Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Mikey and the Skittles Adventure
36 reviewsMikey tastes a Skittle for the first time and falls in love a little too hard with the candy. (Rated R for profanity.)
5Funny
*UPDATE 5-16-09 SATURDAY 3:21PM CENTRAL TIME* I have 150 views from this story! DUUUUUUDE!!!!! That's 150 from 0 and when I posted yesterday! I'm psyched to see that! I am not psyched, however, to see that I still have only 10 reviews. Technically, I should have 150 reviews. (Special thanks to them, the first 10 reviewers, the ones that paid their respects to my hard work, especially leeshiddy22, my first reviewer! Check out leeshiddy22's stories. They're awesome, and I'm not just saying that. Seriously! At the risk of sounding like Tony the Tiger, they're GREAT!!! And also special thanks to nadialexandra, one of my favorite authors/readers. Harley? I'm still waiting for your review! Harley's word holds the utmost highest opinion to me.) You got time to sit and read, you got rate & review. Otherwise, don't bother reading the story. Every story on FicWad deserves the three R's: read, rate, and review. The same readers who don't review other stories are the same one who get pissed when no one 3R's THEIR stories. Can't swallow that cookie, can ya? I'm well-aware of my ability to write and am entitled to 3R as much as you are. If you don't want to want to 3R, there's nothing here for you to see. ~mr gayestgoth
Mikey sat at the back of tour bus. It sure was hot back there. For some reason, the air had crapped out again.
Ray had gone out for his daily run. Bob was taking a shower. Gerard and Frank had started arguing about whose turn it was to re-organize the magazines. Gerard called Frank a dummyhead (keep in mind, Gerard is 32 and Frank is 27), and Frank yelled back he quit the band.
Gerard yelled fine, I forgot what you did anyway. Frank ran of the bus in tears. Brian told Gerard to go after him, and that he wasn't about to "put up with this shit all fucking night."
So.
There was Mikey.
Alone.
All alone.
Mikey wiped his forhead and sighed. He was hungry, but the heat was zapping his energy so he didn't feel like getting up to cook anything.
Mikey leaned over and looked in Bob's duffle bag. He began to dig around. Tuner? No. A guitar pick? No. A tampon? Mikey didn't want to know.
A tiny, round green candy fell out of the bag and rolled onto the seat.
Mikey picked it up. He knew what it was. It was a Skittle. Mikey'd heard of them, but he'd never eaten one.
Mikey brought the Skittle to his mouth, licked it, and then chewed it.
Suddenly, a tidal wave of longing washed over Mikey, carrying him out to sea.
"All the wasted years!" Mikey cried, frantically ransacking the dufflebag for more. "Why oh why? God! How could you have withheld something so beautiful from me?"
Mikey threw the bag down in frustration.
"More!" he cried. "I must have more!"
Mikey got up and began opening the cabinets, throwing out all of the food onto the floor, looking for a bag of Skittles.
He bent down and threw all the magazines from under the table, searching. Mikey had never searched so hard for anything in his life.
Oh, to have that absolutely delectable taste in his mouth once again! Mikey's mouth twitched, and he began to salivate. If he could just have one more, just one, he'd be okay. The sugar from that single lime Skittle rushed 'round in his blood, making Mikey's heart pulse faster. This is what he'd been missing, these hard little candies he'd always ignored in grocery store lines? Why? How could he have been so stupid? All those M&M's had been a monumentous waste of time! Who needed candy-coated chocolate when you could have a solid ball of fructose and polysorbate combined with green lake 40?
"Green lake forty!" Mikey shouted. "Skittles! I'm coming!!!"
Bob stepped out of the shower and saw the mess laying on the floor. There were Cheerios mixed with the Drummer's World magazines.
Bob did not like Cheerios in the centerfold of his Drummer's World magazines.
"Mikey, what the fu--" Bob started.
"Can't talk! Skittles!" Mikey said.
Mikey jumped off the bus, running to the nearest corner store. Yes, he was closer. Gravel sprayed from beneath the soles of Mikey's shoes. The store was right there, right there, so close, so bloody close, when suddenly a car parked in front of the walkway.
"No!" Mikey cried. "Skittles!" Now he'd have to go around the car. That was five seconds delaying getting his Skittles.
Blast.
Mikey darted round the car. He ran into the store. A dumpy, tired-looking woman stood behind the counter, her watery blue eyes drooping behind her enormous, round-framed glasses. Her graying brown hair hung in a limp ponytail past her shoulders. She was wearing an ill-fitting light blue t-shirt that read, "Girl Scouts."
"Skittles!" Mikey cried, slapping the counter.
The woman shook her head. "No, Muriel." She pointed to her nametag.
"I need Skittles!" Mikey said.
Muriel gave Mikey a funny look. "O-kaaaay."
Muriel pointed at the side rack on the counter. "Right there, sweetheart."
Mikey reached for the Skittles, then paused. Regular? Tropical Fruit?! Limited Edition My Chemical Romance Skittles, in which the Skittles were gray, black, white and red and you could win a date with the band, no purchase necessary?!
When did MCR become corporate burnout material and get their own Skittles?
Mikey was certainly out of the loop.
And he couldn't decide which ones he wanted.
Muriel picked a bag of Skittles in the red package. (This was the plain type.)
"Try these, dearie," Muriel said, giving Mikey a gentle smile.
She rang them up. "That'll be ninety-two cents."
Mikey reached into his pockets. Nothing. Mikey sighed emo-ly.
"Sorry, sweetie," Muriel said sadly. She put the Skittles back on the rack.
Mikey looked at the packages Skittles, which seemed to be mocking him. They seemed to be saying, "How can you not have any money? You're famous! You don't have ninety-two cents? You, Micheal James Way, are a loser!"
Mikey trudged back to the tour bus. Bob was waiting for him.
"Mikey, you fucking trashed the entire fucking b---what's wrong, Mikes?"
Bob saw that Mikey had his head down, tears streaming down his face.
"Skittles," Mikey sobbed. He collapsed to the floor in a defeated heap, sighing pathetically.
Bob wrapped his arm around Mikey. "Is that all?" Bob said. "Here," Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Skittles.
Mikey stood up and danced then ran to his bunk. "Skittles!" Mikey cried gleefully, savaging the bag.
The entire week, Mikey ate Skittles and nothing else. There were Skittles bags EVERYWHERE. On the stove, in everyone's bunks, in the stack of video games, Ray's hair, any place you could imagine. Once, Gerard had performed the entire time onstage with a Skittles bag stuck to the back of his pants. He'd kept trying to figure out why the audience was laughing. It was only until Gerard looked up at the huge screen above the stage to find an Ice Cream Flavors Skittles wrapper on his left buttcheek. (Those were icky, by the way. Especially the chocolate ones. Bleh.)
Everyone started complaining because when Mikey went to go use the toilet, there would be rainbow poo left in the toilet. They weren't complaining because it smelled bad (it smelled like Skittles); they were complaining because it was rainbow and it was freaking everyone out. It also stuck to the bowl of the toilet, which was causing a different set of problems.
Mikey drank plenty of water. Gerard made him. Otherwise, Mikey would've died the first three days into his Skittles binge. The human body can live up to two weeks without food but only to three days without water.
"Mikey!" Frank would say to him. "Go brush your teeth!"
"And don't try to put crushed-up Skittles in the toothpaste again!" Ray would call from the front of the bus. "It defeats the purpose!"
Mikey liked the green Skittles most.
He wouldn't talk of anything else.
Skittles, Skittles, Skittles. That's all it was with him.
On top of that, there were melted Skittles everywhere on the bus. Once, Ray went to put his elbow down on the table. Instead, he plopped it into a blob of melted red Skittles.
"Gerard!" Ray said. "Do something!"
Gerard tossed up his hands helplessly. "Me? Why I gotta be the one to do somethin'?"
Frank threw a wadded-up ball of paper at Gerard. "'Cause he's your brother!"
"All the more reason for him to not listen to me!" Gerard complained in a high-pitched voice, pointing at his chest.
Later that week, Gerard, Lindsey, Frank, Jamia, Alicia, Ray, Christa, Bob, and Brian planned an intervention. This was getting out of control. Mikey was eating Skittles and nothing else. Mikey hadn't gained any weight, but his energy level had gone down TREMENDOUSLY. Mikey was starting to nod off. Mikey did this in the middle of a live interview. The next day, Brian ran across a magazine, the title screaming, "MCR BASSIST NODS OFF DURING INTERVIEW DUE TO COKE ADDICTION!!!" with a picture of Mikey's eyes halfway open clutching a bag of Bubblegum Skittles, his mouth haning open.
Brian tried to correct the concerned fans and the tabloids by telling them what was REALLY happening, but no one believed him. It sounded way to stupid to be true.
Everyone went to the back of the bus to talk to Mikey.
A strong, unusually pungent, sickeningly sweet smell hung in the air. Everyone was used to the Skittles smell, but for some reason, it was unusuaaly noticeable today. Like there was a giant Skittle somewhere on the bus.
Peculiar.
"I'll go," Gerard said. "He's my brother."
Christa nudged Alicia. "Go," Christa said. "You're his wife."
Alicia took Gerard's arm. They walked to the bunks while everyone waited near the front of the bus.
Mikey was doing chromatic warm-ups on his bass, just a-slappin' and cuttin' up and carryin' on, like nuttin' ain't neva happened. He was shirtless.
"What the fuck?" Gerard screamed. Alicia fainted. Gerard caught her. Everyone else ran to the back of the bus.
They gasped at the sight before their eyes. No way in hell they were seeing this.
This had to be fake. A joke.
This had to be the punchline.
"HO. LEE. SHIT." Jamia whispered, bringing her hands to her mouth.
Ray covered Christa's eyes.
Mikey's skin pigmentation had turned lime green. There was also a huge white "S" on Mikey's chest. It wasn't painted there, either.
Mikey looked up from his bass, surprised to see everyone standing in front of him, mouths agape, jaws slack, and Gerard holding Mikey's unconscious wife in his arms.
"What? What's everyone looking at?" Mikey said.
Bob pointed a trembling finger at Mikey. "D-D-Dude," Bob stammered. "Your b-b-b-b--"
"My bass?" Mikey beamed widely. "Yeah! I put some new stickers on it this morning!"
www.twitter.com/thegayestgoth - www.youtube.com/thegayestgoth - thegayestgoth@gmail.com
Now you KNOW this story deserves rates and reviews! I expect this to be in the green in five minutes! Remember the three R's: read, rate, and review! Otherwise, it's really fucked up to read my work and not give me feedback. Otherwise, youz a nigga. And I can say that cuz I'm black. So there. The three R's: put 'em up! ~mr gayestgoth.
completed Friday, May 15,2009 at 6:34am/7:25am (I came back and edited it a bit) Central Time
Mikey sat at the back of tour bus. It sure was hot back there. For some reason, the air had crapped out again.
Ray had gone out for his daily run. Bob was taking a shower. Gerard and Frank had started arguing about whose turn it was to re-organize the magazines. Gerard called Frank a dummyhead (keep in mind, Gerard is 32 and Frank is 27), and Frank yelled back he quit the band.
Gerard yelled fine, I forgot what you did anyway. Frank ran of the bus in tears. Brian told Gerard to go after him, and that he wasn't about to "put up with this shit all fucking night."
So.
There was Mikey.
Alone.
All alone.
Mikey wiped his forhead and sighed. He was hungry, but the heat was zapping his energy so he didn't feel like getting up to cook anything.
Mikey leaned over and looked in Bob's duffle bag. He began to dig around. Tuner? No. A guitar pick? No. A tampon? Mikey didn't want to know.
A tiny, round green candy fell out of the bag and rolled onto the seat.
Mikey picked it up. He knew what it was. It was a Skittle. Mikey'd heard of them, but he'd never eaten one.
Mikey brought the Skittle to his mouth, licked it, and then chewed it.
Suddenly, a tidal wave of longing washed over Mikey, carrying him out to sea.
"All the wasted years!" Mikey cried, frantically ransacking the dufflebag for more. "Why oh why? God! How could you have withheld something so beautiful from me?"
Mikey threw the bag down in frustration.
"More!" he cried. "I must have more!"
Mikey got up and began opening the cabinets, throwing out all of the food onto the floor, looking for a bag of Skittles.
He bent down and threw all the magazines from under the table, searching. Mikey had never searched so hard for anything in his life.
Oh, to have that absolutely delectable taste in his mouth once again! Mikey's mouth twitched, and he began to salivate. If he could just have one more, just one, he'd be okay. The sugar from that single lime Skittle rushed 'round in his blood, making Mikey's heart pulse faster. This is what he'd been missing, these hard little candies he'd always ignored in grocery store lines? Why? How could he have been so stupid? All those M&M's had been a monumentous waste of time! Who needed candy-coated chocolate when you could have a solid ball of fructose and polysorbate combined with green lake 40?
"Green lake forty!" Mikey shouted. "Skittles! I'm coming!!!"
Bob stepped out of the shower and saw the mess laying on the floor. There were Cheerios mixed with the Drummer's World magazines.
Bob did not like Cheerios in the centerfold of his Drummer's World magazines.
"Mikey, what the fu--" Bob started.
"Can't talk! Skittles!" Mikey said.
Mikey jumped off the bus, running to the nearest corner store. Yes, he was closer. Gravel sprayed from beneath the soles of Mikey's shoes. The store was right there, right there, so close, so bloody close, when suddenly a car parked in front of the walkway.
"No!" Mikey cried. "Skittles!" Now he'd have to go around the car. That was five seconds delaying getting his Skittles.
Blast.
Mikey darted round the car. He ran into the store. A dumpy, tired-looking woman stood behind the counter, her watery blue eyes drooping behind her enormous, round-framed glasses. Her graying brown hair hung in a limp ponytail past her shoulders. She was wearing an ill-fitting light blue t-shirt that read, "Girl Scouts."
"Skittles!" Mikey cried, slapping the counter.
The woman shook her head. "No, Muriel." She pointed to her nametag.
"I need Skittles!" Mikey said.
Muriel gave Mikey a funny look. "O-kaaaay."
Muriel pointed at the side rack on the counter. "Right there, sweetheart."
Mikey reached for the Skittles, then paused. Regular? Tropical Fruit?! Limited Edition My Chemical Romance Skittles, in which the Skittles were gray, black, white and red and you could win a date with the band, no purchase necessary?!
When did MCR become corporate burnout material and get their own Skittles?
Mikey was certainly out of the loop.
And he couldn't decide which ones he wanted.
Muriel picked a bag of Skittles in the red package. (This was the plain type.)
"Try these, dearie," Muriel said, giving Mikey a gentle smile.
She rang them up. "That'll be ninety-two cents."
Mikey reached into his pockets. Nothing. Mikey sighed emo-ly.
"Sorry, sweetie," Muriel said sadly. She put the Skittles back on the rack.
Mikey looked at the packages Skittles, which seemed to be mocking him. They seemed to be saying, "How can you not have any money? You're famous! You don't have ninety-two cents? You, Micheal James Way, are a loser!"
Mikey trudged back to the tour bus. Bob was waiting for him.
"Mikey, you fucking trashed the entire fucking b---what's wrong, Mikes?"
Bob saw that Mikey had his head down, tears streaming down his face.
"Skittles," Mikey sobbed. He collapsed to the floor in a defeated heap, sighing pathetically.
Bob wrapped his arm around Mikey. "Is that all?" Bob said. "Here," Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Skittles.
Mikey stood up and danced then ran to his bunk. "Skittles!" Mikey cried gleefully, savaging the bag.
The entire week, Mikey ate Skittles and nothing else. There were Skittles bags EVERYWHERE. On the stove, in everyone's bunks, in the stack of video games, Ray's hair, any place you could imagine. Once, Gerard had performed the entire time onstage with a Skittles bag stuck to the back of his pants. He'd kept trying to figure out why the audience was laughing. It was only until Gerard looked up at the huge screen above the stage to find an Ice Cream Flavors Skittles wrapper on his left buttcheek. (Those were icky, by the way. Especially the chocolate ones. Bleh.)
Everyone started complaining because when Mikey went to go use the toilet, there would be rainbow poo left in the toilet. They weren't complaining because it smelled bad (it smelled like Skittles); they were complaining because it was rainbow and it was freaking everyone out. It also stuck to the bowl of the toilet, which was causing a different set of problems.
Mikey drank plenty of water. Gerard made him. Otherwise, Mikey would've died the first three days into his Skittles binge. The human body can live up to two weeks without food but only to three days without water.
"Mikey!" Frank would say to him. "Go brush your teeth!"
"And don't try to put crushed-up Skittles in the toothpaste again!" Ray would call from the front of the bus. "It defeats the purpose!"
Mikey liked the green Skittles most.
He wouldn't talk of anything else.
Skittles, Skittles, Skittles. That's all it was with him.
On top of that, there were melted Skittles everywhere on the bus. Once, Ray went to put his elbow down on the table. Instead, he plopped it into a blob of melted red Skittles.
"Gerard!" Ray said. "Do something!"
Gerard tossed up his hands helplessly. "Me? Why I gotta be the one to do somethin'?"
Frank threw a wadded-up ball of paper at Gerard. "'Cause he's your brother!"
"All the more reason for him to not listen to me!" Gerard complained in a high-pitched voice, pointing at his chest.
Later that week, Gerard, Lindsey, Frank, Jamia, Alicia, Ray, Christa, Bob, and Brian planned an intervention. This was getting out of control. Mikey was eating Skittles and nothing else. Mikey hadn't gained any weight, but his energy level had gone down TREMENDOUSLY. Mikey was starting to nod off. Mikey did this in the middle of a live interview. The next day, Brian ran across a magazine, the title screaming, "MCR BASSIST NODS OFF DURING INTERVIEW DUE TO COKE ADDICTION!!!" with a picture of Mikey's eyes halfway open clutching a bag of Bubblegum Skittles, his mouth haning open.
Brian tried to correct the concerned fans and the tabloids by telling them what was REALLY happening, but no one believed him. It sounded way to stupid to be true.
Everyone went to the back of the bus to talk to Mikey.
A strong, unusually pungent, sickeningly sweet smell hung in the air. Everyone was used to the Skittles smell, but for some reason, it was unusuaaly noticeable today. Like there was a giant Skittle somewhere on the bus.
Peculiar.
"I'll go," Gerard said. "He's my brother."
Christa nudged Alicia. "Go," Christa said. "You're his wife."
Alicia took Gerard's arm. They walked to the bunks while everyone waited near the front of the bus.
Mikey was doing chromatic warm-ups on his bass, just a-slappin' and cuttin' up and carryin' on, like nuttin' ain't neva happened. He was shirtless.
"What the fuck?" Gerard screamed. Alicia fainted. Gerard caught her. Everyone else ran to the back of the bus.
They gasped at the sight before their eyes. No way in hell they were seeing this.
This had to be fake. A joke.
This had to be the punchline.
"HO. LEE. SHIT." Jamia whispered, bringing her hands to her mouth.
Ray covered Christa's eyes.
Mikey's skin pigmentation had turned lime green. There was also a huge white "S" on Mikey's chest. It wasn't painted there, either.
Mikey looked up from his bass, surprised to see everyone standing in front of him, mouths agape, jaws slack, and Gerard holding Mikey's unconscious wife in his arms.
"What? What's everyone looking at?" Mikey said.
Bob pointed a trembling finger at Mikey. "D-D-Dude," Bob stammered. "Your b-b-b-b--"
"My bass?" Mikey beamed widely. "Yeah! I put some new stickers on it this morning!"
www.twitter.com/thegayestgoth - www.youtube.com/thegayestgoth - thegayestgoth@gmail.com
Now you KNOW this story deserves rates and reviews! I expect this to be in the green in five minutes! Remember the three R's: read, rate, and review! Otherwise, it's really fucked up to read my work and not give me feedback. Otherwise, youz a nigga. And I can say that cuz I'm black. So there. The three R's: put 'em up! ~mr gayestgoth.
completed Friday, May 15,2009 at 6:34am/7:25am (I came back and edited it a bit) Central Time
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