Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > My Humorous Romance
This was a journal topic from my Language Arts class, barely edited except to remove grammatical and spelling issues, and insert the mighty Profanity. BTW: Strangely, language arts teacher didn't seem to care it was a scattered brain fanific of an essay with mentions of drunks, and loosely censored profanities.
Frank the fly awoke, stretching his fly arms and legs. It was going to be a long day ahead of him, he could tell. Glancing around his small fly home, he decided he wanted to start the day off with coffee. It was barely the crack of dawn over the city of Newark, New Jersey. But since it was an industrial area, the fact that the sun was barely over the horizon was ignored, the city already up and running. So without further ado, Frank rolled his fly bum out of bed, and zipped off in search of coffee. There was this nice little sidewalk cafe he knew about, which was bound to have at least one smoker outside drinking his or her coffee despite the smog in the air.
Upon arriving at this cafe, he realized that he had been right to assume that there was going to be at least one person sitting outside, drinking coffee. However, the young man in question was not drinking his coffee. He was sitting there, drink slowly growing cold in front of him. He was drawing something, but most of his face, and the drawing too, was obscured by black hair that washed in front of his face. He didn't seemed troubled by it. Seeing this, Frank landed on the edge of the cup, and whipped out a fly sized straw. He began to slurp up the coffee, making small slurping noises. The artist wrinkled his brow, annoyed at the noise.
Presently, Frank let out a rather loud burp. This cause the artist to let out a rather loud "What the fuck?", his head snapping up, hand going to his pocket, drawing a switchblade. Seeing no one there but a fly, he put the blade down, and picked up a newspaper someone had left on a chair next to him. "Hell no!" Frank squealed, flying away as fast as his fly wings would take him. But he was too late. THe artist brought the newspaper down on Frank, knocking him down cold. "Damned fly. Who the fuck does he think he is, thinking his little bastard ass could just come up and steal my fucking coffee like that?" The artist shouted out to no one in particular.
Later that day, the sun had already set. Frank finally woke up. "What the hell?" He asked, glancing around to get a bearing on his surroundings. "Ah, fuck, I'm gonna be so late the guys are gonna have my ass on a silver platter!" Frank shouted, flapping away.
Eventually, he winded up in a bar on the other side of town. There, he met his friends. Mikey the Mosquito. Ray the Roach. Bob the bee. Several minutes later, it was 10 P.M. The clock in the bar let out a loud beep. It was their cue to get their insect bums onto the stage. They lined up, and started doing a funky dance routine, singing all the while. The songs lyrics seemed to be anti-pants. This song must aptly be called 'Do The No Pants'. Then, the same man from before, staggered drunkenly to the stage with a magazine, rolled up. "Fuck no! Not again!" Frank screamed, as he was hit by the newspaper.
Seeing this, the bartender ran over and said, "Gerard, what the hell you drunk? That was my star act right there you just knocked out!" The man known as Gerard blinked a few times, before his eyes settled on the bartender. "Star act? I don't see a star act! All I saw was a bunch of insects singing about no pants!"
Just then, the Beatles walked in. "Oi mate, we should sue them! We were the originals in the no pants trend!" Lennon said to Georgie.
Frank the fly awoke, stretching his fly arms and legs. It was going to be a long day ahead of him, he could tell. Glancing around his small fly home, he decided he wanted to start the day off with coffee. It was barely the crack of dawn over the city of Newark, New Jersey. But since it was an industrial area, the fact that the sun was barely over the horizon was ignored, the city already up and running. So without further ado, Frank rolled his fly bum out of bed, and zipped off in search of coffee. There was this nice little sidewalk cafe he knew about, which was bound to have at least one smoker outside drinking his or her coffee despite the smog in the air.
Upon arriving at this cafe, he realized that he had been right to assume that there was going to be at least one person sitting outside, drinking coffee. However, the young man in question was not drinking his coffee. He was sitting there, drink slowly growing cold in front of him. He was drawing something, but most of his face, and the drawing too, was obscured by black hair that washed in front of his face. He didn't seemed troubled by it. Seeing this, Frank landed on the edge of the cup, and whipped out a fly sized straw. He began to slurp up the coffee, making small slurping noises. The artist wrinkled his brow, annoyed at the noise.
Presently, Frank let out a rather loud burp. This cause the artist to let out a rather loud "What the fuck?", his head snapping up, hand going to his pocket, drawing a switchblade. Seeing no one there but a fly, he put the blade down, and picked up a newspaper someone had left on a chair next to him. "Hell no!" Frank squealed, flying away as fast as his fly wings would take him. But he was too late. THe artist brought the newspaper down on Frank, knocking him down cold. "Damned fly. Who the fuck does he think he is, thinking his little bastard ass could just come up and steal my fucking coffee like that?" The artist shouted out to no one in particular.
Later that day, the sun had already set. Frank finally woke up. "What the hell?" He asked, glancing around to get a bearing on his surroundings. "Ah, fuck, I'm gonna be so late the guys are gonna have my ass on a silver platter!" Frank shouted, flapping away.
Eventually, he winded up in a bar on the other side of town. There, he met his friends. Mikey the Mosquito. Ray the Roach. Bob the bee. Several minutes later, it was 10 P.M. The clock in the bar let out a loud beep. It was their cue to get their insect bums onto the stage. They lined up, and started doing a funky dance routine, singing all the while. The songs lyrics seemed to be anti-pants. This song must aptly be called 'Do The No Pants'. Then, the same man from before, staggered drunkenly to the stage with a magazine, rolled up. "Fuck no! Not again!" Frank screamed, as he was hit by the newspaper.
Seeing this, the bartender ran over and said, "Gerard, what the hell you drunk? That was my star act right there you just knocked out!" The man known as Gerard blinked a few times, before his eyes settled on the bartender. "Star act? I don't see a star act! All I saw was a bunch of insects singing about no pants!"
Just then, the Beatles walked in. "Oi mate, we should sue them! We were the originals in the no pants trend!" Lennon said to Georgie.
Sign up to rate and review this story