Post by saraH. STARSHIP on Aug 15, 2007 1:10:00 GMT -5
there are many bands in this world, but none of them like mcr.
this story erupted out of the flame that is my brain- and i dont know where it will take me but here goes.
first of all, let me tell you that your freind sarah isnt writing this, erica is. (you know, her bestest freind in the whole wide world.
there was an eerie feeling going over my head as the security guard waved his wand over my body. like he was looking at me in a perverted way. and the only way i like to be looked at is gerard way. (or mikey way)
so after he whistled at me to get moving, i ran over to the bathroom so i could cut myself, and i waited in line for the bathroom. now, all people who know me know that i dont cut myself, but this is a story, which explains why eliza showed up and bumped me on the floor.
"hey, watch it!" i said to her, trying to act tough, but i probably looked like a cute little altie girl trying to stand her ground.
"sorry, girlie. i am so sorry." she said before running away.
screw cutting, i thought- i decided to follow her.
she dashed backstage past the security guard, who appeared to be talking with someone else, totally distracted from his duties.
i took advantage of his shortcomings and ran behind eliza.
for those of you who dont know who she is, she is gereard's ex girlfriend. which is why i was following her
she went backstage and closed the doort behind her, so i decided i had better go back before i was caught. but looking at all these doors, i decided- why go? there was so many adventures if i ever saw one!
i opened one of the doors slowly, and found a passed out roadie lying on his bed half naked. i looked around in the dim light. shrugging, i slipped his roadie pass from his neck onto mine. sweet!
now, my life isnt that bad, but it could be better.
"hey jon!" i heard a voice say.
this was going to be fun
"jon? what do you mean jon?" i said, stuffing hiom under the cot, covering him in a towel i found in the bathroom floor. "jon got fired, dont you know?"
"dammit. never tell joe any informaton. im not worth it. i mean , im just a roadie, dammit all to hell..."
"sweet" i thought to myself.
and thats how i came to be an mcr roadie. but thats mot where my talke ends, oh no...
i went into a room deep into the hall. it had a piece of paper labeling the door's occupant: "Robert Bryar"
"cool. bob's dad"
yes i know thats his full name, but im famous for being stupid like that.
i popped my head in and fell flat on my ass. its bob!!! its really bob!!!
"hi bob! visiting dad?" (of course thats when i realize thats not his dads room...)
bob flashed me a weird look
"how in the hell did security let a fan in here? what the hell? im taking you back to the stadium."
i then remembered the roadie deal.
"im no fan! im a roadie! remember? ricci?" i pleaded
"oh," he said calming down. "they never tell me anything. one day all drummers of the world will finally show everyone our drummer powers! MWAHAHAHA--"
i was staring at him strangely.
"sorry. are you a drummer?" he asked me, suddenly taking benevolent interst in me.
"err, no, but my dad is..."
pause...
"oh lovely then. i shall spare you."
i sarcastically sighed in relief when he turned his back.
"hey ricci... umm, i'll be on in about 30 minutes, wanna drink?" he said, handing a bottle of Matt's tequila.
"it's empty." i pointed out.
"ooooohhh...." he said, suddenly realizing something for the first time. "okay then. have a smoke." he threw a cigarette at me.
i threw the cigarette on the floor and pulled out a cuban cigar. he lit us both up and we chatted for about 45 minutes.
soon we heard voices in the hall, "where in the f*** is bob!? i'm gonna kill the bastard if the fans dont kill him first!"
the door blasted open and mikey stood ther with a burning glare.
"what the f*** is a fan doing here, bob?!"
"roadie," me and bob said at the same time.
mikey rolled his eyes. "we were on 15 minutes ago!"
"sorreeee," bob said, rolling his bloodshot eyes
"youve been drinking again, havent you?" mikey said sternly to him.
bob kicked matts 1800 tequila under the table. "f*** no, mikey. leaveme the f*** alone."
mikey practically punched a hole in the wall and cursed his way back on stage.
"thats the tenth time ive done this now. gerards gonna f*** me up..." he drawled. good thing he didnt have to sing tonight...
after the concert gerard pulled me and bob aside. bob seemed to cling to me with all his drunken mass.
"bobb..." gerard said, as if talking to a 4 year old, i cant have this happen anymore. i have a drummer friend who could replace you."
bob whined and threw up on my shoes. why coulnt he do that at the concert?
"what he means to say is, i will help him become sober." i said in his defense.
"youre a fan where did you come from?" gerard said to me with a hint of disgust.
"IM A FREAKIN ROADIE!!! GET IT RIGHT!" i really wouldnt normally scream at gerard. he looked at me in agreeance with my last sentence.
"sorry, i just need little respect." i looked at my vomit stained shoes.
"i apologize. my names gerard," he said with an extended hand.
i took it.
"now lets carry this big man into the trailer, okay?"
we lifted his up together and walked into the jet black cemetary night.
