Ah, yes. Gerard Way brings out the best of us yet again.
Let me set the scene: Krista and Erin, in the car, bellies full of Fazoli's Kids Meals, listening to My Chemical Romance (because "Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge" never leaves Krista's CD player).
So there we sip on our Lemon Italian Ices (with strawberries), drunk on Gerard Way's, uh, angst, when the mood strikes me.
Me: Oh, Gerard. I want to smoke crack with you and have your babies.
Erin: I want to chase you around for child support.
Me: There is no one else I would rather chase around for child support.
Erin: ... and share jeans. And genes. Ha.
Krista and Erin: (shooting Lemon Italian Ice with strawberries out of our noses)
Now, all of this is hilarious if you're, say, me. Or Erin. To the rest of you it's a "had to be there" moment. But I'm laughing. Dangit.
And, yes. It is still unbeknownst to me why I cling to this fascination of a man who wears mascara and face paint. His hair is longer than mine. We probably wear the same size jeans. And Gerard? Do you name your child Gerard?
No. You don't. And neither do I.
But alas, it's Gerard all the way. Get it? All the way. Gerard Way. OK then.