Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > This looks like a job for A.
V. Oscar the Grouch: A.'s homeboy
9 reviewsIt's time for the garbage man to come around so we can get rid of this trashy fic. The last chapter presents the resolution to the story: Another successful day for A.
4Funny
This looks like a job for A.
V. Oscar the Grouch: A.'s homeboy*
As Pete opened the front door and stepped outside A. shoved a camera in his face.
"Ha, I was just about to ring your bell so you would come out. I need some new shots," she said in monotone.
The guy pushed the device away, "Thanks, you've blinded me before. That's enough."
He made his way in the direction of the trash cans. A. followed him. Maybe he would drop off something she could sell.
"What are you doing?" she inquired while setting the focus on the back of Pete's head. Crazy fans would even pay for his backside. Or especially for his backside actually, if this strange DoJlurvesPeeWee person was online again.
"Man, didn't I tell you to cut out the photo-taking?" he groaned after multiple clicks from the camera.
"Greedy bastard," A. muttered under her breath.
Pete had reached the garbage cans, took the lid off the first one and peered inside. "Eeww," he pulled a face.
Suddenly A. blocked the can. "What exactly are you doing?" she demanded. A successful business woman has to be alert always.
The man sighed and admired his reflection in the lid of the trash can, "You wouldn't happen to have noticed a sheet with lyrics on it? I'm looking for that."
A.'s eyes glinted with hope.** "Oh, really?" she raised the top of the second garbage can and pulled out the sheet of paper in question. When she had stumbled across it earlier she had easily dismissed it as the ramblings of Pete's 12-year-old nephew Michael who tended to stay at his grandparents' house for a few hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays according to A.'s little red book labeled /Stalker Schedule/. It held various notes of the creepy kind about Peter Wentz and his family.
The young woman waved the sheet above Pete's head who, unfortunately, wasn't tall enough to reach it.* He rolled his eyes, "What do you want then?"
A. licked her lips and tapped her head with a finger, "I need to buy some new books for my biology class. I could use some cash."
Pete started trodding back to the house, correctly assuming that the girl would be on his heels, "How much do you have in mind?"
"200 bucks should do."
He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face her, "Are you kidding me? These words are probably worth... I dunno... millions of dollars!"
A.'s smile widened, "In that case..."
Suddenly Pete realized that getting over his vanity and just accepting A.'s suggestion would probably be the smarter idea. "Ah," he said, "200 is fine. But you're gonna leave immediately once I've given you the money."
"I was about to anyways. Work is done for today."
Both went inside.
"And you're really not a fan of ours?" Pete asked kind of meekly before they reached the living room/ kitchen area.
"Nope. I only have one hero** and that's classified information, Wentz," she replied in a laconic fashion.
"Oh, did you decide to have lunch with us after all?" Mrs. Wentz asked cheerfully upon seeing A.
"Definitely not," Pete replied. "She's just blackmailing me with the lyrics she found in the trash." He grabbed his wallet from the kitchen counter and handed A. two 100 dollar bills. She placed them in her jacket pocket and handed him the sheet of paper.
"Good bye now," he nodded towards the door.
"Don't be rude, Peter," his mother scolded him. "Honey, are you sure you can't stay for lunch?"
A. walked over to the couches and sat down next to Joe, "I guess it won't do much harm if I miss the class once." A free meal is a free meal. Plus, maybe she could let a few Pete-related items find their way into her pockets.
"Sweet," Joe beamed at her.
"Say, you still don't have anything edible with you, right?" Patrick wanted to know. He cursed himself for not having stopped at the interesting-looking new burger shop two blocks from Pete's house.
A. shook her head and moved a little further away from Joe who was winking at her like somebody who had an entire bee hive in his eye.
"Where are the dandelions?" Andy asked Pete.
"I am so sorry," he answered sarcastically. "It must have totally slipped my mind while I was MADE TO PAY MONEY FOR MY OWN LYRICS."
"Ah, that's alright," his friend replied.*** "I'll go get it myself," and with that he headed outside.
Just as Pete was about to take his place on the sofa his mother told him to go upstairs. "Why don't you take a look around until lunch's ready? Maybe you can find some old stuff you can give A_ _ _ so she can sell it. I know college is horribly expensive."
"Mommy, you're joking right?"
"I am not. Don't be such a child, Peter Wentz. And make sure to check the attic. There's tons of your elementary and high school stuff up there... And don't give me that look, young man. There's a limit to everything. We will need an extra basement if we keep collecting all your junk."
"Speaking of which," Joe spoke up, "when are you gonna pick up your crap from woodwork classes from junior high school? The stuff's filling up the space I could use for working out." He shot A. a meaningful glance.
"Is everything ok with your eyes?" the girl asked him. She wasn't actually concerned about his health but didn't wish to sit near somebody with a contagious eye infection. Her eye sight was her professional tool after all.
Cursing, Pete went upstairs. "And while you're at it, baby," his mother shouted after him, "sign some of the stuff. That'll make it more valuable!"
It was certainly a good day for A.
_________________________
* He's actually from Hungary too. And he doesn't mind unhealthy food either. And I should have thought of a different name for Oscar # 1 to reduce the confusion.
** In the form of $.
* Or imaginitive enough to just jump in order to reach it.
** A. has a Oscar the Grouch shrine in her room. In fact, about half of the money she makes by selling Peter Wentz's garbage goes directly into buying merchandise of the trash-loving green puppet. Her latest piece of memorabilia is a life-sized poster of Oscar and his beloved garbage can. Signed, mind you!
*** /Sachasacastroglucid/, a major compotent of most types of meat, is known as the natural "sarcasm detector". Most vegetarians and vegans suffer from an appalling lack thereof.
V. Oscar the Grouch: A.'s homeboy*
As Pete opened the front door and stepped outside A. shoved a camera in his face.
"Ha, I was just about to ring your bell so you would come out. I need some new shots," she said in monotone.
The guy pushed the device away, "Thanks, you've blinded me before. That's enough."
He made his way in the direction of the trash cans. A. followed him. Maybe he would drop off something she could sell.
"What are you doing?" she inquired while setting the focus on the back of Pete's head. Crazy fans would even pay for his backside. Or especially for his backside actually, if this strange DoJlurvesPeeWee person was online again.
"Man, didn't I tell you to cut out the photo-taking?" he groaned after multiple clicks from the camera.
"Greedy bastard," A. muttered under her breath.
Pete had reached the garbage cans, took the lid off the first one and peered inside. "Eeww," he pulled a face.
Suddenly A. blocked the can. "What exactly are you doing?" she demanded. A successful business woman has to be alert always.
The man sighed and admired his reflection in the lid of the trash can, "You wouldn't happen to have noticed a sheet with lyrics on it? I'm looking for that."
A.'s eyes glinted with hope.** "Oh, really?" she raised the top of the second garbage can and pulled out the sheet of paper in question. When she had stumbled across it earlier she had easily dismissed it as the ramblings of Pete's 12-year-old nephew Michael who tended to stay at his grandparents' house for a few hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays according to A.'s little red book labeled /Stalker Schedule/. It held various notes of the creepy kind about Peter Wentz and his family.
The young woman waved the sheet above Pete's head who, unfortunately, wasn't tall enough to reach it.* He rolled his eyes, "What do you want then?"
A. licked her lips and tapped her head with a finger, "I need to buy some new books for my biology class. I could use some cash."
Pete started trodding back to the house, correctly assuming that the girl would be on his heels, "How much do you have in mind?"
"200 bucks should do."
He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face her, "Are you kidding me? These words are probably worth... I dunno... millions of dollars!"
A.'s smile widened, "In that case..."
Suddenly Pete realized that getting over his vanity and just accepting A.'s suggestion would probably be the smarter idea. "Ah," he said, "200 is fine. But you're gonna leave immediately once I've given you the money."
"I was about to anyways. Work is done for today."
Both went inside.
"And you're really not a fan of ours?" Pete asked kind of meekly before they reached the living room/ kitchen area.
"Nope. I only have one hero** and that's classified information, Wentz," she replied in a laconic fashion.
"Oh, did you decide to have lunch with us after all?" Mrs. Wentz asked cheerfully upon seeing A.
"Definitely not," Pete replied. "She's just blackmailing me with the lyrics she found in the trash." He grabbed his wallet from the kitchen counter and handed A. two 100 dollar bills. She placed them in her jacket pocket and handed him the sheet of paper.
"Good bye now," he nodded towards the door.
"Don't be rude, Peter," his mother scolded him. "Honey, are you sure you can't stay for lunch?"
A. walked over to the couches and sat down next to Joe, "I guess it won't do much harm if I miss the class once." A free meal is a free meal. Plus, maybe she could let a few Pete-related items find their way into her pockets.
"Sweet," Joe beamed at her.
"Say, you still don't have anything edible with you, right?" Patrick wanted to know. He cursed himself for not having stopped at the interesting-looking new burger shop two blocks from Pete's house.
A. shook her head and moved a little further away from Joe who was winking at her like somebody who had an entire bee hive in his eye.
"Where are the dandelions?" Andy asked Pete.
"I am so sorry," he answered sarcastically. "It must have totally slipped my mind while I was MADE TO PAY MONEY FOR MY OWN LYRICS."
"Ah, that's alright," his friend replied.*** "I'll go get it myself," and with that he headed outside.
Just as Pete was about to take his place on the sofa his mother told him to go upstairs. "Why don't you take a look around until lunch's ready? Maybe you can find some old stuff you can give A_ _ _ so she can sell it. I know college is horribly expensive."
"Mommy, you're joking right?"
"I am not. Don't be such a child, Peter Wentz. And make sure to check the attic. There's tons of your elementary and high school stuff up there... And don't give me that look, young man. There's a limit to everything. We will need an extra basement if we keep collecting all your junk."
"Speaking of which," Joe spoke up, "when are you gonna pick up your crap from woodwork classes from junior high school? The stuff's filling up the space I could use for working out." He shot A. a meaningful glance.
"Is everything ok with your eyes?" the girl asked him. She wasn't actually concerned about his health but didn't wish to sit near somebody with a contagious eye infection. Her eye sight was her professional tool after all.
Cursing, Pete went upstairs. "And while you're at it, baby," his mother shouted after him, "sign some of the stuff. That'll make it more valuable!"
It was certainly a good day for A.
_________________________
* He's actually from Hungary too. And he doesn't mind unhealthy food either. And I should have thought of a different name for Oscar # 1 to reduce the confusion.
** In the form of $.
* Or imaginitive enough to just jump in order to reach it.
** A. has a Oscar the Grouch shrine in her room. In fact, about half of the money she makes by selling Peter Wentz's garbage goes directly into buying merchandise of the trash-loving green puppet. Her latest piece of memorabilia is a life-sized poster of Oscar and his beloved garbage can. Signed, mind you!
*** /Sachasacastroglucid/, a major compotent of most types of meat, is known as the natural "sarcasm detector". Most vegetarians and vegans suffer from an appalling lack thereof.
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