BEER!, a maximum ride fanfic

PJ: *Sniffles* M-my first o-o-oneshot! I'm so proud of myself! *Blows snot in Iggy's sleeve*

Iggy: Oh, come on! There's a tissue box right there! See it?! *Points to tissue box*

PJ: Shuddup. Anyway, this is my very first oneshot. In an unrelated note, I just discovered that for the past five minutes, I've been looking at a bogus Adam Lambert Twitter account.

Iggy: Did you just say bogus? *Cautiously pokes PJ*

PJ: *Sighs* Yeah, so?

Iggy: Bogus went out of style, like, a decade ago!

PJ: Whatever! *Starts doing the happy dance* I'm so stoked! Like how I used "stoked" there, Iggles? I'll try to work in bitchin' later.

Iggles: ...You do that. Hey! Stop doing that!

PJ: I don't know what you're talking about.

Iggles: The "Iggles" thing! Stop it!

PJ: Fine! Don't get your panties in a bunch.

Iggy: *Glares*

PJ: Your glare isn't scary. Hey, we should celebrate this oneshot-ness!

Iggy: Okay. I say, in honor of this first oneshot, we make a cake.

PJ: By "we", you mean "you", right? 'Cuz even the cat knows that I am an epic fail when it comes to cooking.

Iggy: Yeah, I meant me. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting?

PJ: Right on! I mean, BITCHIN'!

Fang's POV

I have hit a definite new low. Like, lower than a drunk, naked hobo dancing in a church. Lower than that Flo Rida song.

See, it all started about three hours ago, when I got hungry. Okay, hungrier than usual. Iggy was hungry too, so we went on (drumroll, please) The Great Refridgerator Expedition!

Sadly, we'd run out of food this morning. Dr. M and the rest of the flock were at Publix buying more groceries. We lived practically in the woods, so the nearest Publix was about fifty miles away.

"Find anything?" I asked Iggy as he returned form the pantry. "Only Dr. M's fancy saltshakers, Gazzy's soccer ball, and a gallon of paint. You?"

I shook my head. "Just a bit of spoiled milk, an empty mustard container, and something too moldy to identify. Let's look in the downstairs fridge."

"In the mood for some snow?" Iggy asked, pulling Gazzy's and Nudge's snowball they'd made the last time it had miraculously snowed. "Put that back; it'll melt." I grabbed the snowball from him and shut it back up in the freezer. "What's in the fridge?" Iggy asked, just as his stomac rumbled loudly. I know this sounds stupid, but it sounded kind of like "Feeeed meeee!"

"Well, there's some rotten meat thing, I think that's a sandwich, ranch dressing, pickle juice, bacon fat, and Jeb's beer." I said. My stomach rumbled even louder than Iggy's, and I swear it sounded just like "Foo-"

Uh-oh. Iggy had his "I'm planning something evil" smile plastered on his face. If I ran now, I probably could get out of here before-

"I have an idea."

And of course, Iggy had managed to rope me into his idea.

His idea, you ask? Drink Jeb's beer.

I tried arguing with him, but Iggy's a master of persuasion. Our arguement went something like this:

"No." That was me, for the nonlistening public.

"Yes." That was Iggy, for the still nonlistening public.

"I'm serious. No."

"I'm serious, too."

"I heard that beer taste like horse pee."

"Probably wrong. If someone's dumb enough to stand under a horse and wait for it to pee, then go and drink beer in order to compare said beer to said horse pee, then they've got major issues and need psychiatric help."

That's when I started losing the arguement. Mostly because I started laughing at Iggy's horse pee comment.

"See? You can be a happy person. Beer will help you access that happy person."

And then it happened. The one thing I'd feared ever since I met Angel.

Iggy made Bambi Eyes.

You'd think that Bambi Eyes would look weird on a fourteen-year-old blind guy; that it wouldn't have as strong an effect.

But nooo. It worked just as well as Angel's. His eyes were all big and innocent as a puppy's.

"Please, Fang?"

Hell.

So, now we were sitting up in my room, me holding an unopened beer, while Iggy was chugging his third. "C'mon, it tastes good." He still looked normal, but his words were the tiniest bit slurred. "You said you'd," He paused, burped loudly, then continued. "Drink it."

I sighed, then raised it to my lips, and sipped up a little bit.

Then spit it right back out. Christ, that was disgusting!

"That is not good!" I yelled.

"It's an aquired taste. Try it again." He took another swig, then made those same damn Bambi Eyes!

Resist. Must resist. I. Must. Resist. I. Must...

Oh, screw it.

"I love beer." Iggy slurred from beside me.

"I do, too." I said, my words just as fucked up.

The beer had still been pretty nasty the second time I tasted it, but Iggy kept the whole Bambi Eyes thing up, and now I was on my fourth beer.

We probably should've stopped, but I figured that since we could eat up to fifteen hundred calories in one sitting, we could probably handle more alcohol than the average person.

Iggy turned to face me. "We should write, like, a...Crap, I forgot the word that goes there. Help a brother out, Fang."

What word? "Uhh...Poem? Story? Song?-"

"Yeah! That's it! We write a song! About BEER!!!" By now, he was jumping up and down on my bed.

"That's the sexiest idea I've ever heard!" I yelled, joining him on my bed. Wait...Something about that sounded wrong. Can't quite put my finger on why.

Iggy had managed to find some paper and a pencil, and now we were trying to think of the first line for our song.

Iggy'd already thought of a title: BEER!!!

"We'll be celebrities." Iggy said, taking a big gulp of beer. Some of it dribbled off of his chin and sunk into the carpet.

"I've got the first line!" I yelled, grabbing the pencil and paper from him.

We took turns yelling "I've got the next line!" and snatching the pencil and paper from each other until we ran out of both paper and ideas.

"We need a tune." I said.

"We could just rap it." Iggy said. "Wait. Don't you have that guitar thingie?"

Oh yeah. Max had read on my blog that if I could've, I would've learned how to play guitar, so she'd gotten me a Gibson accoustic guitar for my 'birthday'.

I walked over to where it was sitting picked it up. "Wait, I only know one chord."

He shrugged. "Just play it over and over."

I was about to begin playing when I heard the garage door opening.

"Let's go play it for them!" Iggy jumped up, grabbed another beer, then ran out my door. I heard him start going down the stairs. A moment later, I heard a series of thumps, something glass breaking, then drunk giggling.

Which could only mean Iggy had fallen down the stairs. I ran to the top of the stairs, and sure enough, Iggy was lying facedown on the stairs.

I walked down the stairs to help him, but I tripped and fell flat on my face, too. Normally I would've been pissed, but I just started giggling just like Iggy.

At that moment, Max walked in. She saw us lying facedown on the stairs, giggling like idiots. One of the idiots had a guitar in his hand, while the other idiot had some paper and a now-broken bottle of beer in his hands.

I managed to pick myself up, then I carefully walked around Iggy (whom of which was still giggling).

"Guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat?" Yeah, I'd lost control of my mouth about two beers ago. Dear lord, I was using beer as a unit of time. Four score and seven beers ago...hahahahaha!

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Um...What?"

At that time, I noticed that Iggy was no longer giggling. Instead, he was groaning and moaning.

Suddenly, he puked all over the stairs. It was actually kind of funny, since he was lying facedown.

"Eww." I said, walking over to him (making sure to avoid the barf), and he looked up at me.

"I blew my cookies. I mean, I tossed my chunks. I MEAN, I TOSSED MY COOKIES! Yeah, that's it." Suddenly, his eyes went wide. "Dude. We need cookies."

Holy beer. We needed cookies.

I turned to face Max, who was watching us with a weird expression on her face. "Max. We need cookies. Stat." Whatever the hell "stat" meant.

She blinked a few times (BLINK-182, HOMIE DOGS) "Okay, Mom's getting ready to make some now. They'll be ready in about half an hour."

Half an hour?! That's, like, thirty whole entire minutes!

"NO! WE NEED THEM NOW!" Max was now staring at me, but that wasn't important.

I pulled Iggy up by the back of his shirt, dragged his skinny white ass into the laundry room, and dunked his head under the sink faucet. I turned on the water full blast. We could not have barfin our cookies.

I think the water was tasered, though, because when the water hit him, he started wiggling more than the Wiggles.

I turned the water off, and he stopped. He was trying to say something, but I couldn't understand him. I know! Maybe the cold water had shrunk his shirt, and now he couldn't breathe!

"Hold on, Iggy! I've seen CPR on TV! It doesn't look hard!" I ripped his shirt off, threw him to the floor, and started to hit him on his chest.

I must've done something right, because he grabbed my fist, sat up straight, and was breathing heavily.

"Oh, Iggy, you're okay!" I would've hugged him, but we had a strict "hug only once a or twice a year" policy. So I just got him another shirt out of the laundry basket.

Suddenly, I felt, like, really sick. I turned towards the sink, where I blew my beer.

I grabbed a random shirt, wiped my face on it, and dropped it in the sink. Iggy grabbed my hand and dragged me off towards the kitchen.

"M'kay. You get the flour, eggs, and sugar. I'll get the chocolate chips, butter, and vanilla." Iggy said, then ran off towards the spice cabinet, while I walked over to the pantry. Flour, flour, flour...I picked up a red box. Constarch. That was like flour, right?

Now for the eggs. I opened the fridge, and there they were! Just sitting on the third shelf. I grabbed a handful, but they cracked in my hand. Oh, crapcrapcrap! Thinking quickly, I ran over to the mixing bowl and dumped the eggs in. Success!

I looked back into the pantry. There was a big bag that said "powdered sugar" on it, so I grabbed it, walked over to the large mixing, and dumped the entire thing in the bowl.

"What the fuck? This ain't flour!" Iggy yelled, waving the cornstarch in my face. He threw it at my head, and one end opened, coating me from head to toe with starch from corn. Which honestly, did not tast like corn.

I blew some cornstarch out of my mouth (while it didn't taste a thing like corn, it tasted kid of like bland piss), and I grabbed the mixing bowl, then dumped it down the front of his shirt. Whoa, he looked really-

F'taang!

Ow! Dammit, he hit me! With a...cookie sheet!

I was about to punch him when I remembered something. "Ig! OUr song!"

He dropped the bowl (leave Earth, motha fucka I'm gone, motha fucka I'm gone) and ran back to the stairs.

Iggy grabbed the paper. "Everyone downstairs now!" I yelled.

Nothing happened.

"COOKIES!" Iggy yelled. In two seconds flat, everyone was halfway down the stairs (they stopped at Iggy's barf).

I picked up the guitar and started to play the one chord I knew, and Iggy started to sing.

I like beer 'cuz it is good
I drink beer because I should
If there was a song to sing
I'd sing it and beer you'd bring
I drink beer when I am sad
'cause the beer; it makes me glad
Now there's nothing left to say
So let's go drink beer

Now for the duet! I opened my mouth and started to sing along.

Beer is good!
Beer is good!
Beer is good!
And stuff!

Beer is good!
Beer is good!
Beer is good!
Let's go drink some!

Beer!

Yay! Now I get to sing!

When it's warm it tastes real crappy
But cold beer will make me happy
When I throw up on the floor
I can go and drink some more
They say beer will make me dumb
It are go good with pizza
Now that we have drunk some beer
Let's go drive a car

Duet again!

Beer is good!
Beer is good!
Beer is good!
And stuff!

Beer is good!
Beer is good!
Beer is good!
Let's go drink some!

Beer!

Guitar solo! I strummed the strings super-fast. It felt very beast. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Iggy reaching for his cup of beer. I stopped playing and grabbed it from him.

Uh, dude, I think you've had enough

But he just grabbed it back and yelled at me.

No!

Finally, Iggy said the ending.

Lets go drink some beer.

I think that the beer Iggy had just chugged had a lot more alcohol in it than the others, because after Iggy had finished the beer, he started doing some stupid dance, and then he started singing.

I am drunk, drunk is me, I am drunk, wheee
I am drunk, drunk is me, I am drunk wheee
I am drunk, drunk is me, I am-

Suddenly, Iggy started swaying. He opened his mouth wide, burped loudly, then fell to the floor with a heavy thump.

"Iggy? Are you okay?" Gazzy asked, running to the spot that Iggy had passed out on.

"Did you and Iggy fly into the house or a tree or something? Did you two smoke something? I once heard on the news that these two girls were high on LSD, and they thought that they were in a swimming pool or something like that, and one girl thought that she was on the high dive, and she jumped off of a ladder, and she fell onto the floor, and she landed on her neck funny, and she died." Everyone was too busy staring at us to bother shutting Nudge up.

"No, I don't think either of them are smart enough to know how to get drugs." Ella gasped, then continued. "Are you two drunk?!" She screeched. She ran down the stairs and stopped right in front of me. She leaned towards my face, and at first I thought she was going to kiss me. Alright, then!

But she just sniffed my breath, then leaned down and did the same to Iggy. "They smell like the inside of a Corona factory!" I heard Ella whisper to Dr. M.

"Corona?! WHERE?!" Iggy screamed, sitting straight up.

"Not anytime in your near future, that's for sure." Dr. M. said as she put a cold towel on Iggy's forehead. She handed me a glass of water. "I want you todrink that, then go brush your teeth and take a nap. Max, you go with him. Make sure he doesn't drink anymore beer. Also, try to find the beer. Ella will help you collect the empties. I'll put Iggy on the couch. Nudge, Gazzy, Angel; you can help me make cookies."

I sucked down the water, then followed Max upstairs. We got to my room, and she shut the door, then shoved me onto the bed.

"I can not believe you!" She hissed. "I want you to explain right now."

"Iggy made Bambi Eyes."

She sighed. "Fine, whatever. Let's just brush your freakin' teeth."

Let's just say that it's incredibly hard to brush your teeth when you're drunk. Meaning I accidentally stabbed myself in the eye with the toothbrush.

So Max had to brush my teeth for me, which she wasn't very pleased about. "Get your pajamas on." She said as she picked up some empty beer bottles off of the floor. So I pulled off my shirt and pants, then flopped onto my bed.

"What are you doing?" Max asked as she came back into my room. "You said to get my pajamas on." I said simply. I was lying sideways on my bed, so part of my legs dangled off of the edge.

"Yeah, I did. You, however, are in your underwear." She tossed picked up my pants from their crumpled-up head on the floor and tossed them at me. "That I am." I said as I tossed them back at her. "C'mere." I sat up and Max paused, then sat stiffly on the beside me.

"I'm bored. I wanna watch a movie." I said, and picked up my laptop off of my nightstand, picked up a random movie, then popped it in.

"You're supposed to be sleeping." Max said as she tried to get my laptop away from me. But I held on really tightly, and finally she flopped back into my pillows in defeat.

I looked at the time on my laptop. 11:27 PM. Time flies when you're drunk. The movie turned out to be Superbad, which was one of my favorites.

About halfway through the movie, I felt something on my shoulder. I looked over, and Max was leaning on my shoulder. She looked like she was about to fall asleep. She might've already been asleep.

My drunkenness was starting to wear off, but I was still a little...tipsy, for lack of a better word.

So I put my arm around her waist. I expected her to pull back, yelling "R! A! P! E! Get the hell away from me!", but she didn't. She actually leaned a little closer into my shoulder/chest.

We must've fallen asleep, because the next thing I saw was sunlight filtering through my window. Wow, my head hurt! Andhad to pee. Badly.

But I didn't feel like getting up, so I laid there for about five more minutes. Max still had her head on my shoulder, and my arm was still around her waist. And I still had to pee.

If only I was wearing Depends...

DELETE. DELETE. Delete the idea of me ever, ever wearing a diaper!

Finally, I drug my tired, hungover ass out of bed, and went to the bathroom.

Iggy: That ending sucked. Majorly.

PJ: Well, you know what? I've written at least three thousand words, and my hands are more tired than Fang. Iggy, remind them about the poll.

Iggy: I don't wanna...

PJ: I'll smash cake in your face. *holds up cake threateningly*

Iggy: PJ HAS A POLL ON HER PROFILE AND SHE CAN NOT CONTINUE THE SECRET DIARY OF A SOMEWHAT PERVERTED BIRDKID UNTIL SHE HAS ENOUGH VOTES DO NOT THROW THAT CAKE AT ME PJ!

PJ: PJ-

Iggy: And Iggy-

PJ: Out!

Iggy: Also, that story about the girls who were high on LSD is true. Sad, huh? And the beer song is a real song. There's a link on PJ's profile. Now we're officially out!