Green Day's New Drummer, chapter 2
I opened the door to my house, and dashed upstairs to my and Adie's room. I popped the tape in the VCR, and I immeadiatley saw Tre and a reporter.
Tre was walking home, cursing, and a reporter approached him.
"Mr Cool are you alright?"
He gave her the infamous 'eat shit and die' look that I often received.
"No. My supposed friends think I'm an asshole, and that I don't do anything right. My wife left me, and the bar banned me."
"Is there anything you would like to say to your friends?"
"Yea. EAT SHIT, FUCKERS! I HATE YOU!"
He flipped the bird with both hands, and went on a roll of obseceties, and stomped off.
"Is this the end of Green Day? Find out later at 11:00. I'm Emily Cummings, with Channel 2 news, and goodnight."
I turned the tape off in utter shock. I yanked it out of the VCR, and ran to Mike's to show it to him.
*Recording Studio, Tre's POV*
I walked around the builing, getting the look and feel of being there for one last time. I saw my drumsets, and decided to leave a note on the symbols. I grabbed a pen and a Post It note, and jotted something down. I stuck it on, and muttered to myself,
"Man, am I going to miss this place."
I sighed, and ran out.
*Next Day-Recording Studio-Billie's POV*
"Well, I don't think he's coming today...."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. You saw the tape."
Mike glared at me, then went to Tre's, excuse me, FRANK'S, old drums, and checked out the cymbols while I tuned my guitar.
"Oh, no."
"Hmm?"
"Bill, check this out."
I went over, and ripped a note off of Frank's old cymbals, and looked at it. The writing was small, so it took me a while to read it.
Dear Michael Dirnt and Billie Joe Armstrong,
The years I have worked with you have been real. But I'm afraid I can't reach your expectations any longer, as Billie Joe keeps yelling at me. I, therefore, resign the post of drummer for Green Day. I'll miss you.
-Frank Edwin Wright III
Shit. He never used his real name for anything anymore. We're screwed, I thought. We can't make it without Tre.
Tre was walking home, cursing, and a reporter approached him.
"Mr Cool are you alright?"
He gave her the infamous 'eat shit and die' look that I often received.
"No. My supposed friends think I'm an asshole, and that I don't do anything right. My wife left me, and the bar banned me."
"Is there anything you would like to say to your friends?"
"Yea. EAT SHIT, FUCKERS! I HATE YOU!"
He flipped the bird with both hands, and went on a roll of obseceties, and stomped off.
"Is this the end of Green Day? Find out later at 11:00. I'm Emily Cummings, with Channel 2 news, and goodnight."
I turned the tape off in utter shock. I yanked it out of the VCR, and ran to Mike's to show it to him.
*Recording Studio, Tre's POV*
I walked around the builing, getting the look and feel of being there for one last time. I saw my drumsets, and decided to leave a note on the symbols. I grabbed a pen and a Post It note, and jotted something down. I stuck it on, and muttered to myself,
"Man, am I going to miss this place."
I sighed, and ran out.
*Next Day-Recording Studio-Billie's POV*
"Well, I don't think he's coming today...."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. You saw the tape."
Mike glared at me, then went to Tre's, excuse me, FRANK'S, old drums, and checked out the cymbols while I tuned my guitar.
"Oh, no."
"Hmm?"
"Bill, check this out."
I went over, and ripped a note off of Frank's old cymbals, and looked at it. The writing was small, so it took me a while to read it.
Dear Michael Dirnt and Billie Joe Armstrong,
The years I have worked with you have been real. But I'm afraid I can't reach your expectations any longer, as Billie Joe keeps yelling at me. I, therefore, resign the post of drummer for Green Day. I'll miss you.
-Frank Edwin Wright III
Shit. He never used his real name for anything anymore. We're screwed, I thought. We can't make it without Tre.
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