“Hey, have you guys seen my shirt?” a very disgruntled and annoyed Bert McCracken asked. The Used, and their friend Ralph, were on tour for the summer, and he needed that shirt!
Ralph mumbled a barely coherent “no” into the couch he was strewn across. Branden ignored Bert completely, and Quinn looked up, still fidgeting with his guitar.
“What shirt?” Quinn asked. He looked back down at his guitar, strumming out the intro to Poetic Tragedy.
“The only shirt of mine on this bus!” Bert screamed at no one in particular, rummaging angrily through the piles of clothing that littered the floor. He paused suddenly, and looked over at the now-sleeping Ralph. It was like a tiny lightbulb clicked on in his brain.
He went over and sat on Ralph’s stomach. Quinn put down his guitar, and Branden turned out. They both wanted to see this.
Bert paused for a moment, a pensive look on his face. He wanted to find the funniest possible way to wake the dozing sixteen-year-old up, without scarring him too traumatically.
He leaned over until he was merely inches from Ralph’s face, and screamed, as loudly as he possibly could “Wake up kitten!”
Ralph snapped open his eyes, but didn’t move. The slightly surprised look left his features immediately, and that half-asleep look settled in. He mumbled something incoherent, and then asked Bert what he wanted.
“I want you” Bert said with a crazed look on his face, trying not to burst into hysterical laughter.
“Get off me, you beast!” Ralph replied, rolling his eyes and pushing Bert into the floor. Branden and Quinn were also in the floor at this point; they had fallen out of their seats laughing at the spectacle.
“Anyway,” Bert said from the floor, regaining his composure, “where is my shirt, Mister My-Girlfriend-Is-Going-To-Kill-Me-When-She-Finds-Out-I’m-With-The-Used? Stealing my favorite shirt for her would be a good way to keep her from murdering you, but, I’ve gotta have clothes, man!”
“That is a good idea,” Ralph said thoughtfully, sitting up. “But I didn’t even think about it. I think I saw Jeph with your shirt earlier, though. You know how he is.”
Bert got up out of the floor, dusting himself off.
“Jeph! Where are you at?! Where is my shirt?!” he yelled, walking towards the back of the bus.
Jeph stuck his head out of a doorway, giving Bert a menacing look.
“You better yelling like that!” he screamed at Bert, going into lecture-mode. “You know we have a concert tonight! If you screw up your vocal chords…”
“SHUT UP JEPH!” Bert screamed even louder, interrupting Jeph and getting the attention of everyone on the bus. He walked past Jeph, into the room the room where Jeph was, picked his shirt up off the floor, and walked back toward the front of the bus, where he found Ralph, Quinn, and Branden in fits of laughter.
“Thanks, Ralph,” Bert said. “You were right. Sorry about the whole ‘stealing my shirt’ thing. I’ll hook you up with some concert tickets so Suzy doesn’t hurt you too bad. Maybe we can find her some random job on the tour next summer. You can give her this shirt, too, after tonight. I hear sweaty Bert-shirts really rack up the cash on Ebay!”
