. Then BAM! it happened. Don't know how it did because we were just regular teens from Las Vegas, or for you tourists the wannabe "City of Sin" even though I'm more than sure we're not that sinful, aside from all the bullshit that comes through here. But anyway, I had finally seen my boys grow up and make it big. They had struggled so long and finally, what was the pay off? Stardom. Those big bright lights that turn you into Julius Caesar and almost immediately you are guaranteed to become a dictator and try to negotiate someone's free will. No one can help it, honestly. That's just what the music business is all about. It's about bring in the new and 'hip' style, making someone the new masturbation material and having the press mold them into an entirely new person their publicists fake them out to be. I'm positive Suri is still Chris Klein's baby, Katie is a faker; and I know for an honest fact that Madonna is Satan. I mean, look at her. She's just satan walking in spandex and trying to live forever. Then, when you see your best friends getting huge, there's only one thing you really can think of...

"When in the hell do we get ice cream?"

Just kidding, though. But it's a weird experience when people are idolizing someone you watched cry when he got a boo boo on his elbow or when how the two would constantly bicker who got to ride the swings before the other and shove each other in the sand and run home to empty their pockets of ridiculous items like rocks.. and wrappers.. sometimes empty condom packages, you just never knew what happened when we were kids. I can actually say I got to known rockstars before they hit the big time and support them when the going got tough, and when they tried to hit me with a thud out of nowhere.. I immediately would react and shove them back onto their feet and tell them to get the fuck off of me and work on getting better. I guess my hell of honest advice must've paid off somehow cause now they're rolling in cash money where they could pretty much just burn a hundred just to see what the chemical reaction was. They were seen as Gods, basically worshipped by dozens of fourteen to a few nineteen year olds (I've even see a twenty three year old fan.. trust me, these girls mean business.) and I saw them as the most goofy guys in the entire world.

My best friends are Ryan Ross and Spencer Smith of Panic! At the Disco. Yeah you would've figured with how much I talk so highly of them, except they're not all that, if you ask me. I'm just their best friend from the back alleys of where we were raised and constantly would have wars over each others fences and smack each other in the face with pebbles. (It was funny to see Spencer hit Ryan in the cheek and watch him bitch like a little girl and then suddenly hit insta-BITCHMS.) We went from diapers and playgrounds to tight jeans and clubs. Ice cream cones were replaced by SideKicks, and bandaids were suddenly morphing into broken hearts. Seeing them get hurt over and over in highschool was probably the only thing more horrific than K. Fed's voice, probably because I had to sit there and listen to them say how much in love they were with their highschool sweethearts. I guess you can say I have it pretty easy since my best friends are big in the industry now, after all having Fag Wentz sign them and springing them to "Like OMGZ!" status. Guess the good ol' days never last, huh? I wish it was pretty easy to say I had the easy part since my best friends were huge "IT" boys now (especially Brendon, you should see him when they come home from tour.. he's the biggest sexpot you'd ever see, especially when he's drinking and dancing around to fucking Abba in his boxers), but it wasn't. Girls of all ages came up to me asking the most bizarre questions; one girl actually had the.. well not balls, but definitely some nerve to ask me if I had ever seen their penises and if I could snap pictures of them for her and she'd buy them a hundred bucks apiece. Can you believe that nimwit? Needless to say, I heard word from my probation officer and she's in stable condition. My life was far from easy; I actually had a rough time with girls knowing every detail of my life, I almost felt like I was the one being stalked. I'm eighteen, for crying out loud! I should be out drinking illegally, sneaking into clubs, and driving around town flashing random bystanders. But instead I'm busy hiding from creepy fangirls who ask everything about the guys.

No, Brendon does not have a thing for girls who wear matching lingerie sets (or even girls who wear necklaces with his initials on it, for that matter).
Spencer has never met Michael Jackson or Paula Abdul and asked for a threesome.
And Ryan does not own more make up than me, are you kidding?! I can outdo that boy so good I put Jeffree Star to shame.


Oh right... my name's Brie Ockley, I'm eighteen years old and a native to Las Vegas, Nevada. I'm a quirky and random girl who is completely insane by the fucking insanity of girls who make up the most ridiculous rumors, and I drink so many Vanilla Cremes from Starbucks, they already know my "usual." I work at Build-A-Bear Workshop in The Fashion Mall (I swear I haven't gotten a raise in nearly six months that I'm very close to inching on pimp bitch slapping my boss), and I organize everything in my closet by color. No I have never seen any of the guys from Panic! At the Discos' penises, and if I ever did I don't think I'd be easily swayed by five hundred dollars to make them the next Pete Wentz generation. My hands are not permanently attached to my SideKick, and I prefer to draw in my free time because I have more skill than Matt Groening. Oh right, and I happen to know more about the guys from Panic than you could've ever researched.

Technically, I didn't really win. But it felt good to brag for once without Ryan outwitting me. Fucking bastard.

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A/N: Sorry about the quality, I wrote this up last night when I had just finished my Chemistry that I was exhausted but I knew I had to eventually start posting. I'll write the next chapter later on, but I'm not too certain if I'm going to be writing in first person or as third person, I'm undecided. Not to sure where this story is going to lead too, but we'll see, won't we?! Whatever, enjoy it kiddies :)
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