Operation: Tight Pants.
“Ha. Very funny. Look at that, I almost laughed."
I’ve never really been the coolest kid in school. No, wait, that was an understatement. Let’s start again.
I have never ever been cool in the slightest. Never. The words “Gerard” “Way” and “cool” are rarely heard in the same sentence, apart from maybe the popular phrase: “Gerard is way uncool.” It’s partly my fault though. I’ve always wanted to scare other people. In kindergarten, I snuck a bottle of ketchup to school and wiped it all around my mouth, then told the other kids that I ate the teacher when she went for a smoke in the parking lot. Three kids had to go home, they were crying that much. Ah, fun times.
Then puberty hit. I was no longer the funny, scary weirdo, but the icky, roundy-faced loner with an attitude problem, wanting to do nothing but draw. In high school, the rumours started. Really stupid ones too: people thought that I was actually a vampire, (seriously. I’m not kidding.) That I lived in a cave with an escaped lunatic, (I’d give a prize to whoever made THAT shit up.) That I was drunk and stoned most of the time, (OK. Maybe that one’s a teensy weensy bit true.) and that I was gay. (Yeah…that’s only half true.)
To be honest, they don’t really bother me. I’m happy(ish) for the moment. As long as I have friends. Or can tag along with my little brother’s. Yeah, like I said, I’m cool like dat! I like them all quite a bit, actually.
Especially Frank. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more gorgeous creature in my entire life. Don’t get me wrong, though! I know what you’re thinking. Something along the lines of, “Eeeeeeeew. The creepy senior’s perving on his little brother’s friends. They’re probably like, two or something.” Hell no! Believe me, if you saw Frank too, you’d do anything to make him notice you. Not just as your best friend’s brother.
And that’s just what I plan to do.
Everybody has something they want to change about their body, right? Well, if I could change one of my deformities, I’d lose the “puppy-fat” look. I don’t think I’m fat or anything, just a bit…rounded. So I devised a plan. One that would force Frank to see me in a different light, AND help me look good in those tight jeans, like Frank. There. Two birds down with one well-aimed pebble. I just hoped they wouldn’t shit on me before I threw it.
One Friday afternoon, I decided to make a rare appearance in the kitchen. My trip was mainly motivated by the fact that I could hear Frank and Mikey’s voices arguing over what to eat. However, I walked into the kitchen to find Frank alone, sitting at the table, twiddling his thumbs. Yes, he was actually twiddling his thumbs. It couldn’t be more perfect.
“Yo, home-kitten. Where’s Mikey gone?” I grinned.
“Well, looky who decided to visit from the depths of hell! Mikey’s in le toilette, mon cher Monsieur. Nature called.”
“Really? How is she?”
“Haha. Very funny. Oh dear, look at that, I almost laughed.”
“Aaaaw, nobody likes Mr. Sarcastic, Frankie! Didn’t mommy tell you that?”
“Shuddup, you big…phnuuuuuuiuk.”
"Um. Okay. Care to explain?”
“It’s a noise that whales make. I think. I saw it on the Discovery channel once.”
“Yeah? Right then. I'm just going to go now...” I joked, pretending to walk away.
“You love it really Gee. I know you think my disturbing-ness is hot.” He winked cheesily. How the hell did he know?! Oh, he was joking. I get it.
“Oh yeah, I think your ability to make perfectly sane people go bonkers is a HUGE turn on deary. In fact, I love it so much I have a favour to ask of you.”
“Shoot.”
Crap. Here goes. Birds, don’t shit on me now.
“Right…this’ll sound really stupid, but…erm…Frank…” Well done, Gerard! You are now an Official Stuttering Idiot! Welcome to Stupid Fucking Dumbass Academy!
“That’s my name. Why would my name sound stupid?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” I smiled. “But…could you possibly helpmeloseweight? Pleasepleaseplease? Just a couple of pounds, not much, and you sort of look…in shape…sorta…and I don’t think I could do it alone, and it’d be much more fu-“
“Gee?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“Ok.” I squeaked.
“Of course I’ll help you out! If you really feel you need to lose weight. ‘Cause I don’t think you need to. But if you think so, I’ll do my best to help.” He stood up and saluted me.
Did I mention that along with being the Prettiest Thing on the Planet(TM), that he was also the sweetest?
“Wooooo, thank yooop!” I did my version of a jig. “Let Operation Tight Pants commence!” I returned his salute.
“Dude. Operation Tight Pants? This thing has a name? And what do tight pants have to do with it?”
Shit. Didn’t quite want him to find out about my tight jeans fantasy just yet.
“Erm…y’know…all the people who exercise have those tight spandex pants.” I lied.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. My dad still has some buried somewhere in the attic from when he last exercised. Which was like, 1986.” He laughed.
“Haha, oh dear God, mental image! MENTAL IMAGE!” I put my hand to my forehead and pretended to swoon. “Hey, want a drink to celebrate?”
“Sure do,” He replied as I opened the fridge and threw him a beer. “To Operation Tight Pants!” He raised his can.
“To Operation Tight Pants!” I repeated.
“Uh, did I miss something?”
“Hey, Mikes.”
I have never ever been cool in the slightest. Never. The words “Gerard” “Way” and “cool” are rarely heard in the same sentence, apart from maybe the popular phrase: “Gerard is way uncool.” It’s partly my fault though. I’ve always wanted to scare other people. In kindergarten, I snuck a bottle of ketchup to school and wiped it all around my mouth, then told the other kids that I ate the teacher when she went for a smoke in the parking lot. Three kids had to go home, they were crying that much. Ah, fun times.
Then puberty hit. I was no longer the funny, scary weirdo, but the icky, roundy-faced loner with an attitude problem, wanting to do nothing but draw. In high school, the rumours started. Really stupid ones too: people thought that I was actually a vampire, (seriously. I’m not kidding.) That I lived in a cave with an escaped lunatic, (I’d give a prize to whoever made THAT shit up.) That I was drunk and stoned most of the time, (OK. Maybe that one’s a teensy weensy bit true.) and that I was gay. (Yeah…that’s only half true.)
To be honest, they don’t really bother me. I’m happy(ish) for the moment. As long as I have friends. Or can tag along with my little brother’s. Yeah, like I said, I’m cool like dat! I like them all quite a bit, actually.
Especially Frank. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more gorgeous creature in my entire life. Don’t get me wrong, though! I know what you’re thinking. Something along the lines of, “Eeeeeeeew. The creepy senior’s perving on his little brother’s friends. They’re probably like, two or something.” Hell no! Believe me, if you saw Frank too, you’d do anything to make him notice you. Not just as your best friend’s brother.
And that’s just what I plan to do.
Everybody has something they want to change about their body, right? Well, if I could change one of my deformities, I’d lose the “puppy-fat” look. I don’t think I’m fat or anything, just a bit…rounded. So I devised a plan. One that would force Frank to see me in a different light, AND help me look good in those tight jeans, like Frank. There. Two birds down with one well-aimed pebble. I just hoped they wouldn’t shit on me before I threw it.
One Friday afternoon, I decided to make a rare appearance in the kitchen. My trip was mainly motivated by the fact that I could hear Frank and Mikey’s voices arguing over what to eat. However, I walked into the kitchen to find Frank alone, sitting at the table, twiddling his thumbs. Yes, he was actually twiddling his thumbs. It couldn’t be more perfect.
“Yo, home-kitten. Where’s Mikey gone?” I grinned.
“Well, looky who decided to visit from the depths of hell! Mikey’s in le toilette, mon cher Monsieur. Nature called.”
“Really? How is she?”
“Haha. Very funny. Oh dear, look at that, I almost laughed.”
“Aaaaw, nobody likes Mr. Sarcastic, Frankie! Didn’t mommy tell you that?”
“Shuddup, you big…phnuuuuuuiuk.”
"Um. Okay. Care to explain?”
“It’s a noise that whales make. I think. I saw it on the Discovery channel once.”
“Yeah? Right then. I'm just going to go now...” I joked, pretending to walk away.
“You love it really Gee. I know you think my disturbing-ness is hot.” He winked cheesily. How the hell did he know?! Oh, he was joking. I get it.
“Oh yeah, I think your ability to make perfectly sane people go bonkers is a HUGE turn on deary. In fact, I love it so much I have a favour to ask of you.”
“Shoot.”
Crap. Here goes. Birds, don’t shit on me now.
“Right…this’ll sound really stupid, but…erm…Frank…” Well done, Gerard! You are now an Official Stuttering Idiot! Welcome to Stupid Fucking Dumbass Academy!
“That’s my name. Why would my name sound stupid?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” I smiled. “But…could you possibly helpmeloseweight? Pleasepleaseplease? Just a couple of pounds, not much, and you sort of look…in shape…sorta…and I don’t think I could do it alone, and it’d be much more fu-“
“Gee?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“Ok.” I squeaked.
“Of course I’ll help you out! If you really feel you need to lose weight. ‘Cause I don’t think you need to. But if you think so, I’ll do my best to help.” He stood up and saluted me.
Did I mention that along with being the Prettiest Thing on the Planet(TM), that he was also the sweetest?
“Wooooo, thank yooop!” I did my version of a jig. “Let Operation Tight Pants commence!” I returned his salute.
“Dude. Operation Tight Pants? This thing has a name? And what do tight pants have to do with it?”
Shit. Didn’t quite want him to find out about my tight jeans fantasy just yet.
“Erm…y’know…all the people who exercise have those tight spandex pants.” I lied.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. My dad still has some buried somewhere in the attic from when he last exercised. Which was like, 1986.” He laughed.
“Haha, oh dear God, mental image! MENTAL IMAGE!” I put my hand to my forehead and pretended to swoon. “Hey, want a drink to celebrate?”
“Sure do,” He replied as I opened the fridge and threw him a beer. “To Operation Tight Pants!” He raised his can.
“To Operation Tight Pants!” I repeated.
“Uh, did I miss something?”
“Hey, Mikes.”