I Hate You Like I Hate Tuna
The Interveiw
I absolutely loathe Fall Out Boy. They are the reason girls go retarded. I mean why jump up and down and scream my heart out for four guys who don’t care? Sure they act like they care but do they really? I always freely express my opinion about ‘America’s #1 band’. My opinion has gotten me punched, my car keyed and my wallet stolen. You’d think people would just nod there heads disagree and move on. But no, they have to take the step further and try to make my life miserable.
I haven’t introduced my self, my name is Kiera Rollins. I am a journalist for my college’s paper. My article ‘Keira’s Rock Sock’ is the most controversial column of the paper, that beat out the politics column. Many people know me as the girl with a pen behind her ear and a messenger bag glued to her shoulder. I don’t mind much. What I do mind is my editor giving me two backstage passes to see and get an interview with Fall Out Boy. As he put it, ‘it would make an interesting column to get your view on how the band acts.’
So here I am, standing outside the stage door entrance kicking myself for waking up this morning. I took a deep breath and turned the knob of the stage door.
I walked inside the door. The stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke filling my nostrils, something I was ised to in small venues such as the Congress Theater in Chicago. I nervously put my shoulder length black hair behind my ears and then quickly untucked it. I wasn’t nervous about meeting the band, I was nervous tat this article would bomb and I would be mobbed by upset fan girls. Somehow I knew my life would end by having a fan girl stab my eyes out.
I took a deep breath checked over my outfit, which consisted of a black Ramones tee, a black crew jacket and dark washed jeans. I had checked my eyeliner in the car and my teeth. I must be professional and not go all political on the band.
I walked up to the bouncer and looked at him.
“Your pass kid?” He asked looking down from his shades. This guy was two times my 5’4 height, thats intimidating.
“Here,” I said shoving it into his chubby fingers.
“You excited?”
“Nope.”
“There’s something new, I like you kid, you don’t go with the flow.”
“Uh, thanks can I go in now? I kind of just want to get this over with.”
“Sure kid, but just try to enjoy yourself.”
I nodded to the man and walked threw the velvet ropes into a lounge. The walls were beat up and filled with band posters, stickers and signatures. The couch had duct tape and the coffee table looked like it could barely hold its weight. I looked around for the band so I could get this over with and go home.
I spotted them and walked over. Pete Wentz lounged on a chair with his bass in hand trying to tune it. It didn’t look like it was working. Who I presumed was Andy and Joe were eating sandwiches in the corner and Patrick was singing.
“Hi, my name is Keira, I’m here to interview you for NIU Today,” I said dully, fully wishing I could gauge my editor’s eyes out.
Pete looked up. “Well aren’t you just a bowl of sunshine.”
“Aren’t you just a bowl of herpes,” I said back smartly. Hitting myself mentally for my unprofessionally.
“Wow Pete! Someone who isn’t trying to rape you!” The one in the hat, I think Patrick said sitting down next to Pete.
“Alright first question.”
“Wait, Andy, Joe, come help sunshine here get her interview done.” The other two came over, there ouths full of food. I grimaced.
They sat down and looked at me.
“So who’s your favorite Fall Out Boy band Member?” Pete asked before I could ask my question.
“None, I hate you all,” I was getting mad and tried to remember what I was supposed to ask.
“Aww, one of us has to be your favorite.” Andy said looking at me.
“Just because your ‘Fall Out Boy’ a cheap name may I add, nice rip off of the simpsons,-” I took a breath trying to calm myself.
“You know what fuck it, I don’t need this damn interview, just another eason for me get my car keyed,” I said more to myself then them. I picked up my messenger bag and started to head out. My editor was going to love this.
“Hey! Wait! Don’t you want to interview the great Fall Out Boy?” That blew my topper.
I turned around. “Your not great! You suck! Your the worst excuse for music I’ve ever heard. Your cocky stuck up and need to take the stick out of your asses, you have fan girls killing for you, not to mention keying peoples cars, and ripping off there wallets,-” I mumbled the last part more of to me then him.
“-Your lyrics are shit and pointless, you make the Jonas Brothers actually look like a band and your disrespect for media is appalling, and last your the definition of haughty”
“Hotty? You call me hot?” He said smirking.
“No dip shirt, Haughty, meaning arrogant, cocky, an asshole, by yourself a dictionary dumbass, when you do give my editor a call.” I walked out of the room. With laughs ensuing,
I heard Pete yell, “So can I have your number?!” As I left. I was pissed. I walked out to my car. I almost screamed when I saw the dent on the side of it. I started to kick the car I was so mad.
“Stupid Fall Out Boy fan!” I yelled giving it one last kick.
“Well I was coming out here to apologize to you, but I guess I should apologize to your car?” I turned to see Patrick Stump. I just glared and resumed unlocking my car.
“Look, I’m sorry, Pete’s an as whole we all know it, but we still love him, come back and do the interview.” He said smiling.
“No,” I opened my car door and got in throwing my bag into the passenger’s seat. I drove away as Patrick Stump turned around shrugging.
I haven’t introduced my self, my name is Kiera Rollins. I am a journalist for my college’s paper. My article ‘Keira’s Rock Sock’ is the most controversial column of the paper, that beat out the politics column. Many people know me as the girl with a pen behind her ear and a messenger bag glued to her shoulder. I don’t mind much. What I do mind is my editor giving me two backstage passes to see and get an interview with Fall Out Boy. As he put it, ‘it would make an interesting column to get your view on how the band acts.’
So here I am, standing outside the stage door entrance kicking myself for waking up this morning. I took a deep breath and turned the knob of the stage door.
I walked inside the door. The stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke filling my nostrils, something I was ised to in small venues such as the Congress Theater in Chicago. I nervously put my shoulder length black hair behind my ears and then quickly untucked it. I wasn’t nervous about meeting the band, I was nervous tat this article would bomb and I would be mobbed by upset fan girls. Somehow I knew my life would end by having a fan girl stab my eyes out.
I took a deep breath checked over my outfit, which consisted of a black Ramones tee, a black crew jacket and dark washed jeans. I had checked my eyeliner in the car and my teeth. I must be professional and not go all political on the band.
I walked up to the bouncer and looked at him.
“Your pass kid?” He asked looking down from his shades. This guy was two times my 5’4 height, thats intimidating.
“Here,” I said shoving it into his chubby fingers.
“You excited?”
“Nope.”
“There’s something new, I like you kid, you don’t go with the flow.”
“Uh, thanks can I go in now? I kind of just want to get this over with.”
“Sure kid, but just try to enjoy yourself.”
I nodded to the man and walked threw the velvet ropes into a lounge. The walls were beat up and filled with band posters, stickers and signatures. The couch had duct tape and the coffee table looked like it could barely hold its weight. I looked around for the band so I could get this over with and go home.
I spotted them and walked over. Pete Wentz lounged on a chair with his bass in hand trying to tune it. It didn’t look like it was working. Who I presumed was Andy and Joe were eating sandwiches in the corner and Patrick was singing.
“Hi, my name is Keira, I’m here to interview you for NIU Today,” I said dully, fully wishing I could gauge my editor’s eyes out.
Pete looked up. “Well aren’t you just a bowl of sunshine.”
“Aren’t you just a bowl of herpes,” I said back smartly. Hitting myself mentally for my unprofessionally.
“Wow Pete! Someone who isn’t trying to rape you!” The one in the hat, I think Patrick said sitting down next to Pete.
“Alright first question.”
“Wait, Andy, Joe, come help sunshine here get her interview done.” The other two came over, there ouths full of food. I grimaced.
They sat down and looked at me.
“So who’s your favorite Fall Out Boy band Member?” Pete asked before I could ask my question.
“None, I hate you all,” I was getting mad and tried to remember what I was supposed to ask.
“Aww, one of us has to be your favorite.” Andy said looking at me.
“Just because your ‘Fall Out Boy’ a cheap name may I add, nice rip off of the simpsons,-” I took a breath trying to calm myself.
“You know what fuck it, I don’t need this damn interview, just another eason for me get my car keyed,” I said more to myself then them. I picked up my messenger bag and started to head out. My editor was going to love this.
“Hey! Wait! Don’t you want to interview the great Fall Out Boy?” That blew my topper.
I turned around. “Your not great! You suck! Your the worst excuse for music I’ve ever heard. Your cocky stuck up and need to take the stick out of your asses, you have fan girls killing for you, not to mention keying peoples cars, and ripping off there wallets,-” I mumbled the last part more of to me then him.
“-Your lyrics are shit and pointless, you make the Jonas Brothers actually look like a band and your disrespect for media is appalling, and last your the definition of haughty”
“Hotty? You call me hot?” He said smirking.
“No dip shirt, Haughty, meaning arrogant, cocky, an asshole, by yourself a dictionary dumbass, when you do give my editor a call.” I walked out of the room. With laughs ensuing,
I heard Pete yell, “So can I have your number?!” As I left. I was pissed. I walked out to my car. I almost screamed when I saw the dent on the side of it. I started to kick the car I was so mad.
“Stupid Fall Out Boy fan!” I yelled giving it one last kick.
“Well I was coming out here to apologize to you, but I guess I should apologize to your car?” I turned to see Patrick Stump. I just glared and resumed unlocking my car.
“Look, I’m sorry, Pete’s an as whole we all know it, but we still love him, come back and do the interview.” He said smiling.
“No,” I opened my car door and got in throwing my bag into the passenger’s seat. I drove away as Patrick Stump turned around shrugging.
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