KPtheMoviesaholic

"My submission is your addiction…" ---Prostitution is the World's Oldest Profession (And I, Madam, Am a Professional), Cobra Starship Late into the night, two men were sitting in a coffee shop not far from the motel, sipping their fifth cup or so of latte. The men, one sporting an afro hairstyle and the other a long, messy hairdo, attracted occasional glances from strangers. "Will Pete take longer to get it done?" Andy Hurley began, looking at his friend. "I'm getting bored of the latte here." Joe Trohman shrugged in response. "I'm a bit worried about Patrick's psychological and physical health, to say the least." "You know how Pete

I woke up, feeling partly annoyed. What I could fathom as spiky porcupine hair was curiously poking at my skull. I blindly reached out, stroking the hair. Must have been a dream. After all, in what parallel universes would a porcupine be doing on my bunk? My grasping hand stopped in still air, when another hand caught a firm hold of it. Eyes snapped open, I found myself face to hair with our grinning bassist. "……" "Gelled," he said, smiling the punch-me-if-you-dare smile he'd so obstinately never removed, "Like it?" I simply shot him a look, shaking my hand out of his grip. Wentz boy was wearing his favorite goth makeup, tho

Dearest Cecilia. That's how his letters would start. I'd follow the pages, transported from some godforsaken piece of land in France, with eager fingers, reading up on his latest soldier adventures, dirt, grime, blood, and gore. But I couldn't care less. It was my only means of communicating with Robbie. Until he return. If he would return. No, don't think like that, Cecilia, don't. He must. And he will. Then our love, as he wrote, and as I've memorized, etched the words in my mind, can continue on. Thoughts unraveled as I attempted to pen down a letter in reply, swinging my pen in hand. Oh come on, Cee. You don't have much time. Duty