Just Pretend

Billie Joe lay his guitar down on his lap, frustrated. He had a great guitar riff but no lyrics.

And no book to write the lyrics in.

Hmm.

He searched around but couldn't find a spare notebook. He looked in his moving stuff and found a book right at the bottom which front cover read 'Dookie journal'. Billie laughed and opened it up, sitting on the edge of his bed to read it.

'I've always wondered why singers turn to drugs, and alcohol.

It's cuz making an album is so fucking hard.

My name's Billie Joe Armstrong. So, Billie, Billie Joe if I don't like you.

Me and my best friend Michael Ryan Pritchard (Mike Dirnt because that's quicker. And cooler) made this band called Sweet Children but we changed the name to Green Day when we met our drummer, Tré Cool. (He's really called Frank Edwin Wright III but don't tell him I told you that)

Recently we've been focused on making an album. Mike wants to name it after shit but we don't know yet.

It's hard making an album. Some days I couldn't write a song if you paid me but other days, I could write a whole album.

So I thought I'd make a journal thing, and write down crap and then when I'm older, I'll read it over and give myself a good laugh. (Hey future me, do me a favour. Go look in the mirror. Do I get old? If I do, I'm out)

The current update is:

Mike just hit himself on the face with his bass and is now looking down on it, asking the same question: '...How??'

Tré is sitting behind his drums and laughing at Mike, doing a drum solo every so often.

"Hey Beej, whatcha writing?" Tré asked. 

"Stuff. On paper." I replied. Tré simply shrugged and went back to his drums, pulling a face of concentration.

Tré's so cute.

^ I didn't write that, shh.

I'm back. Tré stole my pen and wrote 'property of Tré' on Mike's forehead. Mike can't wash it off. It's all very amusing.

I'm back properly now. I wonder how long I can keep up this journal thing? Tré bet $10 on a week. Mike bet $10 on the rest of tonight. But I have to go for now.

rage & love

-BJA'

That was the only time he'd wrote.

Billie put the book back, still laughing as Mike walked in.  

"What's got you so amused?" Mike asked. Billie smiled up at him.  

"Oh, nothing. Hey Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"I owe you this." Billie said, handing over $10.