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 Frank gets some Roller Derby action.
Something should be said for Mr. Ray Toro’s genius skills are planning the plans and executing the executed. So when Friday rolled around, sure we all had that box checked at the beginning of the year that said “My child is allowed to leave campus on weekends” by our parents, but it doesn’t excuse us from that awful hour of studying that we all needed. So Toro being Toro devised a plan in which we all just walked off campus after school and drove away in WDWM. It was quite brilliant after the other plans involved baby monitors and recorded tracks of us scribbling in notebooks and typing on laptops. So we went music hunting and instead of going to study we got on the freeway to Asbury Park.
The flier I’d grabbed a few days back from Atomic Shoes, was proclaiming that this would be an exposition bout between the Right Coast Rollers and the Murder Beach Militia. It flyer also depicted a very attractive woman in stakes kicking ass. The rest of the boys agreed that this would be the best night ever. So when we pull up to the warehouse that this bout would be held all five of us tumble out of the car to get to the door.
Now is the time we must talk about WDWM. It is a 1970’s Chevy Camaro, with red racing strips and a flat black spray paint job and does not run on gas. It runs on all the wet dreams boys have about their first car. That and human soul, because it takes a lot of hope and soul to get it started. It’s an instant babe-magnet here at the warehouse and Bob is suddenly swarmed with sexy chicks with bad ass hair and some equally bad ass dudes.
Before we’d left the dorms, I made the boys put on their Sunday Bests as it were. Mikey wore signature girl jeans and long sleeved shirt with a rib cage that was long enough to include a pelvic. It was also baby blue and orange. Hot Wheelz color code. Bob was looking equally dashing in jeans and a sweatshirt. And Ray the like. At least his shirt was a band shirt and he’d worn that yellow biker jacket. And then there was the Gerard of the Ways. He wore tight jeans like us all and a plain black shirt which had a leather jacket thrown over that, I’d dyed part of his hair green in the Texaco bathroom. I on the other hand wore black jeans and a black and while blowing shirt, the back emblazon with the words “Keep The Faith”. It was a plus that it showed off the arm tattoos I’d recently acquired. God, being 16 rules. I’ve also convinced the boys to let me paint a red stripe across our eyes. We look like hot shit. And people agree.
As we part from WDWM and make our way to the doors you could feel the rush of coolness and misfits and acceptance rush over me. I felt like dancing on the roof of Timberlan Hall at Prep and shouting “Fuck you! I can wear as many safety pins as I want MOTHERFUCKERS.”
Slowly we milled around the warehouse watching the hot girls with dyed hair and tattoos and Go-go boots talk about Derby, their favorite players, and hair bleach. Suddenly the lights flick off and I practically squeal with excitement pulling Gerard toward good seats. Which we get, they’re probably the best seats in the house. Besides the ones by the ring which is where Bob ends up.
A single beam of light falls onto a mirrored roller stake disco ball and an announcer comes over the PA telling us that we are at a roller derby expo and not to hurt each other trying to get a glimpse of the frilly panties.
“Oh, and here they come!” he shouts as the first group of ladies roll out onto the ring “The Right Coast Rollers!” girls in sexy black and white roll around posing and smiling. He proceeds to tell us all their names, all I get out of it is that there’s a girl named Jack & Coke and the captain is Shemain Tank. Then come the Murder Beach Militia. I can tell that people love them, by the shouts and the girls themselves. They are SMOKIN’ HAWT. I’d swoon if I was a teenage girl in a teenage romance novel, so instead I cheer and cheer. And then I see her.
She’s got dark hair that bleach underneath and skates like a beast. Her name is Cherry Bomber and I think I’m in love with her. Actually in love. I want to have her tattooed, punk rock, fishnet-ed, derby playing, bad-ass babies. And then I realized (not that I can’t have babies) but that she goes to my school. She goes to my school and I watched her across the quad there and now I’d watching her from across the track here.
I lean over to Ray and elbow him in the ribs, hard. “Brah! Who is that!?” I point to her as she lines up to jam for the Militia.
“Ow,” Ray rubs his side “She’s Cherry Bomber. They just said!”
“Noooo!” I motion around with the beer I’m holding “She goes to Prep! With us!” Ray looks at her as she zooms by pushing girls out of her way.
“There goes Bomber,” the announcer said “Meanest hunk of woman anyone’s ever seen on the track but off she’s your favorite cashier, college grad, teacher, bartender you name it,”
“Is she the chick you’re always watching?” Ray asked as the next jam starts up. I nod invigorated. “Miokey!” he shouts across the floor at the bespeckled boy, “Cherry Bomber! Who is she?”
“Dunno,” he shouted back. He’s absolutely no use when ones needs him to be of use. Also if anyone is wondering he’s got a brace on the broken wrist. I mentally bang my head on the rail as Cherry Bomber hip checks another girl into the rail. Fuck this girl is hot.
So in the grand scheme of things the match ended and, even though Cherry Bomber was awesome, Murder Beach Militia wins 74 to 44 and we mill out toward WDWM when I spot them. Bob’s got my neck in a vice grip to keep me away, but you can’t tell an Iero what to do, so I drive away from him and toward the Roller Girls sealing merch. Like shirt and trading cards! I almost squealed again as I leaned over the case and regret the fact that Ray took my wallet.
“See something you like?” someone asked and I look up face to tits with Cherry Bomber. She’s even prettier in person. Pointy nose and freckles. ADD FRECKLES TO THE LIST OF TRAITS OUR BABIES SHALL HAVE.
“Um…” I clear my throat. She’s graduated Prep, she’s above me “Well I would but, I don’t know your real name.” she smiled happily as if this is what she’s always wanted.
“Nestor,” She said holding out her hand “You’ll have to come to the next bout to find out my first one.” She winked and walked away. I stand there for awhile looking after her. Long enough that Bob finds me and has to actually, physically, wrench me way from the merch booth.
“What’s wrong with Frank’s face?” Mikey asks as Bob wheeled me to WDWM.
“It’s Derby Fever.” Gerard says as WDWM click-click-click-catches “Frank got some hard-on Roller Derby action tonight.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Well chapter two is up already gasp have fun sexys!
Something should be said for Mr. Ray Toro’s genius skills are planning the plans and executing the executed. So when Friday rolled around, sure we all had that box checked at the beginning of the year that said “My child is allowed to leave campus on weekends” by our parents, but it doesn’t excuse us from that awful hour of studying that we all needed. So Toro being Toro devised a plan in which we all just walked off campus after school and drove away in WDWM. It was quite brilliant after the other plans involved baby monitors and recorded tracks of us scribbling in notebooks and typing on laptops. So we went music hunting and instead of going to study we got on the freeway to Asbury Park.
The flier I’d grabbed a few days back from Atomic Shoes, was proclaiming that this would be an exposition bout between the Right Coast Rollers and the Murder Beach Militia. It flyer also depicted a very attractive woman in stakes kicking ass. The rest of the boys agreed that this would be the best night ever. So when we pull up to the warehouse that this bout would be held all five of us tumble out of the car to get to the door.
Now is the time we must talk about WDWM. It is a 1970’s Chevy Camaro, with red racing strips and a flat black spray paint job and does not run on gas. It runs on all the wet dreams boys have about their first car. That and human soul, because it takes a lot of hope and soul to get it started. It’s an instant babe-magnet here at the warehouse and Bob is suddenly swarmed with sexy chicks with bad ass hair and some equally bad ass dudes.
Before we’d left the dorms, I made the boys put on their Sunday Bests as it were. Mikey wore signature girl jeans and long sleeved shirt with a rib cage that was long enough to include a pelvic. It was also baby blue and orange. Hot Wheelz color code. Bob was looking equally dashing in jeans and a sweatshirt. And Ray the like. At least his shirt was a band shirt and he’d worn that yellow biker jacket. And then there was the Gerard of the Ways. He wore tight jeans like us all and a plain black shirt which had a leather jacket thrown over that, I’d dyed part of his hair green in the Texaco bathroom. I on the other hand wore black jeans and a black and while blowing shirt, the back emblazon with the words “Keep The Faith”. It was a plus that it showed off the arm tattoos I’d recently acquired. God, being 16 rules. I’ve also convinced the boys to let me paint a red stripe across our eyes. We look like hot shit. And people agree.
As we part from WDWM and make our way to the doors you could feel the rush of coolness and misfits and acceptance rush over me. I felt like dancing on the roof of Timberlan Hall at Prep and shouting “Fuck you! I can wear as many safety pins as I want MOTHERFUCKERS.”
Slowly we milled around the warehouse watching the hot girls with dyed hair and tattoos and Go-go boots talk about Derby, their favorite players, and hair bleach. Suddenly the lights flick off and I practically squeal with excitement pulling Gerard toward good seats. Which we get, they’re probably the best seats in the house. Besides the ones by the ring which is where Bob ends up.
A single beam of light falls onto a mirrored roller stake disco ball and an announcer comes over the PA telling us that we are at a roller derby expo and not to hurt each other trying to get a glimpse of the frilly panties.
“Oh, and here they come!” he shouts as the first group of ladies roll out onto the ring “The Right Coast Rollers!” girls in sexy black and white roll around posing and smiling. He proceeds to tell us all their names, all I get out of it is that there’s a girl named Jack & Coke and the captain is Shemain Tank. Then come the Murder Beach Militia. I can tell that people love them, by the shouts and the girls themselves. They are SMOKIN’ HAWT. I’d swoon if I was a teenage girl in a teenage romance novel, so instead I cheer and cheer. And then I see her.
She’s got dark hair that bleach underneath and skates like a beast. Her name is Cherry Bomber and I think I’m in love with her. Actually in love. I want to have her tattooed, punk rock, fishnet-ed, derby playing, bad-ass babies. And then I realized (not that I can’t have babies) but that she goes to my school. She goes to my school and I watched her across the quad there and now I’d watching her from across the track here.
I lean over to Ray and elbow him in the ribs, hard. “Brah! Who is that!?” I point to her as she lines up to jam for the Militia.
“Ow,” Ray rubs his side “She’s Cherry Bomber. They just said!”
“Noooo!” I motion around with the beer I’m holding “She goes to Prep! With us!” Ray looks at her as she zooms by pushing girls out of her way.
“There goes Bomber,” the announcer said “Meanest hunk of woman anyone’s ever seen on the track but off she’s your favorite cashier, college grad, teacher, bartender you name it,”
“Is she the chick you’re always watching?” Ray asked as the next jam starts up. I nod invigorated. “Miokey!” he shouts across the floor at the bespeckled boy, “Cherry Bomber! Who is she?”
“Dunno,” he shouted back. He’s absolutely no use when ones needs him to be of use. Also if anyone is wondering he’s got a brace on the broken wrist. I mentally bang my head on the rail as Cherry Bomber hip checks another girl into the rail. Fuck this girl is hot.
So in the grand scheme of things the match ended and, even though Cherry Bomber was awesome, Murder Beach Militia wins 74 to 44 and we mill out toward WDWM when I spot them. Bob’s got my neck in a vice grip to keep me away, but you can’t tell an Iero what to do, so I drive away from him and toward the Roller Girls sealing merch. Like shirt and trading cards! I almost squealed again as I leaned over the case and regret the fact that Ray took my wallet.
“See something you like?” someone asked and I look up face to tits with Cherry Bomber. She’s even prettier in person. Pointy nose and freckles. ADD FRECKLES TO THE LIST OF TRAITS OUR BABIES SHALL HAVE.
“Um…” I clear my throat. She’s graduated Prep, she’s above me “Well I would but, I don’t know your real name.” she smiled happily as if this is what she’s always wanted.
“Nestor,” She said holding out her hand “You’ll have to come to the next bout to find out my first one.” She winked and walked away. I stand there for awhile looking after her. Long enough that Bob finds me and has to actually, physically, wrench me way from the merch booth.
“What’s wrong with Frank’s face?” Mikey asks as Bob wheeled me to WDWM.
“It’s Derby Fever.” Gerard says as WDWM click-click-click-catches “Frank got some hard-on Roller Derby action tonight.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Well chapter two is up already gasp have fun sexys!
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