You're not St. Jimmy, chapter 1
It was a stormy night. Everything bad had happened that night. The Green DAy concert was terrible, Billie Joe broke his first guitar, Blue, and Mike and Tre had to go to the hospital because a cymal from Tre's drumset had cut their arms. Yep, it was a hell of a day. The next day, Billie went to the hospital to check on Mike and Tre.
"You guys took one hell of a slam. You all right?" Billie Joe asked.
"My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out. Suicide commando that your momma talked about. King of the forty thei---" were the words that came out of Tre's mouth.
"What has happened to him?!" asked Billie.
"Dude, he got his arm amputated, and they put some sort of gas to him," Mike said.
"Bastards! Did you see what kind of gas it was?"
"It was Saint Jimmy gas, I think."
"Right now I'm filled with Rage and Love. Love that someone named a gas after a song I wrote, but rage because they made Tre even stupider than he was before."
"Dude, He is not going to make it. I'll try. Tre remember
Roll roll roll the joint
roll it with your hand
smoke it once, smoke it twice
pass it to your friend."
"---I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe---"
"It's useless, Billie."
"You're not St. Jimmy, Tre! If you were St. Jimmy, You'd be walking around terrorizing every fucking thing in sight. You're not!"
Tre sat still for a second.
"With an angel face and a taste fo---"
"Dammit, Tre! Alright Mike. Do you know anyone who can play bass?"
"No."
"Dammit! It will just have to be me then. Guitar. Tre, I'm going to make you remember who you are!
I got a rock and roll band
I got a rock and roll life
I got a rock and roll girlfriend
And another ex-wife"
Tre flinched a few times. Then, he talked.
"Billie. Come closer."
"Yes?"
"Closer."
There was a silent pause.
"Who wants a double chocolate mocha frappuccino?"
"We got the old Tre back. Wait, you fucking doctor. What the fuck are you giving to Mike?"
The bottle read "Jesus of Suburbia" gas. Then, The doctor threw Mike out the window. Something to add to his injury collection.
"Mike!" Billie Joe called out.
Mike Dirnt was going to Suburbia. To be the leader of the biggest gang of all time..
"You guys took one hell of a slam. You all right?" Billie Joe asked.
"My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out. Suicide commando that your momma talked about. King of the forty thei---" were the words that came out of Tre's mouth.
"What has happened to him?!" asked Billie.
"Dude, he got his arm amputated, and they put some sort of gas to him," Mike said.
"Bastards! Did you see what kind of gas it was?"
"It was Saint Jimmy gas, I think."
"Right now I'm filled with Rage and Love. Love that someone named a gas after a song I wrote, but rage because they made Tre even stupider than he was before."
"Dude, He is not going to make it. I'll try. Tre remember
Roll roll roll the joint
roll it with your hand
smoke it once, smoke it twice
pass it to your friend."
"---I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe---"
"It's useless, Billie."
"You're not St. Jimmy, Tre! If you were St. Jimmy, You'd be walking around terrorizing every fucking thing in sight. You're not!"
Tre sat still for a second.
"With an angel face and a taste fo---"
"Dammit, Tre! Alright Mike. Do you know anyone who can play bass?"
"No."
"Dammit! It will just have to be me then. Guitar. Tre, I'm going to make you remember who you are!
I got a rock and roll band
I got a rock and roll life
I got a rock and roll girlfriend
And another ex-wife"
Tre flinched a few times. Then, he talked.
"Billie. Come closer."
"Yes?"
"Closer."
There was a silent pause.
"Who wants a double chocolate mocha frappuccino?"
"We got the old Tre back. Wait, you fucking doctor. What the fuck are you giving to Mike?"
The bottle read "Jesus of Suburbia" gas. Then, The doctor threw Mike out the window. Something to add to his injury collection.
"Mike!" Billie Joe called out.
Mike Dirnt was going to Suburbia. To be the leader of the biggest gang of all time..
