A/N: If I've said it once, I've said it a million times, THIS STORY IS ONLY LOOSELY BASED ON THE CD!

And just as another little side-note, I'd like to inform you that there are only 18 chapters in this story, and then comes the sequel "St. Jimmy" (I may change the name in the future). And once this is done, St. Jimmy will probably have less chapters and almost absolutely nothing to do with the CD. . . and I'll probably update less of St. Jimmy, too. . .

CHAPTER 12

When Jimmy showed up that evening, looking as though somebody close to him had died, he absolutely wouldn't tell us what was wrong with him. He slammed open the warehouse door, stormed over to his bed, kicked aside the sheets, and then flopped angrily onto it, totally ignoring us the whole time.

"Jim?" Whatsername began sympathetically. "Something wrong?"

"No. Fuck off."

"Jimmy, dude, what's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. Fuck off." He placed a pillow over his head, which Whatsername took away.

"Jimmy, something's wrong with you."

"Nothing's wrong with me. Now, fuck off."

Whatsername glanced helplessly at me, and then turned back to our distraught friend. "Jimmy, you only ever end three consecutive sentences with 'Fuck off' when you're either mad, or unhappy."

Jimmy didn't reply. He made a sort of aggravated grunt, and then pulled the thick blankets over his head to hide himself from us entirely. Whatsername glanced helplessly at me again.

"Jesus, what are we going to do about him? He's too stubborn." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the pile of blanket that was my obstinate best friend.

Jimmy heard her, though. One hand snaked out, and above his black and yellow sweatband (that he stole from me), the middle finger salute was held in her direction briefly, and then Jimmy pulled his hand back under the covers. Whatsername scowled at that, and then laid a prompt whack to where she assumed Jimmy's head to be. In a flurry of blankets, Jimmy flew up, knocked her head gently (for his normal head-knocking strength), then disappeared into the blue oblivion again.

"Jesus, help me," Whatsername whined. "Jimmy's being a jackass again."

"I'm always being a jackass," Jimmy's muffled response came. For some reason it sounded choked, but under all those blankets, I wouldn't be surprised if he was slowly suffocating. "Everyone says so."

Whatsername gazed at the pile of blankets. "Who's everyone? I'm not everyone."

"Neither am I, though I've definitely said it before," I told him.

Jimmy grunted and snuggled into the blankets more.

"If I wasn't so sure of Jimmy's zombie-like, weed-induced state of no emotion, I'd say he's sad," Whatsername said, hoping to pry an angered reaction from the concealed St.Jimmy.

"I'm not sad."

"Then why do you sound so sad?" I asked.

"I don't sound sad!" Jimmy cried out.

Tired of the charade, I ripped the blankets away suddenly, surprising Jimmy and surprising myself. His cheeks showed pale wet tear streaks.

"Goddamn it, Jesus of Suburbia!" Jimmy yelled, his voice cracking, and snatching the blankets from my hand and burying himself once more, only in his hurry they were mal-adjusted.

"Hah," Whatsername snorted triumphantly. "You are depressed."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we've covered that," I retorted. "Jimmy, what's with the crying?" I asked, turning to the blankets.

"I'm not crying."

"Yes, you are. Why?"

"I'm. Not. Crying. Okay?" Jimmy's firm, but cracking voice announced.

I flopped down on his bed myself, lying across his pillow and resting my head on his padded one. "Well, tell us whenever you feel we're your best friends."

"Geroffa me," he muttered, squirming to remove me.

I refused to move, and instead, flung an arm over him and sighed in contentment. I was pissing him off, and it was fun.

"Get off!" He howled, flailing his limbs everywhere in an attempt to get rid of me.

"Not till you tell us why you're so glum, c'mon, we're your 'best friends.'" Whatsername cockily responded, doing the patented and overused two-finger motion as she said best friends.

Jimmy stopped fidgeting immediately. He held still, his breathing heavy. "Fiiiine."

I sat up and so did Whatsername, both of us watching the pile of blankets intently. "Tell us!"

Jimmy said something under the thick covers, but all it sounded like was a series of muffled grunts.

"What was that, St. Jimmy? Couldn't hear you, the blankets are in the way." I said to the breathing lump that was Jimmy.

"My girlfriend broke up with me, okay?"

I raised an eyebrow and glanced at Whatsername. It's not that Jimmy can't get a girl, therefore being extremely surprising when he does; it's just that Jimmy doesn't ever ask anyone to be his girlfriend.

"Dude, you had a girlfriend and didn't tell us?"

"I didn't tell anyone," Jimmy replied dully. "Though I'm surprised you didn't hear it from anyone at school. Britney made sure everyone knew."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up, there, buckaroo," I cried. Whatsername glanced at me, confused, considering she wasn't from around here and didn't know many people. "Britney? As in Britney Parrish?"

"Yep."

I fell back, pretending to be in a dead faint. "Wow."

"Who's Britney Parrish?" Whatsername asked, looking between me and the blanket pile.

"Only the most popular girl in school, head cheerleader, straight 'A' student, and with the best influence in the police force, court, school system, and pretty much everything else." I said in awe. "The anti-Jimmy, in all ways."

Whatsername was obviously confused. "But why would you want to date anyone like that, Jim? I thought you loathed Barbie girls."

"Britney's pretty nice, actually, once you get to know her," Jimmy defensively replied.

"Okay, that's it." I stood up, positioned myself accordingly, and then jumped onto Jimmy, making sure my feet hit really hard. He howled in pain, and I overbalanced and fell towards Whatsername, who moved and let me fall onto her bed.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR, JESUS?" Jimmy roared at me.

I propped myself up on my elbows and rolled my eyes. "James Dirnt, do you really think Britney ever liked you for you? She liked your bad-boy image."

Jimmy glowered at me, rubbing his bruised ribcage. "How would you know, punk?"

"Because everyone likes you for your bad-boy image, Jimmy. Do you really think a cheerleader would want to be caught dead going around with a punkass guy who wears wife beaters every goddamn day and lives in a fucking warehouse because she loves him? No, man, cheerleaders go out with jocks. To get the jocks, they go out with kids like you."

"How does that work out?" Whatsername asked me.

I adjusted my elbows underneath me and scowled at Jimmy. "He's smart, ask him."

Jimmy only rubbed his ribcage and returned my scowl.

"Fine." I said, sticking my tongue out at Jim. "Cheerleaders want to go out with jocks, because to them, jocks are the epitome of life. Society, if you will. However, to make the jocks come absolutely crawling to the scantily-clad whores with pompoms, the scantily-clad whore with the pompoms must first lower herself slightly. How? By fetching the most horrific match for herself, a.k.a. our friend Jimmy here. Now, in the world of underground and the business," I said, referring to the marijuana industry, "Jimmy is one of our gods. Not the best; the Mafia still claims number one. But Jimmy is probably the hardest typhoon to hit this area since forever, pretty much. Even the scantily-clad whores with pompoms see this."

"Hey, I'm in the Mafia," Jimmy retorted.

"Yeah, but are you the Godfather?" Without waiting for a reply, I delved into my story again. "So when these whores know that jocks will be groveling in an effort to get their precious whores away from people like that—" I pointed at Jimmy, "they know they can get more boyfriends. Whores want plenty of boyfriends, and though they have no affection other than physical attraction for any of these, they have less attraction overall for that." I pointed to Jimmy again. "After all, to them, the jocks are better. Once they have all they need, or know that they will, they'll drop the bad boy because he's useless at this point."

Jimmy was still glowering at me. "As much as I hate to say it, that's true."

I shrugged in Jimmy's annoying way. "What can I say? I used to date a cheerleader, but she wasn't very smart and explained it all to me when she dumped me."

Whatsername glanced between us. "What happened to your morals?" She cried, throwing up her hands and flopping backwards dramatically. "Cheerleaders, psh." she muttered.