Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Can't Take the Kid From the Fight, Take the Fight from the Kid
Can't Take the Kid From the Fight, Take the Fight from the Kid
2 reviewsRyan and Spencer were best friends as kids. They told each other everything.... Well, almost everything
0Unrated
"Say it ain't so, I will not go (na na na na na na na na na na)
Turn the lights off, carry me home (na na na na na na na na na na)
Keep your head still, I'll be your thrill (na na na na na na na na na na)
The night will go on, the night will go on (na na na na na na na na na na)
My little windmill"
George strummed the last cord on his guitar. Spencer slammed his drum set with the wooden sticks. George smiled at Spencer.
"I think we're getting pretty good, don't you?" he asked his best friend.
"Hell yeah! Some day, Pet Salamander will be known WORLD WIDE and we'll be the most famous band out there!" Specer threw a drum stick in the air but missed catching it. It made a horrible clashing sound against the symbal. The boys laughed.
"Doesn't George sound like an old man name, though?" the guitarist asked as he strummed a few cords. He didn't look up at Spencer as he said this.
"Yeah... Doncha wish you were named Ryan instead?" Spencer asked as he bent down to pick up his drum stick.
George Ryan Ross III grinned brightly. "That's just it. Don't call me George anymore. Call me Ryan."
"Sweet!" Spencer jumped off the stool and twirled the stick in his fingers carefully. "Don't call me Spence, call me Jimmy! Or Jimi like Jimi Hendrix!"
"No, that's stealing. Anyway, Spence is a cool name." the newly doubed Ryan said.
"You're right. My mom's just cool like that to name me Spencer." the boy smirked before he dropped the drum stick again.
Ryan sat and ate quietly at the dinner table. His father was on his third can of beer that evening and God only knows how many he had during the day. His mother ate as quietly as her son.
"Spence and I started a band." Ryan said, breaking the silence. "We decided to call ourselves /Pet Salamander/."
Ryan poked at his ziti while he waited for his parents' responses.
"That's a wonderful idea, Georgie. Good for you, hon." the mother said brightly. She leaned over the corner of the table and ruffled his hair. Ryan allowed himself to make a small smile.
"What kind of name is /Pet Salamander/?" His George II said roughly. Ryan looked up to see his dad's face red as the ziti sauce. Ryan gulped.
"I-It's not permanant. It's only until we think of something better." He looked back down at his plate.
"Don't mind your father, George." Sherill said comfortingly. "I think it's a unique name. You should stick with it."
Ryan heard his father grumbling. Most of it was nonsence, but he heard the band name and a curse word.
Ryan gobbled down half of his plate and a few veggies in a matter of seconds.
"I'm done." he said quickly. "May I be excused?"
"No." he father said defiantly.
Sherill rolled her eyes. "Yes, you can."
"Thanks Mom." Ryan quickly got up and ran into his room. He pulled a Composition book out from under his bed and flopped onto the soft haven.
He began writting.
She didn't choose this role but she's planning on making it so sincere. She hates where she is, but she loves it all the same. Why can't she love the way she used to?
Ryan looked up as he heard a knock on his door. He quickly shoved the book under his pillow.
"Yeah?" he called out.
The door opened to the gruff man that was his father.
"O-Oh. Hey Dad." Ryan stood up.
"D-Down stairs." His father said. His face was red and puffy. 'He's worse than he was at dinner. How many more drinks could he have had?' Ryan sighed and walked out of his room.
He walked a few steps in front of his father. When they reached the staircase the man grabbed his shoulder painfully and whirled him to face him.
"I don't think a band is a good idea." His father swayed from side to side.
"That's what you think, Dad. But I love music...." Ryan said quietly.
"I don't care if you love fucking porno! I don't want you in a band and that's final!" His father's speach was slurred enough... that he just might swallow his tongue Ryan thought. He hoped he would.
"DAD!" Ryan shouted. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK I--" It happened in a flash. Ryan felt himself falling. He hit some very hard things and finally landed on his right arm with a sickening crack. The pain was unbearable. He let out a scream of pain.
"SUCK IT UP!" His fathers voice yelled over his.
Ryan sat up and leaned against the wall. He held his right arm. It hurt like hell. His eyes stung with tears as he tried to figure out what he did wrong.
He only wanted to be in a band.
Turn the lights off, carry me home (na na na na na na na na na na)
Keep your head still, I'll be your thrill (na na na na na na na na na na)
The night will go on, the night will go on (na na na na na na na na na na)
My little windmill"
George strummed the last cord on his guitar. Spencer slammed his drum set with the wooden sticks. George smiled at Spencer.
"I think we're getting pretty good, don't you?" he asked his best friend.
"Hell yeah! Some day, Pet Salamander will be known WORLD WIDE and we'll be the most famous band out there!" Specer threw a drum stick in the air but missed catching it. It made a horrible clashing sound against the symbal. The boys laughed.
"Doesn't George sound like an old man name, though?" the guitarist asked as he strummed a few cords. He didn't look up at Spencer as he said this.
"Yeah... Doncha wish you were named Ryan instead?" Spencer asked as he bent down to pick up his drum stick.
George Ryan Ross III grinned brightly. "That's just it. Don't call me George anymore. Call me Ryan."
"Sweet!" Spencer jumped off the stool and twirled the stick in his fingers carefully. "Don't call me Spence, call me Jimmy! Or Jimi like Jimi Hendrix!"
"No, that's stealing. Anyway, Spence is a cool name." the newly doubed Ryan said.
"You're right. My mom's just cool like that to name me Spencer." the boy smirked before he dropped the drum stick again.
Ryan sat and ate quietly at the dinner table. His father was on his third can of beer that evening and God only knows how many he had during the day. His mother ate as quietly as her son.
"Spence and I started a band." Ryan said, breaking the silence. "We decided to call ourselves /Pet Salamander/."
Ryan poked at his ziti while he waited for his parents' responses.
"That's a wonderful idea, Georgie. Good for you, hon." the mother said brightly. She leaned over the corner of the table and ruffled his hair. Ryan allowed himself to make a small smile.
"What kind of name is /Pet Salamander/?" His George II said roughly. Ryan looked up to see his dad's face red as the ziti sauce. Ryan gulped.
"I-It's not permanant. It's only until we think of something better." He looked back down at his plate.
"Don't mind your father, George." Sherill said comfortingly. "I think it's a unique name. You should stick with it."
Ryan heard his father grumbling. Most of it was nonsence, but he heard the band name and a curse word.
Ryan gobbled down half of his plate and a few veggies in a matter of seconds.
"I'm done." he said quickly. "May I be excused?"
"No." he father said defiantly.
Sherill rolled her eyes. "Yes, you can."
"Thanks Mom." Ryan quickly got up and ran into his room. He pulled a Composition book out from under his bed and flopped onto the soft haven.
He began writting.
She didn't choose this role but she's planning on making it so sincere. She hates where she is, but she loves it all the same. Why can't she love the way she used to?
Ryan looked up as he heard a knock on his door. He quickly shoved the book under his pillow.
"Yeah?" he called out.
The door opened to the gruff man that was his father.
"O-Oh. Hey Dad." Ryan stood up.
"D-Down stairs." His father said. His face was red and puffy. 'He's worse than he was at dinner. How many more drinks could he have had?' Ryan sighed and walked out of his room.
He walked a few steps in front of his father. When they reached the staircase the man grabbed his shoulder painfully and whirled him to face him.
"I don't think a band is a good idea." His father swayed from side to side.
"That's what you think, Dad. But I love music...." Ryan said quietly.
"I don't care if you love fucking porno! I don't want you in a band and that's final!" His father's speach was slurred enough... that he just might swallow his tongue Ryan thought. He hoped he would.
"DAD!" Ryan shouted. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK I--" It happened in a flash. Ryan felt himself falling. He hit some very hard things and finally landed on his right arm with a sickening crack. The pain was unbearable. He let out a scream of pain.
"SUCK IT UP!" His fathers voice yelled over his.
Ryan sat up and leaned against the wall. He held his right arm. It hurt like hell. His eyes stung with tears as he tried to figure out what he did wrong.
He only wanted to be in a band.
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