Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > The Bass Files
With arms wide open (NOT)
12 reviewsThis chapter shocks the author and the reader as it turns out that Sheena is able to cast a spell on the male sex (of more than just the human species) after all. With a little help of curly hair a...
4Funny
34. With arms wide open (NOT)
Now, dear readers, there´s a good reason most humans are born with two functioning arms and hands. You might find yourself needing them to carry out such simple tasks as going grocery shopping, taking a shower and washing your wire brush hair, flipping people off for pointing out to you that you have wire brush hair - I´m thinking of you, Joseph - or just for flexing your biceps while holding teenage girls at bay if your name is Pete Wentz.*
After four weeks with this cast on my left arm several things had become more than obvious to me:
1. Mrs. Johnson should be locked in a room with just a computer that only allows her to access online fanfic written by you know who.**
2. FrostedGlass should burn in hell and make a reservation for Mrs. Johnson.
3. Trying to put on a turtleneck: a clear no-go with only one arm and hand.
4. Pete HAD to be in the band. He was hitting it off with the guys, both musically and interpersonally.
As I got home from work on a Friday afternoon my eyes fell on my bass propped up against the living room wall. As if the sexual abstinence wasn´t bad enough... I sighed and sat down on the couch to pity myself. (An activity I had perfected within the last couple of weeks. OK! Within the last two decades...)
Mr. Meatball jumped onto my lap and purred. In the meantime he had practically moved in. At one point I had rung my neighbor´s doorbell to ask if he wasn´t missing his cat but he just told me that the tabby wasn´t really his pet but that he had simply fed him from time to time because noone seemed to look after it.
"I´m happy he´s your business now. Cat food is expensive, you know." And with that I had a door in my face and a cat in my home.
Mr. Meatball rubbed his head against my plaster which had been doodled on by the guys:
I tried to fly and all I got was this lousy cast.
(Andy)
Stupidity hurts.
(Joe... who learned that a cast struck against his chest also hurts)
Buck up, little camper!
(Patrick)
At least it didn´t happen to Pete.
(duh)
_ _ _ _ _
"Whoa, what´s that?" Patrick grabbed the Valentine´s Day card I had put on the kitchen counter the day I had gotten home with my arm in plaster.
"It´s nothing really," I made a dismissive gesture with my healthy arm.
He examined the front of the card, a colorful painted bouquet of flowers framed by a golden heart.
"You didn´t tell me you had a secret admirer," the guy smirked.
I rolled my eyes at him, "Just read the goddamn card already, Patrick. And then give me a break."
"Dear Ms. Scully,
Will you be my Valentine? If you say yes you can visit me at home and pat my guinea pig Doughnut. Maybe you remember that he eats his excrements. (See, I learned that word!)
Jimmy
P.S.: I really like your hair. It would surely make a cosy place for Doughnut to lie in."
By the time Patrick had finished reading out loud he was cracking up so much that he had to sit down on one of the kitchen´s bar stools.
"At least I didn´t make up imaginary dates," I grunted and jerked the card out of his hand.
As I slightly leaned against him to put the card back on its previous spot I felt his breath on my neck and found myself caught in an eyelock.
"Wow... what´s that smell?" he asked softly.
"Strawberry?" It really sounded more like a question than an answer.
"Yeah." He looked... I don´t know, different. He looked as if he was about to...
"I, ah," I pulled back quickly, "bought this new body lotion and it smells of strawberries. Yeah."
He must have noticed my sudden nervousness and seemed to fall victim to it as well, tugging at his hat and smiling shyly, "Smells really good."
Ok, where was Joe if you actually wanted him to burst into the room?
Patrick knitted his hands together and rested them on his lap. Suddenly his cell phone on the table in my living room started to go off. He didn´t move.
"Don´t you wanna go answer it?"
"It´s probably just Joe."
I raised an eyebrow, "So?"
"Actually," he looked down at his hands for a moment, "I don´t really wanna get up now."
Aha...
OH!
Um, Patrick wasn´t just having a hard-on in my kitchen because I had rubbed myself against him and enchanted his senses with my strawberry smell, was he?
"You know what?" I semi-hurried out of the kitchen. "I´ll be right back."
I went to my bedroom to... basically to hide from Patrick and his... situation.
Five minutes later there was a knock on my bedroom door.
"Hey, I´m gonna go now. I´ll see you around," Patrick said without opening the door.
"Ah, ok, Patrick. Later."
I didn´t want him to leave because this had embarrassed him but I didn´t want to make him feel that he had to stay even though this had embarrassed him.
I heard him leaving my apartment.
Good God, I wish I was more like Joyce. She would have acted more naturally in a situation like this.
______________________
* Not to mention for giving out DoJ high-fives. And also for DoJ ass-grabbing.
** FairyGodmother? FoxyGreeks? FerociousGoblins? FreakyGeeks?
Now, dear readers, there´s a good reason most humans are born with two functioning arms and hands. You might find yourself needing them to carry out such simple tasks as going grocery shopping, taking a shower and washing your wire brush hair, flipping people off for pointing out to you that you have wire brush hair - I´m thinking of you, Joseph - or just for flexing your biceps while holding teenage girls at bay if your name is Pete Wentz.*
After four weeks with this cast on my left arm several things had become more than obvious to me:
1. Mrs. Johnson should be locked in a room with just a computer that only allows her to access online fanfic written by you know who.**
2. FrostedGlass should burn in hell and make a reservation for Mrs. Johnson.
3. Trying to put on a turtleneck: a clear no-go with only one arm and hand.
4. Pete HAD to be in the band. He was hitting it off with the guys, both musically and interpersonally.
As I got home from work on a Friday afternoon my eyes fell on my bass propped up against the living room wall. As if the sexual abstinence wasn´t bad enough... I sighed and sat down on the couch to pity myself. (An activity I had perfected within the last couple of weeks. OK! Within the last two decades...)
Mr. Meatball jumped onto my lap and purred. In the meantime he had practically moved in. At one point I had rung my neighbor´s doorbell to ask if he wasn´t missing his cat but he just told me that the tabby wasn´t really his pet but that he had simply fed him from time to time because noone seemed to look after it.
"I´m happy he´s your business now. Cat food is expensive, you know." And with that I had a door in my face and a cat in my home.
Mr. Meatball rubbed his head against my plaster which had been doodled on by the guys:
I tried to fly and all I got was this lousy cast.
(Andy)
Stupidity hurts.
(Joe... who learned that a cast struck against his chest also hurts)
Buck up, little camper!
(Patrick)
At least it didn´t happen to Pete.
(duh)
_ _ _ _ _
"Whoa, what´s that?" Patrick grabbed the Valentine´s Day card I had put on the kitchen counter the day I had gotten home with my arm in plaster.
"It´s nothing really," I made a dismissive gesture with my healthy arm.
He examined the front of the card, a colorful painted bouquet of flowers framed by a golden heart.
"You didn´t tell me you had a secret admirer," the guy smirked.
I rolled my eyes at him, "Just read the goddamn card already, Patrick. And then give me a break."
"Dear Ms. Scully,
Will you be my Valentine? If you say yes you can visit me at home and pat my guinea pig Doughnut. Maybe you remember that he eats his excrements. (See, I learned that word!)
Jimmy
P.S.: I really like your hair. It would surely make a cosy place for Doughnut to lie in."
By the time Patrick had finished reading out loud he was cracking up so much that he had to sit down on one of the kitchen´s bar stools.
"At least I didn´t make up imaginary dates," I grunted and jerked the card out of his hand.
As I slightly leaned against him to put the card back on its previous spot I felt his breath on my neck and found myself caught in an eyelock.
"Wow... what´s that smell?" he asked softly.
"Strawberry?" It really sounded more like a question than an answer.
"Yeah." He looked... I don´t know, different. He looked as if he was about to...
"I, ah," I pulled back quickly, "bought this new body lotion and it smells of strawberries. Yeah."
He must have noticed my sudden nervousness and seemed to fall victim to it as well, tugging at his hat and smiling shyly, "Smells really good."
Ok, where was Joe if you actually wanted him to burst into the room?
Patrick knitted his hands together and rested them on his lap. Suddenly his cell phone on the table in my living room started to go off. He didn´t move.
"Don´t you wanna go answer it?"
"It´s probably just Joe."
I raised an eyebrow, "So?"
"Actually," he looked down at his hands for a moment, "I don´t really wanna get up now."
Aha...
OH!
Um, Patrick wasn´t just having a hard-on in my kitchen because I had rubbed myself against him and enchanted his senses with my strawberry smell, was he?
"You know what?" I semi-hurried out of the kitchen. "I´ll be right back."
I went to my bedroom to... basically to hide from Patrick and his... situation.
Five minutes later there was a knock on my bedroom door.
"Hey, I´m gonna go now. I´ll see you around," Patrick said without opening the door.
"Ah, ok, Patrick. Later."
I didn´t want him to leave because this had embarrassed him but I didn´t want to make him feel that he had to stay even though this had embarrassed him.
I heard him leaving my apartment.
Good God, I wish I was more like Joyce. She would have acted more naturally in a situation like this.
______________________
* Not to mention for giving out DoJ high-fives. And also for DoJ ass-grabbing.
** FairyGodmother? FoxyGreeks? FerociousGoblins? FreakyGeeks?
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