Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Ronnie Can't Swag
Ronnie Radke woke up to find something rather strange. His pants, usually tossed somewhere around his knees, or worse yet, ankles, to drag along the ground, were nowhere to be found. He searched high and low, but was unable to find the pesky garments. This was most unusual, considering the amount of emphasis that the swag culture placed on sagging. You couldn't sag unless you had pants. Any idiot could tell that, even Ronnie.
What he did find, however, was a note, addressed to him. He gulped. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't something he wanted to find at all, much less first thing in the morning when he woke up, and especially not when he couldn't find his precious pants.
Ronnie
As your pants, I am sorry to have to leave you, but I was forced to do this, by none other than you. As your pants, I enjoyed being wrapped around your bum and your junk. I could forgive all the nights that I ended up crumpled up on the floor after your one night stands. I could forgive the times that I've been pulled off during a concert by your fan girls. Fuck, I can even forgive the amount of times I was left along for months on end to languish while your stupid ass was stuck in a jail because you didn't care for me enough to keep out.
But the truth of the matter is, I just can't stand the things you've been putting me through recently. Dragged along the ground? Smelling like weed? Getting ripped to shreds by gangsters when they kick your ass? That's just too much for me.
Hell, I can't even remember the last time that I was actually happy, and was actually on your ass, not your knees.
So to sum all of this up, I'll leave you with some parting words. I won't come back until you learn to treasure me like you used to do. I won't come back unless you actually learn that I belong on your delicious hips and ass and package, not your knees. Your knees aren't half as comfortable, or good looking as your ass.
Sincerely,
Your pants.
After reading this, Ronnie was understandably flipping out. He called Andy. Before the other singer managed to even say hello, Radke was saying,
"Andy man, I need your help, my pants bro, my pants, they left me, and I can't walk around in my underwear, it ain't swag bro."
"Ronnie, I know what you're asking for, and the answer is no. You can't have a pair of my pants until yours comes back. You'd just keep sagging them like you did your pair, and then they'd leave. I don't need to go finding my pants after they've ran away screaming that they've been abused."
"I'll wear them like Steve fuckin' Erkel if ya want! Please nigga, I'm fuckin' desperate!"
"Ronnie, as desperate as you are, I doubt you're desperate enough to fit into a pair of women's pants."
"I've worn womens pants before! I've worn them fucking loads a times! It's nothin! I fuckin' mean it, bro! I've worn ladies pants loads a times!"
"A size 4?"
A/N: I'm taking a guess at the size that Andy wears, but he doesn't look like he could be anything much larger than a 5 or 6 in womens...
What he did find, however, was a note, addressed to him. He gulped. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't something he wanted to find at all, much less first thing in the morning when he woke up, and especially not when he couldn't find his precious pants.
Ronnie
As your pants, I am sorry to have to leave you, but I was forced to do this, by none other than you. As your pants, I enjoyed being wrapped around your bum and your junk. I could forgive all the nights that I ended up crumpled up on the floor after your one night stands. I could forgive the times that I've been pulled off during a concert by your fan girls. Fuck, I can even forgive the amount of times I was left along for months on end to languish while your stupid ass was stuck in a jail because you didn't care for me enough to keep out.
But the truth of the matter is, I just can't stand the things you've been putting me through recently. Dragged along the ground? Smelling like weed? Getting ripped to shreds by gangsters when they kick your ass? That's just too much for me.
Hell, I can't even remember the last time that I was actually happy, and was actually on your ass, not your knees.
So to sum all of this up, I'll leave you with some parting words. I won't come back until you learn to treasure me like you used to do. I won't come back unless you actually learn that I belong on your delicious hips and ass and package, not your knees. Your knees aren't half as comfortable, or good looking as your ass.
Sincerely,
Your pants.
After reading this, Ronnie was understandably flipping out. He called Andy. Before the other singer managed to even say hello, Radke was saying,
"Andy man, I need your help, my pants bro, my pants, they left me, and I can't walk around in my underwear, it ain't swag bro."
"Ronnie, I know what you're asking for, and the answer is no. You can't have a pair of my pants until yours comes back. You'd just keep sagging them like you did your pair, and then they'd leave. I don't need to go finding my pants after they've ran away screaming that they've been abused."
"I'll wear them like Steve fuckin' Erkel if ya want! Please nigga, I'm fuckin' desperate!"
"Ronnie, as desperate as you are, I doubt you're desperate enough to fit into a pair of women's pants."
"I've worn womens pants before! I've worn them fucking loads a times! It's nothin! I fuckin' mean it, bro! I've worn ladies pants loads a times!"
"A size 4?"
A/N: I'm taking a guess at the size that Andy wears, but he doesn't look like he could be anything much larger than a 5 or 6 in womens...
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