Hey there. I've just finished a short story, because it's like 5.30am and I was bored and creative. It's all about the emos, and based on a cartoon I drew for my stupid emo mate while back. I hope you get a kick out of it, and get most of the references.

Thankyow.
Paul

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In a town known to some as Grimsby, a boy lived. When he was 15, he got himself a lost prophets tattoo, which the local hairdresser did in the backroom of Mike's Snips for 6 quid. The hairdresser made an error, and tattooed "Last Prophets" instead. When he was 13, he changed his name by depol to Corey Taylor, after his moron-hero from Slipknot. After the release of "The Subliminal Verses" in 2004, Brent, as he was originally known, changed his name back, because he found the band weren't hardcore enough because they didn't say "Fuck" as much anymore.

Three years later from that day, on a rainy day, Brent Thompson walked home.
It was his birthday. His skinny hood was up. His skinny jeans were wet. His pot belly stuck out from his skinny clothes. His converse now had no room for any more felt tip bollocks. His fringe obscured his eyesight, making him walk into at least three lampposts and the paperboy before he got home that night from school.

"SUPRISE!" screamed his mum when he got in.
"Happy Birthday son! You are finally a man!" Said his dad.
"Yeh whatever. Another year of pain and depression." replied Brent softly.

He stared at his cake, which said 18 in marzipan flavoured lettering.
Rolf, his baby brother, gurgled in the corner.
"Are you going to cut your cake Brent?" Asked his mum.
Brent took down his hood and flicked his fringe, snarling as he did it, but looking about as threatening as a cotton wool ball with googly eyes.

"I don't need a cake mum... Just leave me alone." He shouted.
His mother looked at him awkwardly and glanced worringly at her husband.
"Open your present Brenty!" she said.
Brent picked up the two packages from the table slowly and ripped open the packaging apathetically. It was a set of artists coloured pencils.
"Yeh, er thanks." said Brent, as he slooped out of the room.
"That boy" said his Dad to his wife, "I sometimes think he's a big fucking jessie".

Brent took the cake and the pencils to his room, leaving his parents talking about how he probably was gay, but they didn't really care, as gay people always ended up being quite funny, and they fancied having a son who was a camp comedian. His mum then complained at his father for saying "fuck" in front of the baby.

When he reached his room, Brent opened his artists set and slung all of the pencils in the bin, except for the black, white and red ones. He switched on the latest emo drivel, a band called "My Best Friend A Rope", and pulled out an exercise book. He started writing a new poem entitled: "Woe is a cake", next to a picture of a hung cartoon rabbit.

After about 3 minutes, after realising he'd written exactly the same poem as yesterday but with the word "cake" replacing the word "Geography", he turned to the cake as "My Best Friend A Rope" finished their screamy bit and started whining. He picked up the knife to cut the cake, but all of a sudden, he had the overwhelming feeling to slit his wrists.

He'd never done it before. But he was getting nervous. The scene kids in the local park had made fun out of him for not having any bloody scratches. He quickly unravelled his sleeve and slashed his wrist with a yelp. However, no blood was shed. The knife went straight through his 42 bracelets that he collected on his wrist, but didn't go deep enough to reach his skin. He sighed, and threw the knife on the floor. He spent the rest of the night scoffing the cake to his new favourite album, "As my sweetheart came over the horizon, bleeding and dying and she was dead and I was crying and it was really romantic" by "ROSEBAZOOKA."

During the night, his parents were kept awake, running from the lounge to his baby brothers room. Constant whines were heard on the baby monitor downstairs. The odd thing was, Rolf was sound asleep all night. It turned out the baby monitor was in Brent's room, and was picking up the sounds of the music, not the baby's screeches. The difference? Not a lot.

A few months later, Brent was standing on a railway bridge, staring over the top. His life was going very badly according to him. The girl/boy he fancied was ignoring him, he was averaging a D in History and "ROSEBAZOOKA" had split up. It was time, he thought to himself, to end it all. As he heard a train's horn, he jumped.

Unfortunately for him, he jumped off a bridge at a station that hadn't seen any train action since 1983. Even worse, there was an old matress that tramps occasionally used for a nights sleep and builders used to bring prostitutes to, on his landing spot. He limped away, with a sprained ankle. At least he could show that to the scene kids down the park, and make up lies like he "slipped on the blood of his bleeding heart" or some other shit.

A week later, he mustered up the courage to go out again, after being huddled away in his room painting his nails black for weeks. He phoned up a few friends that he had met on myspace, all of whom had at least 443 comments on each of their blurred pictures. They met in town, at a well known emo club - "The Xcore."

The group walked into the club. After a few drinks and mistakes over which emos were girls and which were boys, he got talking to a girl with 6 lip piercings and the haircut of a 1920's boxer. After a short conversation, they exchanged myspace adresses and parted, as Brent was shitfaced on two WKD Orange's.

Over the months, the boy and girl talked for hours on end on myspace, facebook, beebo, livejournal, msn, yahoo, aol and the ASDA forums. He finally plucked up the courage to meet her.

They met at a fountain in Grimsby. Things were going well. They laughed at goths and discussed the latest Screamo realise from "Heart X Stab", and how deep the lyrics were because the lead singer had lost his cat when he was 12. Suddenly, the girl piped up: "I'm gonna go..."

Brent immediatley sprinted away from the fountain and jumped into the river in an emotional rage. It was over. She was over. His life was over.

The girl sprinted over to the canal, as Brent floated away, struggling for air and being weighed down by his jewellrey, especially the huge chunk of metal emedded in his ear, which measured around 5 inches in diameter. He couldn't swim for christ's sake, he was an emo.

She shouted across to him.
"BRENT! I WAS JUST GOING FOR A PISS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

It was too late. He was out to sea.

He was rescued a few minutes later by the coastguard.

A few months later, Brent was sitting in his room. The Kaiser Chiefs blasted from his CD player. He had a curly mop for a haircut. He wore clothes borrowed from his grandad.

Legendary material.

thrashduck wrote:and the ASDA forums.

great story!

That is amazing, some bits really had me laughing.

^ yeah me too, like being "shitfaced" from two WKDs

nice story, i was feeling pretty bored and shit today but thats cheered me up no end!

"As my sweetheart came over the horizon, bleeding and dying and she was dead and I was crying and it was really romantic" by "ROSEBAZOOKA."

James wrote:^ yeah me too, like being "shitfaced" from two WKDs

wow, were they spiked or something? emo's can't handle their booze that well now, come on

Thanks for the comments chaps and ladies...

Here's some other references I should have put in, in hindsight...

- Emo's leave bulletins on myspace like "I am bored"
- Emo's leave picture comments on myspace pictures like "fit" in size 6, crossed out, font.
- Emo's have glasses with rims so thick, that they have no need to maintain their eyebrows.
- Emo's are scared of everyone.
- Emo's stole fashion from every sub-culture of the last 50 years, and then added a huge dollop of "Gay Clown" Culture.

That is all.

I just skipped to the last paragraph 'cause I have to go out!
I'll read it latorzzz.

....cheers for the update.

Yeahhh! Everyone wants to know what I'm up to because I'm so fucking amazing!