Warning: Could possibly contain a rude, yet politically correct Pete Wentz, a shameful amount of stereotypical clichés about da boyz (and an elderly lady) and an instance of make-believe chocolate...
THE PHOTO SHOOT OF DUMB
"Oh, yeah, baby! Gimme that sexy pout!"
Patrick Stump sat on a bar stool in front of a blue wall.
"Let us marvel at your phenomenal booty!"
Patrick Stump sat on a bar stool in front of a blue wall, not moving a muscle.
"Brilliant! You're a natural!"
Patrick Stump sat on a bar stool in front of a blue wall, not moving a muscle and becoming seriously scared.
"Yes, be angry, be smoking!"
Patrick Stump... blah blah... becoming seriously scared and wishing he was somebody else right now.
"Imagine you're a... a squid! And you're floating upwards. Yes! Yes, move your tentacles to surface! That's grace right there! Classy!"
Patrick Stump was still not moving at all. He was frozen in terror. When would this come to an end?
The sweat on his brow reflected the light of the three lamps concentrated on him and blinded his three bandmates who were watching the scene with a touch of amusement and good lump of dread. What would she ask them to do once it was their turn in front of the lense?
Personally, Andy found squids rather disgusting. This was true for most animals, which was the very reason why we had turned vegan. Who would want to put those filthy stinky creatures in their mouth voluntarily?
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime to Patrick, the delusional sixty-something photographer put her camera down.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to get a new film. This stud right there," she pointed her bony forefinger with the light pink nail at the heavily intimidated behatted munchkin who was wearing a blank expression (still in shock), "made me shoot the entire roll."
The quartet consisting of... - ok, this is redundant. You know who. The quartet's eyes followed the old lady walking out of the room. Let's stick to the facts: hobbling out of the room.
"Now, where did I put those rolls of film I bought yesterday..." they heard her muffled voice.
"Lord, if this takes as long as it took her to find her camera that was in the black camera case, right on the freaking table in front of her, then we we'll be here until Pete's fluffed highlights have grown out...." Joe grumbled annoyed.
"Joseph, you ought to show more respect for our senior citizens," Andy reprimanded him.
Pete nodded and held up his hand, "And my hair."
"She scares me," Patrick piped up. "She touched me."
"Not to be rude, but she touched you ON THE ARM, you paranoid baby that will never get a real woman," Pete replied.
"I don't like to be touched by other people, no matter where," his friend explained. "... and I think she called my ass fat."
"Um, Patrick," Pete bit his lip. "No offense, but your butt is gigantic."
"Thanks, Pete. Telling me not to take offense at your insult makes it all the more less hurtful."
"Doesn't it?" the bassist smiled widely. "I got it all from here." He pulled out a rolled up paperback book (/Etiquette for Bassists and other Dummies/*) from the crotch of his jeans.
The men heard a crashing sound and shot up in surprise.
"Was that bones hitting the floor?" Joe asked. Hopefully.
Granny Snapshot re-appeared, bearing a tray with four glasses of lemonade and a plate with whole-wheat cookies.
"Hm, chocolate chip, my favorite!" Patrick, forgetting all about his shyness and basically, hm, existenial fear, let three biscuits vanish into his tummy.**
The elderly photographer laughed at the young man's healthy appetite and then frowned in confusion, "I think they weren't chocolate chip when I got them out of the package."
"Not to say that if you think those are chocolate chip cookies you are a complete moron and shouldn't be allowed to be alive, but since when do chocolate chips have six legs and antennea?" Pete pulled off a nice combo of affront, superfluous wise-ass comment and instance of wrong pronunciation of the word 'cookies'.*
"Oh, I remember," the photographer placed her hand on her chest and laughed heartily. "Clumsy me dropped them on the floor. And by doing so I accidentally knocked over my grandchild's ant farm. Dorian will be very sad."
"Seriously, I can't get my head around how you people can eat animals. Eeeeeewwww," Andy pointed out.
"Great. Do you have a forklifter or crane around here, lady?" Pete inquired** according to his practical and ill-mannered nature.
"PETE!" Andy's authority made a quick cameo.
The bassist giggled bashfully. "Huh, right. My bad. Not trying to insult Patrick about his," he stopped to indicate quotation signs in the air, " 'critical mass' BUT do you have a forklifter or crane around here, lady?"
Joe grunted in amusement about Pete's misuse of technical vocabulary. "You have no idea what," he micked Pete's quotation sign move, " 'critical mass' means, right?"
Pete rolled his eyes and imitated inverted commas in front of the lead guitarist's face, " 'No'. That's what I used the 'quotation marks' for, ya noob."
"Peter, I think 'noob' is mainly restricted to -" Andy's authority went as fast as it had come.
"Whatever," Joe interrupted the drummer. "Let me make sure I fully get this: You're in a band that's called FALL OUT BOY and you don't know what 'critical mass' means, Peter?"
Pete scratched his head. "Is that..." he snuck a glance at Andy. "Is that," - repetitively questionable abuse of the quotation sign-gesture, " 'ironic'?"
"Yes, Peter! Very good!" the vegan squealed.
"Boys, can we please continue the photo shoot?" the photographer chimed in. "I just took my medicine and I usually get really sleepy one hour after that."
"Why, of course," Joe pushed the bassist towards the elderly woman. "Pete, your turn."
The man shot an angry glance at his bossy cauliflower-haired soon-to-be-out-of-job bandmate and took a seat on the bar stool in front of the blue wall.
"Watch the pro," Pete winked at nobody in particular and his reflection in the mirror behind the elderly photographer, who was getting into position, in general.
"Okay, young man. First of you all you will need to stop twisting your face into such repulsive grimaces. No-one wants to see that," the female pointed out.
"Excuse me?" his shocked expression wasn't even fake anymore.
"Be more like the nice little boy on the floor over there," she nodded at Patrick who was still passed-out.
A good sixty minutes later Granny Snapshot was close to losing her temper, "That's it. Get OFF that stool, it's no use. You really need to work on your camera presence, young man."
Poor Pete had delivered the full program(me): the sexy pout, the thoughtful pout, the pouty pout; shocked Pete, growlie-face Pete, dorky-yet-slightly-more-attractive-than-your-bald-middle-aged-science-teacher Pete... and pretty much the rest of the borderline personality lot that he can pull out of his hoodie. To no grandmother-fu...lfilling avail.
The woman turned to Andy and Joe. "Listen, boys, I will just get another film roll," she paused and inhaled deeply, "as your colleague's inability to look normal, not to say good, for the camera has forced me to waste an entire roll of film. You stay here and I will be right back."
While she left the room a second time Joe roared with laughter and woke up Unconscious Cutie.
"Ugh, are we done here yet? I wanna go home. Where the chocolate chips on my cookies aren't able to scuttle around," Patrick got up from the floor.
Did we establish that he was wearing a black-and-white striped muscle-shirt? Because that wouldn't be truthful.
It was black with white polka dots.
Hey, at least he had been able to avert the worst: "Pete, I don't care what Ashlee thinks about these cropped capri shorts. If you make us put these on I'm quitting the band."
"Hello... Ms... Photo-Lady?" Andy yelled after the photographer.
"Go check what's going on with the old hag, Patrick," Joe ordered.
Pete was happy to supply a suitable answer: "I really don't want to hurt your feelings and -" he stopped for a moment to flip open his etiquette handbook, "And I say this with my heart full with nothing but affection for you, but a fat blob like yourself should use all the exercise he can get."***
"Thank you, Pete," Joe nodded approvingly.
"But..." Patrick looked around helplessly and fixated Andy with his eyes.
"Man, I'm not going to help you out of this one. You ate ANTS, man," the drummer stated. Ants beat squids on the Hurleyian grossness charts.
Two minutes later Patrick returned and informed his friends that the elderly woman had fallen asleep and wouldn't wake up.
"Perfect. Let's get outta here," Joe suggested.
"The door's locked," Andy said as he removed his hand from the handle.
Patrick started whistling the Twilight Zone theme.
"Stop it! This is not helpful," Pete pointed out. He was slightly freaked out like the others.
"I can't help it. I always whistle when I'm scared."
"Whistle something else at least."
"Sure," the singer shrugged and changed the tune.
"Not The X-Files theme EITHER!" Andy hissed.
The bassist took charge, "We need to find something to open the door with. Something I can pick the lock with..." He looked around the place and picked up various items.
"Nah, a ball of yarn won't help... Hm, a left-over sandwich. This may come in handy... No, this human skull isn't very useful... Oh, a mirror!"
"Ah," Joe tapped him on the shoulder and held a key in front of his eyes, "would this help you, Mr. MacGyver?"
With the turn of the key in the lock the four men were free.
"I'm thinking next time we won't let the record company send us somewhere to take pictures because of a dubious 50%-off coupon in a women's knitting magazine," Joe laid out the morale of the episode for everyone.
"And bring our own cookies!" Patrick added.
* As I play bass myself, I may. I own several of those For Dummies books, you know. Including /Bass for Dummies/.
** Is this considered cannibalism?
* Every baby knows how to pronounce "antennea". Seriously.
** Reading instruction for Katy: Read "enquired". ;)
*** Yes, yes, I disagree, too. Don't hate, it's just a bad joke.