I'd like to meet:
someone who actually cares...
MY ADVENTURE WITH Post Script
By Laurie Greg
Dear Diary,
I still can’t believe it!!! Me, Greg, the plainest, most boring boy at Pinole Valley High School, the boy that all the girls bark at when I walk by, the boy whose mother wouldn't even let him go to a Elton John concert because "there's often a bad element at the at those rock concerts," I got to go on a four day tour with my total heartthrobs, Post Script !!!!
Little did I know that when I entered that "Rock out with Post Script contest in Spin magazine (my hoe-bag sis calls it a 'fag shit', but what does he know, she's probably a lesbo anyway) that I, out of all Post Script fans in America would get picked!
The day that letter arrived was the happiest day of my life. But before I could get too excited, I realized I had a biiiiig problem.... my parents!! I knew they'd never let me go off with a rock band for even one night, let alone four days!
So for once I decided not to put up with their crap. I wasn’t sure what to do, so at school the next day I went around to all the weirdoes and asked them what would THEY do? See, I figure people who have blue Mohawks and only come to school when they feel like it and make these gross magazines with naked pictures in them must have figured out a way to handle their parents.
So I went to this guy Eggplant (boy, I feel sorry for him, his parents must have really hated him to name him something like that), and he looked at me like, "You really want to go on tour with Post Script ."
And I said, "Oh yeah, I'd DIE to go on tour with Post Script ."
He looked at me kind of funny and said, "Yeah, but would you Kill?"
I thought he was joking, but I wasn't sure. Then I looking at his beady little eyes piercing deep into my soul and I KNEW he wasn't. I thought, hmm, what the hell; you only go around once, might as well go for it, blah blah, blah...
So I said all kind of hoarse and everything, "Yeah, I guess I would..."
And he said, "Then the one you should talk to is Claude."
Oh Shit Son!!! Even I had heard of Cluade. He's so evil that he's practically... SATANIC!!! He dropped out of school in eighth grade and all he ever does is take drugs and read weird books and molest little girls. I was always afraid to even look at him.
But I'd gone too far to stop now. After school instead of going home I went to Telegraph Avenue in Berkley where all the scummy people hand out, and sure enough, there was Cluade. He looked all perverted and he was smoking cigarettes and all these girls were standing around him like they wanted him to do kinky shit with them.
But they got out of the way when they saw me coming, and Claude wasn't mean or dirty or anything. He was actually kind of nice.
He said," My friend Eggplant tells me you have a problem."
I said," Two problems actually. Two really big ones."
"Parents huh? This ought to take care of them."
He handed me a brown bottle it was full of pills.
"How many of these should I take?" I asked him.
He laughed, kind of heh-heh-heh like. "No you don’t take them, THEY do. Your parents."
"Oh no," I said, "My parents wouldn't take drugs. They're Christian Scientists."
"You look like a gangsta. I'll bet you can figure something out."
And you know what, he was right, I DID.
That night I offered to help my mother with dinner. Then, when she wasn't looking I emptied all of Cluade's capsules into the mashed potatoes. Then I said I didn't feel like eating, and went upstairs and listened to all my Post Script records five or six times.
After a while I stuck my head out the door.
"YUCK!" I heard my father saying. "These are the worst mashed potatoes I have ever tasted in my life!"
"Then cook your own god dam dinner, you lazy scumbag. I'm not your slave." I was surprised, my mother usually didn't swear.
My dad said, "I'm not going to eat these, they taste like shit."
But my mother yelled at him, "You eat those potatoes or I'll dump them over your head and shove the dish up your ass."
"Shhh" he said, "Greg will hear you."
"He's asleep, the stupid little bitch. I swear, I don't know how my son could be such an idiot. I bet the babies got switched at the hospital."
"Now now, he's just a little but slow."
"Yeah, and I wonder who he got it from. Are you going to eat those potatoes?"
My dad always does what mom tells him. I even heard him scraping the bowl.
After awhile I heard a clunk and a crash and then the whole dining room table fell over. I went downstairs and they were both flopped out on the floor, like totally dead. It was pretty weird.
I realized that I'd better do something before my sister came home, because I didn't have enough pills to get rid of her, too. Luckily we have a brand new garbage disposal, so I took a butcher knife and cut mom and dad into pieces and put them down the garbage. It took a long time, and it was kind of messy, but I kept singing my favorite Post Script ." songs, and it made the work easier.
The only trouble was, the bones wouldn't go down the garbage disposal, and now I was getting nervous, because my sister would be home any minute. Then I got an idea. I gathered up all the bones and carried them out in the back yard and threw them over the fence to ours neighbor's bit bull. He was so happy he didn't bark at me.
Then my sister came home. "Where's mom and dad?" she asked.
"Uh they went away. To... uh... Utah!"
"Utah! Why in the hell would they go there?"
"Uh, I think they decided to become Mormons or something."
She looked at me kinda weird and went upstairs to look at her porno pictures. I went in my room and started packing my bags.
The next morning, I was at the airport. My own private jet waiting for me there, and you know what, it was all painted GREEN, and on the side of it it said "WELCOME ABOARD Grego, Post Script TOUR '90."
So I went on the plane, and I was the only passenger! And all the stewardesses just waited on me! And we listened to Post Script records all the way to Arizona, where the tour was going to start. When I got there, there was a limo, GREEN limo of course, waiting for me, and this guy with a top hat opened the door for me, and when I got in the back seat, THERE THEY WERE!!! All three of them, Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre!!! I was so excited I didn't even know where to sit, I mean, I didn’t know which one of them to sit next to first. So I sat between Billie Joe and Tre, and they both started talking to me, but I didn't know which one I liked best cause they were both so nice, but then I decided I liked Billie Joe better, because Tre kept singing these rap songs cause there's no way he's more gangsta than me. In fact, I was surprised they even let him in the band, because I didn't think Post Script would hire a rapper. Well, they did on that one song, "Knowledge", but that’s only because it was written by some other band, Operation Ivy, who I heard were a bunch of punk rockers. Then we went to a show at this place called "Hippycore" and there were all these people with long hair standing around eating vegetables and stuff. It was kind of icky. But the worst thing was when I found out there were gonna be some OTHER bands playing, too. I got really mad and said, "Why can't Post Script just play for 3 hours? Why do you have all these other stupid bands?" Everybody told me to be quiet, and that the other bands were good too. But they weren't. I mean, they weren't Post Script . They didn’t even have any songs that I could sing along to. So, I kept yelling, "BOOOOO! You’re terrible! We want Post Script !!" until some rocker bitch told me to shut up or she would re-arrange my face with her bottle opener. I wondered if she was just trying to be friendly, but I decided she wasn’t, so I went outside to wait for my heroes, Post Script . But when they finally played, it was worth everything! Billie sang one of my favorite songs, and then, right in the middle of "Disappearing Boy", he stopped and said, "I'd like to dedicate this song to out very special friend Grego, who came down from shithole vtown to be here with us today. He's just so hott and rapable, gosh; I know if he was my boyfriend, I'd never disappear again." That's when i shit my pants and fanted. When I woke up, the show was over, and they were packing away all of the equipment. I said, "Billie Joe, did you really mean what you said on stage?" And he looked at my sincere, and said, "You know it hott stuff, but our love can never be, because I already belong to another. Besides, you're too young and gangsta for the life of a rock and roll king. Take my advice, go back to your shit hole and finish school, and one day you'll make some lucky girl very happy." "But Billie, I'd do anything to be with you. I already did! I killed my parents just so I could be here tonight." But he just laughed and said, "Really? Killed your parents, huh? That’s pretty cool." Then we all got in Post Script 's tour bus to drive to Los Angeles. I was pretty excited, because I never was in Hollywood before, and I had a map of all the stars houses and everything. But we didn’t see any movie stars, just a bunch of boys with big hairdos and women that Tre said were hoe's like my sister. I never know whether to believe him or not. He's kinda mean you know. I am starting to think he's my least favorite member of Post Script , because he kept singing that horrible Ice Cube song that goes, "Bitch-killa, bitch-killa." Besides, when I asked him for his autograph, he said I had to talk to his agent, and when I asked who his agent was, he started to unzip his pants. So I fucking backed up, and Billie and Mike told Tre to behave and he did after that, even though I said I thought they should tie him up till the next show, but Mike said a lot of drummers are like that, their brains just get rattled around too much from all that pounding. Then you know what? I saw Billie and Mike drinking out of BEER BOTTLES!! I was shocked, because they're not even 21, in fact their only 18, so I asked them what the big idea was, but Billie took me aside and whispered, "Listen, you've got to keep this a secret, but there isn’t really beer in these bottles." "There isn’t?" I asked. "NO, it's really pimp juice. Everybody in Post Script likes pimp juice best of all, but the thing is, we drink it out of beer bottles because if we don't, people will make fun of us and think we are sissies." Then I understood and I felt so sorry for the boys. Peer Pressure is such a terrible thing. At the show in Hollywood I even got to stay backstage and everything, but just as the boys were getting ready to play, there was a knock at the dressing room door. "It must be our deli tray." Everyone said, but it wasn't. It was the POLICE! OMIGOD!! I jumped in front of the officers, and said, "Wait! Don't arrest Post Script . There isn't really beer in those bottles, it’s really pimp juice!" He looked at me and said "Is it now? And your name wouldn't happen to be Greg now would it young man?" And I said, "That's my name, don't wear it out." "Then we'll have to ask you to come with us." "What do you mean?" I backed up. "Are you crazy? Post Script is going to be playing any minute now!" But he said, "Sorry, it can’t be helped," and they took me in back of the police car and handcuffed me and everything, and then I thought, oh god, I wonder if this has anything to do with my parents? Sure enough, it did. That stupid pit-bull dragged one of my dad's collarbones into the house, and its owner found it and called the cops. So I didn’t get to see the rest of the tour, and I had to go to court and everything and now I'm in jail, and I might not get out until the year 2019. Oh well, everyone's pretty nice here and they let me listen to my Post Script tapes. But they all ask me, was it worth it? Killing your parents just so you could go on tour with Post Script ? And I just smile, a deep, knowing smile, because I've seen and done things that they'll never experience, not if they live to be 100, and I say, "Of course it was. After all, everyone gets 2 parents, but there's only one Post Script !"
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