You better run for your life.
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Who: Stubby & Mason.
When: September 1, 1979.
Where: Stubby's flat. Stubby's Lucyless flat.
Summary: Stubby is being emo over Lucy. He invites Mason over so he can whine at someone other than Jane for a bit.
Stubby was a whiny, demanding, melodramatic he-bitch. Despite what many of his friends, acquaintances, and deadly enemies may have thought, he was well aware of this. He wasn't proud of it, but he assumed it was pretty much as much a part of him as, say, his penis.
His penis was pretty definitely a part of him. At least for now. Hopefully it'd stay that way for a long time.
That said, he wasn't entirely without feeling. Technically he was full of feeling; otherwise he wouldn't have been able to be such a pain in the ass. He may have been selfish and often downright fucking aggravating, but he had a heart, and right then, it was in a lot of pain. This was, as any idiot would know, due to his Lucy's -- his Lucy -- unfaithfulness in the form of her aggravating jackshit of a new boyfriend, Roscoe. Stubby hated him. Stubby wished he was like him. Stubby hoped he fell off a cliff. Stubby had spent the time since his unpleasant discovery that Lucy was dating Roscoe -- and liked him, really really liked him -- clinging to his Jane, avoiding nearly everybody, doing lots of drugs, writing an obscene number of songs, most of which weren't very good (but some of which might've been brilliant), and crying.
Stubby Boardman cried. He could admit that. He also pulled knives on people sometimes. The key was a good balance.
However, Stubby had, at some point, recognized that he was being a bit pathetic, and that he was a lot cooler, more talented, and possibly better-looking than Roscoe anyway. So if Lucy wanted to fuck her life up with some new young asshole, so be it. She'd come crawling back eventually. Til then, Stubby had plans. Stubby had music to make. Stubby had bridges to fucking burn.
Stubby wanted a double album. And he needed to recruit. To plan. To consolidate. To get his mind off of Lucy.
As such, he had invited Mason over to chill out, listen to, make, and discuss music. Maybe smoke a joint. Have some drinks. Chill. Not so much talk, since it was Mason, but Stubby liked to think that they occasionally had understandings between them. If nothing else, he knew they respected each other as musicians. As they should. They were both fucking brilliant. Mason might've been a mute, Stubby might've been a fucking diva, but God damn, they were fucking brilliant.
He grinned as he opened a beer, having just handed one to Mason.
"How've you been?" he asked, since he hadn't seen his bandmate in person for weeks. Oops?
When: September 1, 1979.
Where: Stubby's flat. Stubby's Lucyless flat.
Summary: Stubby is being emo over Lucy. He invites Mason over so he can whine at someone other than Jane for a bit.
Stubby was a whiny, demanding, melodramatic he-bitch. Despite what many of his friends, acquaintances, and deadly enemies may have thought, he was well aware of this. He wasn't proud of it, but he assumed it was pretty much as much a part of him as, say, his penis.
His penis was pretty definitely a part of him. At least for now. Hopefully it'd stay that way for a long time.
That said, he wasn't entirely without feeling. Technically he was full of feeling; otherwise he wouldn't have been able to be such a pain in the ass. He may have been selfish and often downright fucking aggravating, but he had a heart, and right then, it was in a lot of pain. This was, as any idiot would know, due to his Lucy's -- his Lucy -- unfaithfulness in the form of her aggravating jackshit of a new boyfriend, Roscoe. Stubby hated him. Stubby wished he was like him. Stubby hoped he fell off a cliff. Stubby had spent the time since his unpleasant discovery that Lucy was dating Roscoe -- and liked him, really really liked him -- clinging to his Jane, avoiding nearly everybody, doing lots of drugs, writing an obscene number of songs, most of which weren't very good (but some of which might've been brilliant), and crying.
Stubby Boardman cried. He could admit that. He also pulled knives on people sometimes. The key was a good balance.
However, Stubby had, at some point, recognized that he was being a bit pathetic, and that he was a lot cooler, more talented, and possibly better-looking than Roscoe anyway. So if Lucy wanted to fuck her life up with some new young asshole, so be it. She'd come crawling back eventually. Til then, Stubby had plans. Stubby had music to make. Stubby had bridges to fucking burn.
Stubby wanted a double album. And he needed to recruit. To plan. To consolidate. To get his mind off of Lucy.
As such, he had invited Mason over to chill out, listen to, make, and discuss music. Maybe smoke a joint. Have some drinks. Chill. Not so much talk, since it was Mason, but Stubby liked to think that they occasionally had understandings between them. If nothing else, he knew they respected each other as musicians. As they should. They were both fucking brilliant. Mason might've been a mute, Stubby might've been a fucking diva, but God damn, they were fucking brilliant.
He grinned as he opened a beer, having just handed one to Mason.
"How've you been?" he asked, since he hadn't seen his bandmate in person for weeks. Oops?