The Day We Forgot The Guitarist

Pickup Lines For Emos

Pickup Lines for Emos

Here's the thing that a lot of people don't understand: we never wanted to be in an emo band. I mean, I think all of us have accepted it by now, but that was never the intention with MCR. The idea was more that we were going to make this weird neo-goth theatrical mess of a rock band -and here's the key part - nobody was going to listen to it, and we certainly weren't going to end up with legions of lunatic fans that write creepy fanfiction about us and want nothing more than to turn us into musically-inclined sex robots.

Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but My Chemical Romance fans were some strange people. So I was surprised when our new guitarist for the night was shaping up to be refreshingly normal, by emo standards anyways. She never bothered to tell us her name, but it didn't seem relevant, and I was actually kind of excited to get to know a fan. It was going to be an interesting time, to say the least.

I sent off a direct message to her account (@FabulousKilljoy88) asking her to confirm some perfunctory details, like whether she could get there in time and had the stamina for a whole concert. After seeing her responding in the affirmative each time, I felt confident working out the payment and hiring our guitarist for the night.

"And, she's hired. Awesome. She should be here in about an hour, and we'll rehearse and go over the setlist and all that," I announced to Frank and Gerard.

"I can't believe we managed to find a normal person. Man, remember that weird guy who wrote that fic where Mikey..." Gerard said, until Frank cut him off.

"We said we weren't going to tell him about that, dumbass!"

I decided it was best that I didn't press them further on the contents of this mysterious fanfic and decided to move on. "Anyways," I said, regaining my composure, "Frank, can you grab the equipment out of the back storage? Thanks, man."

Both of them began to walk out of the room. "Hey, Gerard, wait, come back! Frank can get the stuff himself. I need you to help work on the setlist!" I shouted, but they were already gone.

In a moment, it became extremely apparent why Frank had brought Gerard with him. Even though it would have been pretty hard, one of them could have lifted most of the individual things we had, but the two of them seemed determined to perfect the making out while walking thing - and what better time to practice than when lifting heavy machinery?

It wasn't too problematic when all they were doing was grabbing a guitar, but when the two of them, still attached at the lips, came in carrying a drum set, I decide that I'd had enough. "Dude, I swear to God, you're going to drop something if you keep doing that."

Now, Frank Iero is not a tall man. This is a fact that I would think his own boyfriend would be aware and conscious of, but maybe I expected too much. As they carried the set in, leaning over it constantly to kiss, everything shifted to slow motion at once as it crashed onto the floor of the bus, creating an admittedly awesome sound effect. Luckily, only an easily replaceable piece on the side broke off.

"I don't want to say that I told you so, but..." I said, gesturing to the drum set.

"Shut up," said Gerard through a mouthful of Frank's tongue.

By the time we (or rather I) had everything laid out and ready to go for practice, the girl we had hired on Twitter walked in. She was wearing a pair of black Converse, slim dark red jeans, a leather jacket, and a suitable amount of eyeliner for a concert like ours. "Oh my God, it's actually My Chemical Romance! I can't believe I'm actually meeting you guys in person, let alone getting to play for you. I'm so psyched."

"Hey, nice to meet you," greeted Gerard. "Why don't you just sit over there for a second hand glance over the setlist, tell us if there's anything you don't think you can play. We're really happy to have you on tonight. Wait, where the hell is the..." After a minute of panic over the lost notebook, Gerard emerged triumphant after finding it under a pile of my dirty clothes.