Post by Beatlemon on May 1, 2005 22:35:36 GMT -5
The Bubblegum Conspiracy
Or, George's Very Bad Hair Day
========================================
Um, I wrote this because I was very bored.This is the first segment, definitley more to come. ;D LOL, enjoy!
========================================
The cars seemed to be piled on top of one another in the early Monday morning rush to get to wherever they happened to be going. Inside there were people equally rushed and yet not getting so far as an inch from where they had been stuck - and this seemed to be an hour ago.
In one of these cars was a person who could certainly afford a lot, but not afford to be late, and he was scowling in the rearview mirror, staring at the mealy black bruise settled over his cheek. Sheer accident, yeah, sure. He didn't quite remember what had caused his bruise, but he was definitely sure it hurt. He touched it gingerly with his hand, but just then the car line moved forward several yards and he had to quickly move forward or risk his beautiful car boot getting smushed.
George Harrison became very bored just then, also extremely anxious on what he had for the recording session. A pounding, splitting, hangover headache. Just great for all those noises that were sure as rain to come from today. He gave a little shrug and sighed. Then he turned on the radio.
" . . . Everything that Uncle John need oh baby, yeah, baby, w-o-o-o! Baby, some fun tonight! Aaaow! . . ."
"Hm, it's us." He brightened momentarily but the bruise smarted, and he could only smile crookedly from the pain. Cor, it was a spectacular bloomer. Well, it would be a bloomer if it had been just a little further up on his face where his eye was. The others would probably have a larf when he got to Abbey Road. Which was alright, but secretly, he would never forgive them until next Tuesday.
Finally, after sitting twenty minutes and a quarter of a block within sight of the studio, he was there.
But so were the fans.
"George!" One of them cried. She stood up from the step where she had been sitting with her friends and smiled, her cheeks getting red from her excitement.
"Please lemme through," George asked - he tried to always be polite to the scruffs, unless they got too pushy. He tried wading his way through the small crowd of girls - about twenty of them wearing painted coveralls slathered with 'I Love You, Paul!' or a 'I want to marry you, Ringo!'- but there was some resistance and he feared he would simply get crushed. He nudged the girls again and they yielded, spreading apart, making headway for their god.
"George, when will the new album be out?" One of the other girls simpered. "I've been waiting for months now."
" ‘Ey, so have we!" Another one squealed.
"Yeah, well, I think we'd know by now! George?! When is it comin' out?"
"We've all been waitin, George! Can't you tell us?"
"Tell me!"
"No, George, tell ME!"
"I'll give you jelly babies!"
"No, I'LL give you jelly Babies!"
"I'll invite you to tea!"
"No, I'll -"
George watched the girls begin to squabble with each other, gave a half hearted grin, then sauntered lazily on inside the studio without a glance from the raging fans. One of the fans spat out her bubble gum and in a fit of disgust, aimed it at the girl she was fighting with.
Uunfortunately, it totally missed its mark . . . .
Ringo greeted him in the hallway. The drummer looked George over, then smirked. "Well, I see you've been in a little rough an' tumble, ‘aven't you?" Ringo then made his way to the canteen, whistling a jaunty little tune.
"It's those girls. They've gone barmy out there." George shrugged and went into Studio #2, where John and Paul were sitting quietly - writing another hit song, no doubt. The guitarist wandered over to the pair and sat on the floor, legs crossed in front of him.
"What's all this about birds chattering about, son?" John said, without looking up from his composition.
"We heard them a little while ago - say, Geo, you look like shit." Paul glanced up for a moment, his liquid brown eyes slightly amused.
"And thank you. Yes, it is a wonderful morning t' you too." George muttered.
"Did someone pop ya?" John said. He couldn't help grinning at the sight of George's shiner.
"Yeh, you point him out and we'll cripple him!" Paul made a fist, pretending to punch John, while his companion swerved out of the way.
"Naw, I don't quite know how I got the bruise, but it hurts like hell, it does." He brushed his hair back, then pulled his palm away, a disgusted look written all over his face.
Ringo came back into the studio and sat on his stool, carefully balancing a cup of tea on his lap. "Well, what is it now?"
George looked at the wad of bubblegum mess in his palm, a sticky sweet smeared pink mass with strands of pulled hair and God knew what else. He gave disgusted growl and tried to flick the wad away but it held fast to his skin.
John, Paul and Ringo just stared fixedly at George's predicament for a short while, then Paul burst out laughing!
George simply ripped the wad from his palm and chucked it at Paul, then went into the loo to look at himself. Gah, he looked awful. His hair was mussed up, and that damned bruise made him look absolutely beautiful, didn't it? Really added charm. He still didn't know how on earth he'd gotten it.
The day wasn't getting to a good start. And it was only eleven thirty in the morning.
Or, George's Very Bad Hair Day
========================================
Um, I wrote this because I was very bored.This is the first segment, definitley more to come. ;D LOL, enjoy!
========================================
The cars seemed to be piled on top of one another in the early Monday morning rush to get to wherever they happened to be going. Inside there were people equally rushed and yet not getting so far as an inch from where they had been stuck - and this seemed to be an hour ago.
In one of these cars was a person who could certainly afford a lot, but not afford to be late, and he was scowling in the rearview mirror, staring at the mealy black bruise settled over his cheek. Sheer accident, yeah, sure. He didn't quite remember what had caused his bruise, but he was definitely sure it hurt. He touched it gingerly with his hand, but just then the car line moved forward several yards and he had to quickly move forward or risk his beautiful car boot getting smushed.
George Harrison became very bored just then, also extremely anxious on what he had for the recording session. A pounding, splitting, hangover headache. Just great for all those noises that were sure as rain to come from today. He gave a little shrug and sighed. Then he turned on the radio.
" . . . Everything that Uncle John need oh baby, yeah, baby, w-o-o-o! Baby, some fun tonight! Aaaow! . . ."
"Hm, it's us." He brightened momentarily but the bruise smarted, and he could only smile crookedly from the pain. Cor, it was a spectacular bloomer. Well, it would be a bloomer if it had been just a little further up on his face where his eye was. The others would probably have a larf when he got to Abbey Road. Which was alright, but secretly, he would never forgive them until next Tuesday.
Finally, after sitting twenty minutes and a quarter of a block within sight of the studio, he was there.
But so were the fans.
"George!" One of them cried. She stood up from the step where she had been sitting with her friends and smiled, her cheeks getting red from her excitement.
"Please lemme through," George asked - he tried to always be polite to the scruffs, unless they got too pushy. He tried wading his way through the small crowd of girls - about twenty of them wearing painted coveralls slathered with 'I Love You, Paul!' or a 'I want to marry you, Ringo!'- but there was some resistance and he feared he would simply get crushed. He nudged the girls again and they yielded, spreading apart, making headway for their god.
"George, when will the new album be out?" One of the other girls simpered. "I've been waiting for months now."
" ‘Ey, so have we!" Another one squealed.
"Yeah, well, I think we'd know by now! George?! When is it comin' out?"
"We've all been waitin, George! Can't you tell us?"
"Tell me!"
"No, George, tell ME!"
"I'll give you jelly babies!"
"No, I'LL give you jelly Babies!"
"I'll invite you to tea!"
"No, I'll -"
George watched the girls begin to squabble with each other, gave a half hearted grin, then sauntered lazily on inside the studio without a glance from the raging fans. One of the fans spat out her bubble gum and in a fit of disgust, aimed it at the girl she was fighting with.
Uunfortunately, it totally missed its mark . . . .
=========================
Ringo greeted him in the hallway. The drummer looked George over, then smirked. "Well, I see you've been in a little rough an' tumble, ‘aven't you?" Ringo then made his way to the canteen, whistling a jaunty little tune.
"It's those girls. They've gone barmy out there." George shrugged and went into Studio #2, where John and Paul were sitting quietly - writing another hit song, no doubt. The guitarist wandered over to the pair and sat on the floor, legs crossed in front of him.
"What's all this about birds chattering about, son?" John said, without looking up from his composition.
"We heard them a little while ago - say, Geo, you look like shit." Paul glanced up for a moment, his liquid brown eyes slightly amused.
"And thank you. Yes, it is a wonderful morning t' you too." George muttered.
"Did someone pop ya?" John said. He couldn't help grinning at the sight of George's shiner.
"Yeh, you point him out and we'll cripple him!" Paul made a fist, pretending to punch John, while his companion swerved out of the way.
"Naw, I don't quite know how I got the bruise, but it hurts like hell, it does." He brushed his hair back, then pulled his palm away, a disgusted look written all over his face.
Ringo came back into the studio and sat on his stool, carefully balancing a cup of tea on his lap. "Well, what is it now?"
George looked at the wad of bubblegum mess in his palm, a sticky sweet smeared pink mass with strands of pulled hair and God knew what else. He gave disgusted growl and tried to flick the wad away but it held fast to his skin.
John, Paul and Ringo just stared fixedly at George's predicament for a short while, then Paul burst out laughing!
George simply ripped the wad from his palm and chucked it at Paul, then went into the loo to look at himself. Gah, he looked awful. His hair was mussed up, and that damned bruise made him look absolutely beautiful, didn't it? Really added charm. He still didn't know how on earth he'd gotten it.
The day wasn't getting to a good start. And it was only eleven thirty in the morning.
