Panic Laser Fight

Pete walked around his bar, saying 'thank you,' or 'great present' to each and every one of his guest, "Oh, hey!" he smiled, noticing Ashlee Simpson, "Glad you could make it." he hugged her.

Ashlee S. smiled, "Of course! I wouldn't want to miss your twenty-eighth birthday, Wentz." she laughed. After he sat down next to her at the bar (for the party was his bar, Angels & Kings), she handed him a Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie, that wasn't wrapped. "I know you're a big fan of that movie so I bought you a hoodie; sorry I didn't wrap it."

Pete shook his head, "Don't worry 'bout it, Ashlee! I love it the same!" he gave her another hug.

Without warning, Ashlee S. suddenly kissed Pete... right on the lips.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

The media that had managed to get in suddenly started going crazy, "Don't you already have a girlfriend? Where is she? She's going to kill you! Are you guys over?" were some of the things that were getting shouted at him.

Pete pulled away from Ashlee, "Uh... I... uh..." he suddenly felt a small tap on his shoulder. He slowly turned, "Ashlee!" he exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.

Ashlee Blaine handed him a wrapped present, "I'm sorry it isn't as expensive as that hoodie, but I don't have the money..." she softly said, looking down. "H-Happy birthday." she turned and walked off.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

The cameras went.

By that point, the Simpson was slightly drunk. "Ooh, wha' dis?" she hiccuped a bit, taking the wrapped gift from Pete. She ripped it open; also ripping half the book cover off, "Oops," she giggled. "My bad. Well... that's what she gets... f-for getting you a cheap present."

Pete suddenly grabbed the book from her, examining it. Just the cover was torn, nothing else. He weakly smiled, realizing it was one of those cheesy, five dollar romance novels that he liked so much.

"What the fucking hell is your problem!?" he suddenly shouted, standing up and over turning the stool, "I don't fucking care that it's your fucking job to take pictures of this!" he jumped over the bar and threw down all the drinks from the shelves, "This birthday fucking sucks!" he grabbed a bottle and broke it on the counter.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

PETE WENTZ, INSANE PARTY POOPER could be expected to be in the New York Times by that morning.

And with that, he ran out of the bar, clinging onto the book with his now bleeding hand.

-----

Brendon yawned as the pink car went along the road, "Ooh, what does this button do?" he pressed a red button in the back. A small pop! indicated that the button had just broken.

"Please tell me you did not just break my car." Hannah said through clentched teeth, coming to a sudden stop.

"I... uh... didn't break your car," Brendon said. "Although, that would be a lie."

"Get. Out. Of. The. Car." Hannah said, glaring daggers at him through the rear view mirror.

"HA!" Ryan giggled, "You're getting kicked out, lame-o."

"You too!" Hannah said, unlocking their doors.

Both boys stumbled out, blinking. "See ya." Hannah said before speeding off and leaving them there.

"This is just great," Ryan grumbled. "First Patrick ditches us... now Hannah. Perfect, just fucking perfect."

A car suddenly pulled up to them; the tinted window was rolled down. "Get in the car," Patrick said, glaring at them.

Without a question, both boys jumped into the backseat of his car. (Brendon decided to be 'cool' and get in through the window. Unfortunately, his legs ended up sticking out.)