Work Text:
So it starts off here in the back of the bus, or maybe it's an alley, I don't really frickin know, it's really dark. But anyways Josh went to escape Brendon and his bestfren Tyler’s conversation to hang with his sweet honey that was tucked behind some cushions. But he wasn't keeping a corpse behind the cushions, this isn't that type of fic (yet?). But it was actually a box of waffle crisps that he had fallen in love with that one fateful day to the grocery store July 17th 1721.
Gently he caressed the cardboard box in his skin covered hands he inhaled the scent of the box and then started making out with it so fucking hard like wow, calm down there buddy.
But anyways, while Josh was making out with that box like there's no tomorrow, Brandon Urine was telling Taylor Josephine about how one day he was getting funky with Dayton Weeds’ fancy bass, and the next day he woke up and BOOM he had genital herpes! Brendon just couldn't believe this shit was happening so he confronted the giraffe man about it and was like ‘yo dude, what the fuck?? Your bass gave the the gen herps’ And in response Dallon rolled his eyes so hard there was this big ol earthquake on the moon so it was actually a moonshake or some shit like that I really don't know. But Dallon goes on to explain that of course he didn't get it cause he's immune to those genital herpes cause he's actually the 32nd regeneration of the doctor.
As Brendon was wildly telling the story, flailing his arms around like he was trying to summon down some flying helicopter whale hybrid, Patrick went and kicked down the door holding like seven pizza boxes and threw them on the floor, let out a loud soul screech and rocketed up onto of the ceiling where he hung by the sunroof like a batt.
Brandon Urine stopped his story to open one of the pizza boxes to grab a slice when suddenly the pizza formed into a face and said ‘get those fucking herpes covered meat sticks away from my cheese’
The pizza started moving until the very own Gerard Waywardson climbed out of the pizza, his hair stained red from the sauce. “Now that we're all here, the meeting can begin.”
“What meeting?” Tyler asked, sitting on the other pizza boxes like he was a hen nesting on his baby egg children.
“This is an intervention Tyler,” Patrick called from the ceiling, “Here to discuss your ukulele fetish.”
“You can't just shove that thing up your ass in the middle of a show. I mean at least finish the song for fucks sake,” Gerard shook his head, clearly disappointed in his sons antics. “Oh, and we're also kicking you out of the emo squad.”
“What!?” Tyler shouted, springing up like some sort of springy thing on a Jack rabbit ok a hot summer day in the middle of June. “But what am I supposed to do with all these salt and pepper shakers?”
“They're gonna be replacing you,” Gerard said.
“What? I thought Harambe was replacing him,” Patrick screeched.
“Sorry Patrick, but Harambe’s not a gorilla anymore, he's an idea.”
“You take that back!” Patrick shouted, tears in his eyes.
But Gerard refused and Patrick sprung off the ceiling at Gerard and started the official Emo World War, the universe was never the same and Brendon later passed his genital herpes on to Donald Trump.