Basket Case, chapter 3
"I dunno, Billie." Billie and Mike were at Tré's, having a quiet coffee while Tré ranted on about his honeymoon in Alaska, making lewd and embarrassing references as to what he did there with his new wife.
"And then we started exploring the 'ham wallet' with the 'whoopee stick'..." Billie sighed. He was falling apart. He could almost physically feel it: his limbs were heavy and aching, his head was numb and, at times, not all there.
"What am I supposed to do? It's not like some fairy godmother is gonna wave her magic wand and make it all better."
"And then we... What's this?" Tré grinned. He fluttered his eyelashes, put on a mock pout and a stupid voice. "Uncle Billie got a pwobwem? Did Adie-wadie scare you? Let mommy kiss it better." He proceeded to snog Billie.
"Mmph!" was all Billie could manage. "Mmph mmph! Mmph!"
"Tré, leave him alone. That's the third time you've kissed him this week. I swear you're gay, or...something..." yawned Mike, getting up to make some more coffee. Tré let Billie go with some reluctance.
"It's not funny, Tré. Adrienne went mental when she found out-she threatened to send me into rehab," muttered Billie, wiping Tré's saliva off his chin.
"So what? Ditch the chick and go gay!" He proceeded to sing YMCA in a camp voice.
"Shut up Tré. You're no better-you drink as much as Billie," Mike shot back at Tré. He turned to Billie. "Listen, Billie. I know it's annoying, but you're gonna have to stick it out...y'know; there's only so much a shrink can do. And rehab... I mean, look at Pete Doherty. Knowing you, you'll climb over the wall and leg it as fast as you can in the opposite direction." There was a stunned silence.
"Er..." stuttered Tré and Billie. They weren't so much shocked at what Mike had said, more the fact he had said something. He usually just let Tré dance around Billie in a feather boa, or sit on his lap and sing 'Happy Birthday, Mr President'.
"St-stick it out?"
"Yeah, y'know... stay at home instead of partying, drink non-alcoholic beer and go for runs, that kind of stuff." He was looking a bit awkward.
"Well... I guess," he murmured. He didn't like the sound of that. Mike saw right through it.
"Billie, this isn't just about you. You have a family, a big-time band and all those Green Day fans out there whose lives have been changed by you. It's not just you you have to look after." On that bombshell, Mike stormed out of the house, shouting behind him: "Tré, don't gay him up too much."
Billie and Tré exchanged a stunned look and decided it would be best not to comment.
"And then we started exploring the 'ham wallet' with the 'whoopee stick'..." Billie sighed. He was falling apart. He could almost physically feel it: his limbs were heavy and aching, his head was numb and, at times, not all there.
"What am I supposed to do? It's not like some fairy godmother is gonna wave her magic wand and make it all better."
"And then we... What's this?" Tré grinned. He fluttered his eyelashes, put on a mock pout and a stupid voice. "Uncle Billie got a pwobwem? Did Adie-wadie scare you? Let mommy kiss it better." He proceeded to snog Billie.
"Mmph!" was all Billie could manage. "Mmph mmph! Mmph!"
"Tré, leave him alone. That's the third time you've kissed him this week. I swear you're gay, or...something..." yawned Mike, getting up to make some more coffee. Tré let Billie go with some reluctance.
"It's not funny, Tré. Adrienne went mental when she found out-she threatened to send me into rehab," muttered Billie, wiping Tré's saliva off his chin.
"So what? Ditch the chick and go gay!" He proceeded to sing YMCA in a camp voice.
"Shut up Tré. You're no better-you drink as much as Billie," Mike shot back at Tré. He turned to Billie. "Listen, Billie. I know it's annoying, but you're gonna have to stick it out...y'know; there's only so much a shrink can do. And rehab... I mean, look at Pete Doherty. Knowing you, you'll climb over the wall and leg it as fast as you can in the opposite direction." There was a stunned silence.
"Er..." stuttered Tré and Billie. They weren't so much shocked at what Mike had said, more the fact he had said something. He usually just let Tré dance around Billie in a feather boa, or sit on his lap and sing 'Happy Birthday, Mr President'.
"St-stick it out?"
"Yeah, y'know... stay at home instead of partying, drink non-alcoholic beer and go for runs, that kind of stuff." He was looking a bit awkward.
"Well... I guess," he murmured. He didn't like the sound of that. Mike saw right through it.
"Billie, this isn't just about you. You have a family, a big-time band and all those Green Day fans out there whose lives have been changed by you. It's not just you you have to look after." On that bombshell, Mike stormed out of the house, shouting behind him: "Tré, don't gay him up too much."
Billie and Tré exchanged a stunned look and decided it would be best not to comment.
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