Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > This looks like a job for A.
III. This chapter is garbage
11 reviewsPete learns the truth about A.'s behavior and is blinded by something else than his beautiful reflection in the mirror. Enter Mommy Wentz.
4Funny
This looks like a job for A.
III. This chapter is garbage
"So what's with these new lyrics you told me about on the phone?" Andy easily switched from the Italian language which is, as you all may or may not know, mainly used to converse about cats hiding under sofas, expensive leather handbags and the Sopranos, as well as by some people living in Italy, to the American English idiom. A language that allows for a far wider and more essential range of conversation topics such as "how to pimp your ride" or "how to pimp your bike" or "how to pimp your bitch".*
"I can't find them right now," Pete replied. "I put them right here," he pointed at the couch table, "but they're gone now. I'll ask Mommy once she returns from shopping."
"And then she'll cook us lunch, right?" Patrick chimed in impatiently.
Years of practice enabled Pete to skillfully ignore his friend's question. "What really bothers me most about this stalker chick," he contemplated, "is that she seems more interested in my trash than in me."
"That's because she's not an actual fan," Joe effortlessly produced an explanation.
"Why would she dive through my garbage then? And HOW could she not be a fan of Pet- Fall out Boy?"
"She just does it to sell your crap on Ebay. To pay for her college courses," Patrick shared Joe's information. Unfortunately, they had not shared the large bowl of /Oscar's Obscure Oatmeal/* that Joe had devoured that morning. (He probably would have thought that was gay anyways.) So Patrick's poor tummy emitted some more pressing grumbling noises.
Pete wrinkled his nose in disgust, "Turn that off, dude." Then he concerned himself with the current subject, "Doesn't she have anything better to do? Like a boyfriend?"
"Oh, she has one," Andy replied, obviously also having a deeper insight into the matter than his friend. "In fact, he works at my place. He just drove me here. Really swell dude. He brought me cookies made without eggs and milk** the other day."
"What do you mean, he 'works' at your place?" Peterus Ignoramus inquiredus.
"He's Andy's creepy stalker boy," Joe hurried to aid his pal's inability to comprehend simple facts.
"And that doesn't strike you as particularly odd?" Pete asked further.
"Not more than the fact that Patrick is staring at my ear and licking his lips," Andy shot his starving band mate an angry glance. As a response Patrick just started whistling and looked the other way. At Joe's ear.
Pete got up from the couch and shuffled over to the window that was facing the front yard. "What I'd like to know though," he pulled back the curtains to peer outside, "is why- AAHHH!"
He was blinded by the flash of a digital camera. He let go of the curtain and stumbled back to his spot on the sofa. Cursing so shamelessly that I can't bring myself to report his exact wording. Or gesticulating.
"What happened?" Patrick's voice was full of sympathy. But I'm not really good at interpreting people's tone of voice so maybe it was just hunger.
"That bitch took a picture of me when I looked out of the window and she robbed me off my eye sight," our drama king in his parade role spoke.
A. had taken a break from the tedious task of sorting the man's garbage. After having taken a couple of shots of the house from various angles, she returned to her place next to the trash cans. And that's when Mommy Wentz came home.
Packed with two big paper bags under each arm, Mrs. Wentz made her way towards A. "Oh, hello there," the elderly woman greeted cheerfully. "It's nice to see you are well. Lots of people are ill these days. There's a horrible flu rampant in the neighborhood at the time being." She stopped next to the young woman.
A. looked up at her. Then down at the garbage littering the front yard. A. liked Pete's Mom. She wasn't Pete.
"I'll clean this up when I'm finished. Don't worry," she said.
Mrs. Wentz nodded friendly, "I know, sweetheart. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get herself through college... Say, do you wanna join us for lunch? I was gonna prepare some pot roast with hot dogs and fried bacon as an aside for the boys and myself."
A. checked her watch. Half an hour until she had to leave if she didn't want to be late for class today. "Actually I should be going soon. But thank you." With that she resorted to looking through the last pile of Wentz trash.
"Ok, honey. You just take care of yourself," Pete's Mommy replied with glee and shuffled towards the door.
_____________
* "Il gatto é sotta la poltrona." = "The cat is under the sofa." That's all I can recall from three years of Italian classes. Mamma mia... Ha, that one too.
**An experimental show whose target audience includes terriers, bloodhounds, poodles, huskies and Snoop Doggy Dogg.
* Oscar's also the guy who runs the experimental burger shop. He's originally from Hungary which he had to leave due to some "inconveniences" with the national health authority. Welcome to America, Oscar. People don't wanna live to see their forties, just make it greasy and snappy.
** And without taste.
III. This chapter is garbage
"So what's with these new lyrics you told me about on the phone?" Andy easily switched from the Italian language which is, as you all may or may not know, mainly used to converse about cats hiding under sofas, expensive leather handbags and the Sopranos, as well as by some people living in Italy, to the American English idiom. A language that allows for a far wider and more essential range of conversation topics such as "how to pimp your ride" or "how to pimp your bike" or "how to pimp your bitch".*
"I can't find them right now," Pete replied. "I put them right here," he pointed at the couch table, "but they're gone now. I'll ask Mommy once she returns from shopping."
"And then she'll cook us lunch, right?" Patrick chimed in impatiently.
Years of practice enabled Pete to skillfully ignore his friend's question. "What really bothers me most about this stalker chick," he contemplated, "is that she seems more interested in my trash than in me."
"That's because she's not an actual fan," Joe effortlessly produced an explanation.
"Why would she dive through my garbage then? And HOW could she not be a fan of Pet- Fall out Boy?"
"She just does it to sell your crap on Ebay. To pay for her college courses," Patrick shared Joe's information. Unfortunately, they had not shared the large bowl of /Oscar's Obscure Oatmeal/* that Joe had devoured that morning. (He probably would have thought that was gay anyways.) So Patrick's poor tummy emitted some more pressing grumbling noises.
Pete wrinkled his nose in disgust, "Turn that off, dude." Then he concerned himself with the current subject, "Doesn't she have anything better to do? Like a boyfriend?"
"Oh, she has one," Andy replied, obviously also having a deeper insight into the matter than his friend. "In fact, he works at my place. He just drove me here. Really swell dude. He brought me cookies made without eggs and milk** the other day."
"What do you mean, he 'works' at your place?" Peterus Ignoramus inquiredus.
"He's Andy's creepy stalker boy," Joe hurried to aid his pal's inability to comprehend simple facts.
"And that doesn't strike you as particularly odd?" Pete asked further.
"Not more than the fact that Patrick is staring at my ear and licking his lips," Andy shot his starving band mate an angry glance. As a response Patrick just started whistling and looked the other way. At Joe's ear.
Pete got up from the couch and shuffled over to the window that was facing the front yard. "What I'd like to know though," he pulled back the curtains to peer outside, "is why- AAHHH!"
He was blinded by the flash of a digital camera. He let go of the curtain and stumbled back to his spot on the sofa. Cursing so shamelessly that I can't bring myself to report his exact wording. Or gesticulating.
"What happened?" Patrick's voice was full of sympathy. But I'm not really good at interpreting people's tone of voice so maybe it was just hunger.
"That bitch took a picture of me when I looked out of the window and she robbed me off my eye sight," our drama king in his parade role spoke.
A. had taken a break from the tedious task of sorting the man's garbage. After having taken a couple of shots of the house from various angles, she returned to her place next to the trash cans. And that's when Mommy Wentz came home.
Packed with two big paper bags under each arm, Mrs. Wentz made her way towards A. "Oh, hello there," the elderly woman greeted cheerfully. "It's nice to see you are well. Lots of people are ill these days. There's a horrible flu rampant in the neighborhood at the time being." She stopped next to the young woman.
A. looked up at her. Then down at the garbage littering the front yard. A. liked Pete's Mom. She wasn't Pete.
"I'll clean this up when I'm finished. Don't worry," she said.
Mrs. Wentz nodded friendly, "I know, sweetheart. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get herself through college... Say, do you wanna join us for lunch? I was gonna prepare some pot roast with hot dogs and fried bacon as an aside for the boys and myself."
A. checked her watch. Half an hour until she had to leave if she didn't want to be late for class today. "Actually I should be going soon. But thank you." With that she resorted to looking through the last pile of Wentz trash.
"Ok, honey. You just take care of yourself," Pete's Mommy replied with glee and shuffled towards the door.
_____________
* "Il gatto é sotta la poltrona." = "The cat is under the sofa." That's all I can recall from three years of Italian classes. Mamma mia... Ha, that one too.
**An experimental show whose target audience includes terriers, bloodhounds, poodles, huskies and Snoop Doggy Dogg.
* Oscar's also the guy who runs the experimental burger shop. He's originally from Hungary which he had to leave due to some "inconveniences" with the national health authority. Welcome to America, Oscar. People don't wanna live to see their forties, just make it greasy and snappy.
** And without taste.
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