Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Night You Skated Into My Life And Gave Me Fishnet Burn, So Let's Forget About The Drugs You Took While You Studied and The Fs You Got On That Test
In Which We Meet The MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM
1 reviewSetting: Pencey Preparatory, 2007 (so we have iPods), as school starts, New Jersey. Characters: Frank Iero, Gerard and Mikey Way, Ray Toro, and those weird kids you went to school with that never g...
0Unrated
In which we meet The MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM
Pencey Preparatory, a privet school under the impression that it was located in England, not New Jersey, is a fine establishment in a respectable part of Jersey. It houses about 150 students and has 200 day students. I am not one of those sad bastards that have to go home every night. I am a permanent (except for holidays) resident from 9th to 12th grade. the other thing about Pencey Prep is that its students are criminals with rich families, kids with rich families, criminals here on scholarship (which is ironic), or art kids (on scholarship, with criminalistic tendencies, or with rich parents). So you have a bunch of artsy criminals hanging together in a big happy family right? Wrong.
Let me tell you how Pencey Prep actually works:
The Jocks have the biggest table, and are on top of the food chain.
The Plastics (like in that movie but worse) are next, with the smallest table.
The School Bookie and his own monarchy of helpful servants, table of 8.
The Cheerleaders.
The Emo Soppy Poetry Writing Art Kids with bleeding hearts for the cheerleaders and cry during classes, another large table.
The Stoners.
The Girls Who Eat Their Feelings, do I need to say how big that table is? (joking)
The Girls Who Eat Nothing At All and Think They’re Hot Shit.
The Awesome Black Kids With Awesome Cars And Awesome Hair.
The Overly Sexually Active Theater Kids.
The Mathletes and their leader Ben Worstel.
The Band Geeks. They take up four tables of pure dork-dom. (I love those kids with all my heart)
The Loud Write-On-Their-Arms, Dye-Their-Hair Art kids Who Associate with the Theater Kids and the best group of all:
The Most Awesome People You Will Ever Meet In This Shit Hole Filled With Toxic Sludge They Call A State, With One Really Awesome Car, No Judgment, And An Epic Taste In Music. Our group is, I admit, at the very bottom of the chain, but from there we can pick up all the shit that falls from the top, is picked through each level and then thrown to us. We take that shit and make it into something awesome, something unique, something new.
The MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM is made up of the kids to cool for their own groups, or they never had one to begin with. Our Ring Leader is Gerard Way, one of the write-on-their-arms write-soppy-emo-poetry kids who wears eyeliner. He even drew us a logo! Then there is his epic brother Mikey (Miokey) Way, one of those unicorn-loving-comic-book-reading-kids-with-awkward-knees kids that has never had a group. I must say he keeps us all sane. There is Ray Toro, a band kid turned MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM, and the master mind behind every awful plan we plan. He also works in attendance and is far to awake in the mornings. Another band kid turned MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM, is Bob Bryar who I thank, if there is a God, everyday for sending us Bob. I’ve almost killed him numerous occasions and he’s never once hurt me back. He’s also the muscle dictated by Mikey. And then there’s me. My name is Frank Iero and I have a lovely knack for hurting myself accidentally doing idiotic things. I’m also a bit of a prankster, but it shall be known that it is not my fault if you wake up and there is cellophane on the toilet seat. Things that brought us together: horror flicks, comic books, music, raunchy jokes, and the love of been a misfit.
Now that you’ve been introduced to the place I call home 160 days of the year and the brothers I share that home with, I feel I’ve hazed you enough to get into the story.
Our tale starts on a disgustingly perfect day at the very beginning of junior year. Just from looking through the windows in my calculus class, I could tell that it would be an epic day for laying on the grass, daring Gerard to stand with one foot above the senior grass to see if he would be shot down from the sniper rifle on the roof, clonked on the head by Jacob Ericson, or attacked by a giant rabid bunny. But alas, I was stuck in a room that smelled of dry erase marker not on the nice grass, with Gerard drawing monsters and unicorns next to me not with a foot in senior grass air space. Sighing I wondered what adventures would await the way brothers and myself as we waited for band practice to end so we could head out in WDWM, Bob’s car which was actually named Wet Dream War Machine because he was the only one of us to have a car and we swooned over that, and check out a used clothing store or record store before heading back to the school so we didn’t miss the awe that was study hour and then the oh so traditional video game competition in Jace “The Stoner” Williams’ dorm. But tonight I had something different planned. And I planned to spring the plan on the boys during lunch.
So during lunch (the whole school has the same one) I brought my tray over to where our table was, outside under two big trees next to a ledge and a pile of rocks. It over looks the sand pit and the band room. Setting my tray of professionally not cooked professionally spaghetti; I did it with the attitude that announced I had an announced. But, alas, no one saw the awesomeness that was my attitude in putting the tray down, they were all looking at Mikey. Mikey is a skinny kid with awkward knees, glasses and taped together converse with the Misfits skull on them. He got picked on for everything from the glasses, to the shoes, to his wrists, to his hair (which can be awful I’ll admit). Everyone was sitting around him while he sniffles and holds his wrist awkwardly.
“I dun wanna go to the nurse.” He mumbles whipping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “She’ll call mom and mom will pitch a fit and I’ll get knocked again!” he was right, Mrs. Way had scary eyebrows and a scarier disposition to bullies.
“What happened?” I ask Ray while Gerard pats his brother on the back.
Ray nodded toward the lunch room and said “Craig Johnson. He pushed Mikey down and he might have broken his wrist.”
“Douche face!” I shout “I’ll punch his lights out!” which Mikey finds funny because I’m half Craig’s size. The guy towers over me like a sky scraper towers over a crack in the sidewalk. “Well… we’ll get Bob to punch his lights out!” Bob grunts in a non-affirmative way.
“It’s ok.” Mikey says rubbing his eyes dry. “I don’t think it’s badly broken.” I clear my throat again.
“I want every one to know,” I say “that me and Bob are going to Asbury Park to watch some smokin’ hot girl in fishnets beat the live ba-Jesus out of each other!” I smile happily and give everyone my signature ‘Frank Approves’ thumbs up.
“We are?” Bob asks and Ray laughs at me.
“Well…” I shrug “It’s you and I are going, or I’m borrowing WDWM and going on my own.”
“No way in hell you are stealing WDWM!” Bob shouts “I’m taking you to Asbury Park!” Bob knows I know how to hot wire a car and could easily get the poor baby stolen in Asbury.
“Yessss.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________
the first chapter of the awesome MCR Roller Derby Horror fic that emerged while watching Wolfman and reading Whip It and looking at my Paper Child I'm Not Okay Frank. this is just the frist chapter so be patient as i finish the next one. Also this isn’t going to have any band slash in it (maybe some drunk kisses).
also to anyone read Until The Bitter End, i'm trying to motivate myself to finish that one T^T i'm sorrryy!
Pencey Preparatory, a privet school under the impression that it was located in England, not New Jersey, is a fine establishment in a respectable part of Jersey. It houses about 150 students and has 200 day students. I am not one of those sad bastards that have to go home every night. I am a permanent (except for holidays) resident from 9th to 12th grade. the other thing about Pencey Prep is that its students are criminals with rich families, kids with rich families, criminals here on scholarship (which is ironic), or art kids (on scholarship, with criminalistic tendencies, or with rich parents). So you have a bunch of artsy criminals hanging together in a big happy family right? Wrong.
Let me tell you how Pencey Prep actually works:
The Jocks have the biggest table, and are on top of the food chain.
The Plastics (like in that movie but worse) are next, with the smallest table.
The School Bookie and his own monarchy of helpful servants, table of 8.
The Cheerleaders.
The Emo Soppy Poetry Writing Art Kids with bleeding hearts for the cheerleaders and cry during classes, another large table.
The Stoners.
The Girls Who Eat Their Feelings, do I need to say how big that table is? (joking)
The Girls Who Eat Nothing At All and Think They’re Hot Shit.
The Awesome Black Kids With Awesome Cars And Awesome Hair.
The Overly Sexually Active Theater Kids.
The Mathletes and their leader Ben Worstel.
The Band Geeks. They take up four tables of pure dork-dom. (I love those kids with all my heart)
The Loud Write-On-Their-Arms, Dye-Their-Hair Art kids Who Associate with the Theater Kids and the best group of all:
The Most Awesome People You Will Ever Meet In This Shit Hole Filled With Toxic Sludge They Call A State, With One Really Awesome Car, No Judgment, And An Epic Taste In Music. Our group is, I admit, at the very bottom of the chain, but from there we can pick up all the shit that falls from the top, is picked through each level and then thrown to us. We take that shit and make it into something awesome, something unique, something new.
The MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM is made up of the kids to cool for their own groups, or they never had one to begin with. Our Ring Leader is Gerard Way, one of the write-on-their-arms write-soppy-emo-poetry kids who wears eyeliner. He even drew us a logo! Then there is his epic brother Mikey (Miokey) Way, one of those unicorn-loving-comic-book-reading-kids-with-awkward-knees kids that has never had a group. I must say he keeps us all sane. There is Ray Toro, a band kid turned MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM, and the master mind behind every awful plan we plan. He also works in attendance and is far to awake in the mornings. Another band kid turned MAPYWEMITSHFWTSTCASWORACNJAAETIM, is Bob Bryar who I thank, if there is a God, everyday for sending us Bob. I’ve almost killed him numerous occasions and he’s never once hurt me back. He’s also the muscle dictated by Mikey. And then there’s me. My name is Frank Iero and I have a lovely knack for hurting myself accidentally doing idiotic things. I’m also a bit of a prankster, but it shall be known that it is not my fault if you wake up and there is cellophane on the toilet seat. Things that brought us together: horror flicks, comic books, music, raunchy jokes, and the love of been a misfit.
Now that you’ve been introduced to the place I call home 160 days of the year and the brothers I share that home with, I feel I’ve hazed you enough to get into the story.
Our tale starts on a disgustingly perfect day at the very beginning of junior year. Just from looking through the windows in my calculus class, I could tell that it would be an epic day for laying on the grass, daring Gerard to stand with one foot above the senior grass to see if he would be shot down from the sniper rifle on the roof, clonked on the head by Jacob Ericson, or attacked by a giant rabid bunny. But alas, I was stuck in a room that smelled of dry erase marker not on the nice grass, with Gerard drawing monsters and unicorns next to me not with a foot in senior grass air space. Sighing I wondered what adventures would await the way brothers and myself as we waited for band practice to end so we could head out in WDWM, Bob’s car which was actually named Wet Dream War Machine because he was the only one of us to have a car and we swooned over that, and check out a used clothing store or record store before heading back to the school so we didn’t miss the awe that was study hour and then the oh so traditional video game competition in Jace “The Stoner” Williams’ dorm. But tonight I had something different planned. And I planned to spring the plan on the boys during lunch.
So during lunch (the whole school has the same one) I brought my tray over to where our table was, outside under two big trees next to a ledge and a pile of rocks. It over looks the sand pit and the band room. Setting my tray of professionally not cooked professionally spaghetti; I did it with the attitude that announced I had an announced. But, alas, no one saw the awesomeness that was my attitude in putting the tray down, they were all looking at Mikey. Mikey is a skinny kid with awkward knees, glasses and taped together converse with the Misfits skull on them. He got picked on for everything from the glasses, to the shoes, to his wrists, to his hair (which can be awful I’ll admit). Everyone was sitting around him while he sniffles and holds his wrist awkwardly.
“I dun wanna go to the nurse.” He mumbles whipping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “She’ll call mom and mom will pitch a fit and I’ll get knocked again!” he was right, Mrs. Way had scary eyebrows and a scarier disposition to bullies.
“What happened?” I ask Ray while Gerard pats his brother on the back.
Ray nodded toward the lunch room and said “Craig Johnson. He pushed Mikey down and he might have broken his wrist.”
“Douche face!” I shout “I’ll punch his lights out!” which Mikey finds funny because I’m half Craig’s size. The guy towers over me like a sky scraper towers over a crack in the sidewalk. “Well… we’ll get Bob to punch his lights out!” Bob grunts in a non-affirmative way.
“It’s ok.” Mikey says rubbing his eyes dry. “I don’t think it’s badly broken.” I clear my throat again.
“I want every one to know,” I say “that me and Bob are going to Asbury Park to watch some smokin’ hot girl in fishnets beat the live ba-Jesus out of each other!” I smile happily and give everyone my signature ‘Frank Approves’ thumbs up.
“We are?” Bob asks and Ray laughs at me.
“Well…” I shrug “It’s you and I are going, or I’m borrowing WDWM and going on my own.”
“No way in hell you are stealing WDWM!” Bob shouts “I’m taking you to Asbury Park!” Bob knows I know how to hot wire a car and could easily get the poor baby stolen in Asbury.
“Yessss.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________
the first chapter of the awesome MCR Roller Derby Horror fic that emerged while watching Wolfman and reading Whip It and looking at my Paper Child I'm Not Okay Frank. this is just the frist chapter so be patient as i finish the next one. Also this isn’t going to have any band slash in it (maybe some drunk kisses).
also to anyone read Until The Bitter End, i'm trying to motivate myself to finish that one T^T i'm sorrryy!
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