Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Operation Tight Pants
Obviously, the best way to start losing weight is to go out and get as drunk and stoned as much as physically possible, then stay up all night watching late-night cartoons. This will then result in getting you nice and hung-over for when your 16 year old personal trainer who’s only experience with getting fit comes from Rocky films and fitness infomercials, comes jogging up to your door at 5:30 am on a Saturday morning.
I’m sure every health conscious person knows that.
When I finally started to doze off on the couch, I vaguely remember Frank banging on the front door.
“Gee-eee. Lemme in. I come in peace.” Called a little voice through the letterbox.
Groaning from the pain of the drill in my head, I got up cautiously, not wanting to add to the pain by getting up too quickly. Gathering my surroundings, I picked up the remote and turned off “Fairly Odd Parents”.
“Coming.” I replied, walking to the door and unlatching it. “This better be fucking good.” I murmured.
“Wow.”
“What?” I snapped, irritated by his brightness.
“Aw, don’t be angry Mr. Grumpy Pants, not only do I come in peace, but I come bearing gifts!” He replied, digging a flask out of his backpack.
“Is it coffee?” He nodded. “Gimmegimmegimme.” I gabbled as I snatched the flask. Nasty, I know. But hey, a guy needs his caffeine! I gulped nearly half of it down, scaling my whole mouth in the process. “What were you wowing about, anyway?”
“I mean this in the nicest possible way deary, but you look unbelievably bad in the morning.”
“Oh, thanks. Don’t you look like a beam of sunshine too.” I grumbled.
Unfortunately, this led him into an awful version of the Vaseline’s “Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam”. Oh dear Jesus.
“Jesus don’t want me for a sunbeam…” he crooned, lala-ing the guitar parts, “Sunbeams aren’t made quite like meeeeee.”
Fortunately, I led him to shut up when I hit him over the head with a spoon.
“What else is in the bag? And what in the name of Britney Spears’ fluffy hairbobbles are you wearing?” I asked, only noticing his shocking choice of outfit.
He donned a red long sleeved shirt, which would look good if it weren’t paired with what looked like grey parachute pants-come-tracksuit bottoms. Only later on when he turned around to get mugs for what was left of his coffee, I saw that “I ate all the pies” was printed in huge lettering across the ass.
“Well, since I don’t really exercise, Dad gave me these…” He said, tugging at his pants.
I exploded with laughter, which in turn made my head explode with pain. I put my hand to my forehead, and groaned.
“Haha, you big frube, you’re hung-over, aren’t you?”
“’Course not! Me? Hung-over? Never. Not me. In fact, I’m completely sober! As of nnn…ow. Or maybe tomorrow.”
“You are so hung-over! Gerard, I thought you were taking this health shit seriously, or I wouldn’t have bothered coming here. I swear, this pigeon laughed at my trousers on the way over.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry about your emotional trauma. But I am taking it seriously, I swear! Just cut me some slack. I’m cutting down. Promise. Pinky swear!”
He squinted at me. “Fine…pinky swear. I’ll tell Mikey you did that, though! There’s NO ESCAPE!” He started laughing insanely.
In the bag, it turned out, were some matching bottoms for me. Oh, you can imagine the joy I felt when he pulled them out. He explained that he was here to take me for an early morning jogging session. Even better.
When we started out though, it wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. It was a great chance to talk to him and get to know him, well, when we stopped having conversations about random crap. I told him about my (most likely pot-induced) dream that he woke me from, about the evil space aliens who rioted Newark, then raided JC Penny’s for baggy trousers. Just stuff, generally.
Too bad I’m not the fittest person on the planet and was already sweating like a gorilla in heat.
Sweet as he was, I couldn’t help inwardly threatening to kill him when he suggested we should run up and down the fire escape “to tone our butts.”
“Why?” I moaned, my tomato-like head threatening to drop off.
“Rocky ran up stairs! And he did this, too!” He started jumping around like a boxer, with his hands up as if he’s going to punch someone. “DUN! DUN-DUN-DUN! DUN-DUN-DUN! DUN-DUN-DUUUUUN! It‘s the, EYE OF THE RABBIT SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING! LALA I. DON‘T. KNOW. THE WO-ORDS! Then he gets inspiration from some rabbit eye, right, and then he gets fit and wins some fight. Basically.”
“Frank.”
“Yes SIR!”
“Have you even seen Rocky?” I asked, impatient.
“Of course!” He replied.
I looked at him.
“I did so! Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me cry.”
“Good. You haven’t seen it, have you?”
“OF COUR- …Fine then, I haven’t exactly seen it the whole way through.”
“Frank…”
“Ok, Ok! I haven’t seen it at all…only the trailer. Happy?”
“Very.” I grinned. “That must have been some rabbit to inspire Rocky, huh?”
“Tell me about it!”
I’m sure every health conscious person knows that.
When I finally started to doze off on the couch, I vaguely remember Frank banging on the front door.
“Gee-eee. Lemme in. I come in peace.” Called a little voice through the letterbox.
Groaning from the pain of the drill in my head, I got up cautiously, not wanting to add to the pain by getting up too quickly. Gathering my surroundings, I picked up the remote and turned off “Fairly Odd Parents”.
“Coming.” I replied, walking to the door and unlatching it. “This better be fucking good.” I murmured.
“Wow.”
“What?” I snapped, irritated by his brightness.
“Aw, don’t be angry Mr. Grumpy Pants, not only do I come in peace, but I come bearing gifts!” He replied, digging a flask out of his backpack.
“Is it coffee?” He nodded. “Gimmegimmegimme.” I gabbled as I snatched the flask. Nasty, I know. But hey, a guy needs his caffeine! I gulped nearly half of it down, scaling my whole mouth in the process. “What were you wowing about, anyway?”
“I mean this in the nicest possible way deary, but you look unbelievably bad in the morning.”
“Oh, thanks. Don’t you look like a beam of sunshine too.” I grumbled.
Unfortunately, this led him into an awful version of the Vaseline’s “Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam”. Oh dear Jesus.
“Jesus don’t want me for a sunbeam…” he crooned, lala-ing the guitar parts, “Sunbeams aren’t made quite like meeeeee.”
Fortunately, I led him to shut up when I hit him over the head with a spoon.
“What else is in the bag? And what in the name of Britney Spears’ fluffy hairbobbles are you wearing?” I asked, only noticing his shocking choice of outfit.
He donned a red long sleeved shirt, which would look good if it weren’t paired with what looked like grey parachute pants-come-tracksuit bottoms. Only later on when he turned around to get mugs for what was left of his coffee, I saw that “I ate all the pies” was printed in huge lettering across the ass.
“Well, since I don’t really exercise, Dad gave me these…” He said, tugging at his pants.
I exploded with laughter, which in turn made my head explode with pain. I put my hand to my forehead, and groaned.
“Haha, you big frube, you’re hung-over, aren’t you?”
“’Course not! Me? Hung-over? Never. Not me. In fact, I’m completely sober! As of nnn…ow. Or maybe tomorrow.”
“You are so hung-over! Gerard, I thought you were taking this health shit seriously, or I wouldn’t have bothered coming here. I swear, this pigeon laughed at my trousers on the way over.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry about your emotional trauma. But I am taking it seriously, I swear! Just cut me some slack. I’m cutting down. Promise. Pinky swear!”
He squinted at me. “Fine…pinky swear. I’ll tell Mikey you did that, though! There’s NO ESCAPE!” He started laughing insanely.
In the bag, it turned out, were some matching bottoms for me. Oh, you can imagine the joy I felt when he pulled them out. He explained that he was here to take me for an early morning jogging session. Even better.
When we started out though, it wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. It was a great chance to talk to him and get to know him, well, when we stopped having conversations about random crap. I told him about my (most likely pot-induced) dream that he woke me from, about the evil space aliens who rioted Newark, then raided JC Penny’s for baggy trousers. Just stuff, generally.
Too bad I’m not the fittest person on the planet and was already sweating like a gorilla in heat.
Sweet as he was, I couldn’t help inwardly threatening to kill him when he suggested we should run up and down the fire escape “to tone our butts.”
“Why?” I moaned, my tomato-like head threatening to drop off.
“Rocky ran up stairs! And he did this, too!” He started jumping around like a boxer, with his hands up as if he’s going to punch someone. “DUN! DUN-DUN-DUN! DUN-DUN-DUN! DUN-DUN-DUUUUUN! It‘s the, EYE OF THE RABBIT SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING! LALA I. DON‘T. KNOW. THE WO-ORDS! Then he gets inspiration from some rabbit eye, right, and then he gets fit and wins some fight. Basically.”
“Frank.”
“Yes SIR!”
“Have you even seen Rocky?” I asked, impatient.
“Of course!” He replied.
I looked at him.
“I did so! Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me cry.”
“Good. You haven’t seen it, have you?”
“OF COUR- …Fine then, I haven’t exactly seen it the whole way through.”
“Frank…”
“Ok, Ok! I haven’t seen it at all…only the trailer. Happy?”
“Very.” I grinned. “That must have been some rabbit to inspire Rocky, huh?”
“Tell me about it!”
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