My Chemical Rammance

Twilight arose and all the gray and weary clouds hid their profiles away from the daunting, apathetic, mist. The nightingale hummed her last tune as she took flight – and all was peaceful in the small town of Bellville, New Jersey…
“HEY YO! Answer dis door before I come and ya know – break it down!” The trumpeting voice of producer Wayne Sheer awoke the languid and distressed Frank Iero from his peaceful slumber.
Frank swung open the door of ‘My Chemical Romance’s’ petite and rusty trailer. “Err… hey, Wayne? It’s – it’s six am. What are you doing here at this time?”
Wayne barged through the door, his thick and chubby hands pushing Frank to the side. “Where’s the leader? Dat fool…. Gerard. Need to speak wit him. It’s urgent. Get on da case, Iero.”
Frank sighed reluctantly, and then merely shrugged. “Wayne, he’s kind of partied out…” Rubbing his temples, Frank saw a flicker of rage appear on Wayne’s face.
“What the… what’s dis now? Dat fool! Get him up – I don’t care what condition he’s in! Get ‘em up. NOW, IERO!”
Without emotion, Frank slumped his way to Gerard’s tiny, humdrum, bunk, that rested at the front of the trailer. Nudging him gently, Frank chafed, “Gee, wake up… please. Wayne is pissed…. And I’m really tired. He needs to talk to you… Gee?”
Gerard began to twitch violently as Frank gave him a wide birth of clearing. “Um, Gee?” Suddenly Gerard surged his way up, his fists in clenched in a tight format.
“YOU—YOU ASS RAPED ME LAST NIGHT, DIDN’T YOU FRANK?!”
Frank dawdled his way back from Gerard. “Wha—what are you talking about? I wasn’t with you last night – you and that no-good McCracken went out to see that stupid, emo, movie, Donnie Darko.”
Gerard’s long, shadowed, hair, covered his face – but his anger was evident. He began to whimper with as much emotion as he could possibly muster. “You… raped… me. Bert would never hurt me! I hate you Frank! I hate you sooooooooooo fucking much! DIE! DIE!”
Ramming his fists into Frank’s chest, Gerard shot fists of blank ammunition at him. Frank felt nothing but soft pellets of desperation from Gerard. Frank grimaced, he felt rather sorry for his comrade who was always drunk, high, delirious, or just simply, not himself.
“Eh. Stop that, asshole,” sneered a commanding voice. Frank turned in sheer observation to realize that Bob Bryar, the drummer, held his looming fists within the air. “I’m sick of this dwebe,” noted Bob with a look that sent Gerard jumping from his position.
“Y—you! You’re gonna try and ass rape me too! You’re – you’re sick!”
Paying no heed to Gerard, Bob turned to Frank. “Listen, that dick is gonna get us in trouble. First of all, Wayne’s here – but I’m sure you know that Frank. Second of all, how the fuck do you put up with this dick? Man, I wanna punch his no good lights out for sure…”
Frank simply shrugged and turned his head away from Bob. “We’d better get him out there before Wayne kills us all….”
“Problem solved,” charged Bob as he grabbed hold of Gerard’s puny neck. “AHHH! AHHH! HELP, FRANK! HELP ME!”
Feeling guilt sputter over him, Frank looked towards Bob for eye-on-eye forgiveness. “Whatever,” said Bob, rearing Gerard forward. “This asshole needs to learn that he can’t always come to his precious little princess, Frankie. When will you be a man, Frank? You act like such a princess sometimes…”
Frank winced at the comment and then ceased his walking. “Shut up, Bob. I really don’t appreciate taking crap from you – excuse me for caring.” Frank kept moving and didn’t look back to a contemplating Bob about to state an apparent comeback.
“There you twats are,” spoke Wayne in a rather drab tone. Wayne’s eyes met Bob’s and a kicking and struggling Gerard.
“What the hell is wit him?” stipulated Wayne, his eyes eying both Frank and Bob. “He’s drunk,” interrupted a calm and effeminate voice. Both Bob and Frank turned to see Mikey standing to the side, a Milky Way in his hand.
“He’s always drunk,” added Mikey, his hand pressed to his thigh. Winking at Frank, Mikey leaned forward to meet Wayne. “Now what is it you want?” inquired Mikey with a tint of danger in his tone.
“Errggg…. Uh, yeah. Well uh. Ya see, ya lot gotta tour comin’ up but a bunch of crud happened wit da busses. Dat no good Deathstars band – they decided to join the CHAOS! Tour. Big bands, guys…. Big bands. I be telling you – da shit will hit da fan if you ain’t there. But da thing is – you guys won’t have your own private bus. You’ll have to – ”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like too great a problem,” interjected Frank, his eyes narrowed. “I mean, after all – we could just go in this trailer.”
“Dat’s out of the question,” roused Wayne. “Don’t interrupt me, Iero. Dis is big! BIG! Da kind of big that might just get you even more famous… Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge is great and all, but you need to be ridin’ in style if you wanna attract fans. This trailer is ghetto. Ghetto! You know what all dem fans will say if they see you in dis thing? ‘Wow, what a bunch of ghetto losers.’” Wayne nodded with sardonic enthusiasm and Frank just blinked and bit his lip.
“Well, what is your suggestion?” solicited Frank with little emotion pouring through him.
Wayne grinned, his gold teeth in a line.
“You’ll need to share a bus – with a very popular foreign band… perhaps ya heard of ‘dem…. Notably famous, Rammstein.”
There was a gasp that filled the room – and surprisingly, it came from only Bob. “RAMMSTEIN?! One of my most favorite bands!” he squealed. “It’ll be amazing,” added Bob looking from Mikey to Frank.
“It will be … if your leader says it’s okay,” reflected Wayne gaping at Gerard. Bob punched Gerard in the stomach.
“Gerard, just say ‘yes’ mmkay? Then nobody will have to be hurt.”
Gerard lifted his head up and gave Frank a grief-stricken look, then he just slopped down. “I just want pumpkin pie… and if I can get some – then, yes.”
Bob gave a look of daggers to Gerard. “WHAT?! PUMPKIN PIE! BULLSHIT. LIKE WE HAVE TIME FOR THAT YOU LITTLE NO GOOD SISSY BOY I OUGHTA – ”
“I’ll make you some,” mumbled Frank demurely. “Okay?” Gerard beamed from ear to ear. “I LOVE YOUR PUMPKIN PIE, FRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNK!”
Frank felt a tingling sensation go up his spine, and he KNEW Bob was glaring at him. “Eh,” said Wayne, as he interrupted the impending emotional upheaval. “Where’s… where’s Ray?”
Mikey’s smirk wiped out all sense of feeling from the room. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He just… might just have mistaken a pack of Exlax for a Milky Way bar…. But… but what… are you going to do?”
The room stood silent and Mikey’s sinister laugh filled the room. “WAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA – UCK!” In a spur of a moment, Mikey began gagging and coughing – and perhaps sputtering, almost leaking a little bit of death into the moment.
“Inhaler… please,” he choked. Frank scurried to the back of the room, and grabbed Mikey’s inhaler. The rest of the group just gawked at Mikey as he breathed passionately into his inhaler.
“Ah, you’re a lifesaver, Frank.”
Frank just shook his head. “I guess so…”