Green Days: American Idiot, the Full Story
American Idiot
PART 1: AMERICAN IDIOT
The sky was grey, that February morning, as Jesus woke up. He was not born with the name, Jesus, his real name was Jimmy, but people always thought he acted like Jesus, not Christ, but a Jesus of Suburbia. He groggily stumbled into the shower and let the warm water wash over him. These days he had not been himself. He rarely ate, did not talk to his mother at all. He lost interest in the things he used to love. His once precious guitar had not moved from its spot in the corner in so long it began to collect dust. He wrapped a towel around himself and walked back into his bedroom. Clothes and trash scattered his floor to the point where it almost camouflaged it.
He had not done the laundry in God knows how long and he had not held a conversation with his mother long enough to ask her to help. He threw on a somewhat clean shirt, an old Operation Ivy concert shirt from 1987. He found some black jeans without too much dirt on it so he put them on. He laced his battered red Chuck's, grabbed his schoolbag and keys and left the apartment. Jesus walked a half-mile each morning to his friend, Jason Relva's house, everyone just called him JAR. Jesus lived in the Tight Wad Hill apartment complex, number 86 and JAR lived on Telegraph Avenue.
"Hey, Jesus. How are you? Looking' pale and skinny as always, I bet? Let's get going' then."
"Right. I don't think I'm that pale, JAR."
In reality, Jesus knew full well that he was the most ghostly white skinned guy in all of Rodeo, quite a feat for someone living under the California sun.
"Hey man, you been watching' the news?" asked Jesus. Lately, he had been getting into the political frustration bug that apparently bit all of California.
"No, like I'm gonna sit down and watch that shit. Why?"
"Nothing, I'm just pissed. Our nation is under this new 'President Bush' mania. He really is a sick fuck. He just keeps spreading his redneck agenda to all these different countries."
"Dude, I may be a little bit slow, but what the fuck is a redneck agenda?"
"It's like, bringin' Wal-Mart, McDonalds and shit like that to Iraq. It's fuckin' with these people's ancient customs and beliefs. They don't want it there, so why the fuck impose our way of life on a country where it isn't wanted?"
"I don't know. But Jesus, you know I'm not into that whole political thing. My mom told me to stay out of two things, arguments over politics and religion. But I do see your point. What a subliminal mind fuck America is. Hey, Maria. Hey, Holden."
A pretty girl in a purple dress that came right above her thigh with long, brown hair walked up to the boys. A few feet behind her was a boy in jeans and a plain white shirt and dirty blonde hair ran towards them.
"Hello, Jason. What's up, Jimmy, are you feelin' better?"
"I told you, Maria. I'm not sick, just thin."
"Jimmy, no one is naturally that thin. It's just not healthy. Please, promise me you'll eat something for lunch?"
"Fine, as long as it gets you off my back."
"Hey, we all goin' to meet up at the 7-11 tonight?" asked JAR.
The 7-11 was just about the only cool place to hang in all of Rodeo. All the punks hang out in the parking lot or underneath the bridge across the street. Fights broke out all the time.
"Yeah, of course. You comin' too Jesus, huh?" asked Holden.
"Ummm yeah. My mom and Brad are goin' on another date, the fuckin' prick."
Jesus' mother was not the brightest of women. She left one abusive relationship for another. Ever since Jesus' father died, his mother had been like this, Brad was the worst. He was just cold; he gave blank, empty stares from his dark eyes. Jesus had always feared him, he never knew why. Brad never spoke to him, but he was an intimidating figure. The day ended and Jesus took the long walk home.
Everyday, the old man that lived up the block from Jesus' apartment walked around the street in front of his home, pacing. He looked almost robotic, mechanically walking back and forth every afternoon for years. He earned the name, Android, and he never said a word, just walked around wearing woman's shoes, hearing the insults but paying no attention.
Jesus had always respected him for that. He made his way past Android's home and to his apartment complex. He unlocked the door and passed out on the sofa watching television. Great, more war coverage. He changed the channel, MTV. Jesus always laughed at this, music television without the music. The media, alienating ourselves and causing tension, controlled the country. Jesus' mother had those 'Leave it to Beaver' television dreams of tomorrow, the perfect family. Jesus knew that his family would never be perfect, especially with Brad. His mother walked in looking dazed. She was probably stoned. She placed a plate of food in front of Jesus, sat down on the sofa and stared at him. He stared back.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked.
"Your face."
"Oh. Well it must be easy, sittin' all high and mighty, the king of Shit Mountain."
"Shit Mountain? That's exactly what this place is, this disgusting house that we live in. And you know what the sickest part of it is? You come in here, every God damn day, and give me the same, sick look."
"What look is that?"
Jesus laughed at her. Not a normal laugh of joy, but a laugh of insanity and frustration.
"You look at me like I'm the loser."
"Oh."
"And you sit there with your fuckin' scratch off lottery tickets and you think, 'Oh maybe, maybe tomorrow it's all gonna change.' You're never gonna fuckin' win the lottery."
His mother glared at him. She was upset at him. Not for what he was saying, but because it was true and deep down inside she knew it was too.
"Jimmy, are you done/ Are you done? Who gave you the rite to start shit? What are you, Jesus, nailed to that fuckin' couch, sufferin' for my sins and I'm the loser? Hat makes you the son of a loser, you fuckin' moron."
"No, that makes me a son of a bitch."
"I'm a bitch?"
Jesus smiled as he nodded, threw the food at her and walked out the door. He felt the rush of adrenaline and liberation flow through his veins as he walked. He did not know where to go so he let his feet guide him. Cars flew past him, he walked on the main road, and he felt the wind brush past him from every passing car. He walked for a few hours, going in circles, and then he decided to go to the 7-11. He walked inside, got a bag of chips and an Icee and went to meet his friends under the bridge. Holden spotted him first.
"Hey man, how are you? You look upset. What's wrong?"
"Hold, I just don't feel like talkin' about it, okay?"
Jesus pushed Holden out of the way and went to find Maria. She was always there to calm him down. She made things seem better then they were.
"Jimmy, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, I have to tell you something."
"What?"
"You have always been nice to me and... Fuck it, I love you."
'I... I love you too."
They kissed and held each other. They gradually made out more and more until they ended up at Jesus' house.
The sky was grey, that February morning, as Jesus woke up. He was not born with the name, Jesus, his real name was Jimmy, but people always thought he acted like Jesus, not Christ, but a Jesus of Suburbia. He groggily stumbled into the shower and let the warm water wash over him. These days he had not been himself. He rarely ate, did not talk to his mother at all. He lost interest in the things he used to love. His once precious guitar had not moved from its spot in the corner in so long it began to collect dust. He wrapped a towel around himself and walked back into his bedroom. Clothes and trash scattered his floor to the point where it almost camouflaged it.
He had not done the laundry in God knows how long and he had not held a conversation with his mother long enough to ask her to help. He threw on a somewhat clean shirt, an old Operation Ivy concert shirt from 1987. He found some black jeans without too much dirt on it so he put them on. He laced his battered red Chuck's, grabbed his schoolbag and keys and left the apartment. Jesus walked a half-mile each morning to his friend, Jason Relva's house, everyone just called him JAR. Jesus lived in the Tight Wad Hill apartment complex, number 86 and JAR lived on Telegraph Avenue.
"Hey, Jesus. How are you? Looking' pale and skinny as always, I bet? Let's get going' then."
"Right. I don't think I'm that pale, JAR."
In reality, Jesus knew full well that he was the most ghostly white skinned guy in all of Rodeo, quite a feat for someone living under the California sun.
"Hey man, you been watching' the news?" asked Jesus. Lately, he had been getting into the political frustration bug that apparently bit all of California.
"No, like I'm gonna sit down and watch that shit. Why?"
"Nothing, I'm just pissed. Our nation is under this new 'President Bush' mania. He really is a sick fuck. He just keeps spreading his redneck agenda to all these different countries."
"Dude, I may be a little bit slow, but what the fuck is a redneck agenda?"
"It's like, bringin' Wal-Mart, McDonalds and shit like that to Iraq. It's fuckin' with these people's ancient customs and beliefs. They don't want it there, so why the fuck impose our way of life on a country where it isn't wanted?"
"I don't know. But Jesus, you know I'm not into that whole political thing. My mom told me to stay out of two things, arguments over politics and religion. But I do see your point. What a subliminal mind fuck America is. Hey, Maria. Hey, Holden."
A pretty girl in a purple dress that came right above her thigh with long, brown hair walked up to the boys. A few feet behind her was a boy in jeans and a plain white shirt and dirty blonde hair ran towards them.
"Hello, Jason. What's up, Jimmy, are you feelin' better?"
"I told you, Maria. I'm not sick, just thin."
"Jimmy, no one is naturally that thin. It's just not healthy. Please, promise me you'll eat something for lunch?"
"Fine, as long as it gets you off my back."
"Hey, we all goin' to meet up at the 7-11 tonight?" asked JAR.
The 7-11 was just about the only cool place to hang in all of Rodeo. All the punks hang out in the parking lot or underneath the bridge across the street. Fights broke out all the time.
"Yeah, of course. You comin' too Jesus, huh?" asked Holden.
"Ummm yeah. My mom and Brad are goin' on another date, the fuckin' prick."
Jesus' mother was not the brightest of women. She left one abusive relationship for another. Ever since Jesus' father died, his mother had been like this, Brad was the worst. He was just cold; he gave blank, empty stares from his dark eyes. Jesus had always feared him, he never knew why. Brad never spoke to him, but he was an intimidating figure. The day ended and Jesus took the long walk home.
Everyday, the old man that lived up the block from Jesus' apartment walked around the street in front of his home, pacing. He looked almost robotic, mechanically walking back and forth every afternoon for years. He earned the name, Android, and he never said a word, just walked around wearing woman's shoes, hearing the insults but paying no attention.
Jesus had always respected him for that. He made his way past Android's home and to his apartment complex. He unlocked the door and passed out on the sofa watching television. Great, more war coverage. He changed the channel, MTV. Jesus always laughed at this, music television without the music. The media, alienating ourselves and causing tension, controlled the country. Jesus' mother had those 'Leave it to Beaver' television dreams of tomorrow, the perfect family. Jesus knew that his family would never be perfect, especially with Brad. His mother walked in looking dazed. She was probably stoned. She placed a plate of food in front of Jesus, sat down on the sofa and stared at him. He stared back.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked.
"Your face."
"Oh. Well it must be easy, sittin' all high and mighty, the king of Shit Mountain."
"Shit Mountain? That's exactly what this place is, this disgusting house that we live in. And you know what the sickest part of it is? You come in here, every God damn day, and give me the same, sick look."
"What look is that?"
Jesus laughed at her. Not a normal laugh of joy, but a laugh of insanity and frustration.
"You look at me like I'm the loser."
"Oh."
"And you sit there with your fuckin' scratch off lottery tickets and you think, 'Oh maybe, maybe tomorrow it's all gonna change.' You're never gonna fuckin' win the lottery."
His mother glared at him. She was upset at him. Not for what he was saying, but because it was true and deep down inside she knew it was too.
"Jimmy, are you done/ Are you done? Who gave you the rite to start shit? What are you, Jesus, nailed to that fuckin' couch, sufferin' for my sins and I'm the loser? Hat makes you the son of a loser, you fuckin' moron."
"No, that makes me a son of a bitch."
"I'm a bitch?"
Jesus smiled as he nodded, threw the food at her and walked out the door. He felt the rush of adrenaline and liberation flow through his veins as he walked. He did not know where to go so he let his feet guide him. Cars flew past him, he walked on the main road, and he felt the wind brush past him from every passing car. He walked for a few hours, going in circles, and then he decided to go to the 7-11. He walked inside, got a bag of chips and an Icee and went to meet his friends under the bridge. Holden spotted him first.
"Hey man, how are you? You look upset. What's wrong?"
"Hold, I just don't feel like talkin' about it, okay?"
Jesus pushed Holden out of the way and went to find Maria. She was always there to calm him down. She made things seem better then they were.
"Jimmy, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, I have to tell you something."
"What?"
"You have always been nice to me and... Fuck it, I love you."
'I... I love you too."
They kissed and held each other. They gradually made out more and more until they ended up at Jesus' house.