Waiter, there's a fic in my soup
Where Mick is pregnant with a football, Keith is the proud babeh daddeh, and Charlie rolls his eyes.
Disclaimer: Absolut fiction. I am in no way affiliated with the Rolling Stones, or Reader’s Digest, or Punk’d (thank god).
Mick and Keith came into the studio one day holding hands and looking giddy. They gathered everyone together and said they had an important announcement to make. Charlie rolled his eyes. Usually these important announcements consisted of either a warning to not touch Keith’s water (vodka) or a warning to not go into the men’s bathroom for a while. This one would probably be no different, so Charlie prepared for another eye roll.
Only this time it was different, because Mick was glowing like a sunrise while Keith said, “Mike’s pregnant, and I’m the baby’s daddy.”
Everyone was silent, then Walter the sound technician burst into tears and ran out of the room shouting, “Mick, you slut!”
Another lengthy silence followed. Charlie stood there like a stone, then said, “That’s impossible.”
Mick shook his head. “No, we both took the test to check if we were fertile, and we were, and we tried-“
“Please,” Bill said. “Spare us the details.”
“We tried,” Mick continued, “and we did it!”
“I asked you to spare us the details!” Bill cried.
“But that’s impossible,” Charlie said again. “You’re both male.”
“Stop being so homophobic, Charlie,” Brian said, then stepped up to firmly shake Keith’s hand and congratulate Mick with a warm smile.
“I’m not being homophobic,” Charlie said. “I’m being not stupid.” He rolled his eyes for good measure.
“Just because they’re not like you doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to have children and start a family.”
“That’s not what I meant! Are you even listening to yourself?”
“Your ignorance blinds you, Charlie,” Brian said, shaking his head sadly. “Can’t you just be happy for them?”
Mick looked like he was about to cry and Keith’s fists looked like they were itching to swing a heavy guitar at someone’s head, so Charlie relented and released all his sensibility and sanity into the wind.
He nodded. He could play along if he had to.
Two months later, Mick started stuffing a small pillow up his shirt to create the image of a bulge over his abdomen. He and Keith would sit about the studio gently rubbing it and cooing things at each other. Keith’s coos were especially entertaining to hear, since they usually came out as growls and scared away all the janitors and rabid fans who had somehow snuck into their private sanctuary. Mick was endeared and Keith was actually trying to be sweet, and everything they did changed to revolve around the baby.
Charlie rolled his eyes. They cancelled a tour in Japan for this.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? Keith’s even given up cocaine to become a good father figure for his son,” Brian said, leaning his head against his hand as he watched the couple read a book of fairytales to the pillow beneath Mick’s shirt.
“And heroin too,” Bill said.
“And LSD.”
“And marijuana.”
“And Reader’s Digest.”
“How do they know it’s going to be a boy?” Bill asked.
“The bulge is higher up the tummy if it’s a boy. If the bulge drops low, then it’s a girl. My mum taught me that,” Bill answered.
Charlie was surrounded by crazy people. He was in a band full of crazy people. He looked around for cameras. Maybe this was all some big joke at his expense, like the one they aired on television of the woman who was told her son was dead, then right at the moment he was about to be buried he jumped out of his coffin and yelled, “You’ve been Prank’d!”
“Oh, isn’t this so sweet? I’ve always pictured Keith as a family man,” Brian said.
Charlie wanted to tear his hair out and then stuff it down their throats. He settled for rolling his eyes instead.
Five months passed and Mick switched the pillow for a football. Curiously, he was gaining a little weight around the hips.
Mick would sing to the football while Keith accompanied him with a gentle melody on his guitar. ‘Paint It Black’ didn’t go over so well, but ‘Dandelion’ was a smash and even brought about a few kicks.
Nine months, and Mick was as big as a zeppelin. Keith paced about nervously nearly every waking moment of the day and grew fidgety, as if he were going through drug withdrawal only he’d been clean for months now. It drove Charlie to the brink. The madness was going into uncharted territory; Charlie wondered how Mick would simulate his water breaking. More importantly, Charlie wondered how Mick would simulate a vagina for the “baby” to pop out of.
Sadly, he never got to find out, because Keith called him in the middle of the night sounding tired and relieved: Mick had the baby, it’s a boy just like Bill said, and both Mick and the baby are healthy and sleeping.
They came to the studio together the next morning, the new parents with baby in arms. He was wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket, and Charlie was shocked to see an actual human being moving beneath the cloth, tiny hands grasping at nothing in the air while gurgling noises rang in Charlie’s ears.
Then Charlie looked at the baby’s face and realized he was Chinese. He kept watching his wispy dark strands stay flat against his head and his dark almond-shaped eyes blink up at him in silence, so engulfed in the horror that his two band mates had possibly stolen a baby that he couldn’t speak.
“Aw! He’s adorable!” Brian said. Bill clapped Keith on the shoulder and gave a bouquet of pink carnations to Mick, who was blushing and smiling wider than the moon.
Charlie snapped out of his stupor and looked at the ecstatic couple, his two friends. They had never seemed so happy in all the time he’d known them.
“Congratulations,” he said, and rolled his eyes.
Sequel? Where Walter the sound technician kidnaps little Mei Li in an act of revenge, and it’s up to Charlie to save the day.
Disclaimer: Absolut fiction. I am in no way affiliated with the Rolling Stones, or Reader’s Digest, or Punk’d (thank god).
Mick and Keith came into the studio one day holding hands and looking giddy. They gathered everyone together and said they had an important announcement to make. Charlie rolled his eyes. Usually these important announcements consisted of either a warning to not touch Keith’s water (vodka) or a warning to not go into the men’s bathroom for a while. This one would probably be no different, so Charlie prepared for another eye roll.
Only this time it was different, because Mick was glowing like a sunrise while Keith said, “Mike’s pregnant, and I’m the baby’s daddy.”
Everyone was silent, then Walter the sound technician burst into tears and ran out of the room shouting, “Mick, you slut!”
Another lengthy silence followed. Charlie stood there like a stone, then said, “That’s impossible.”
Mick shook his head. “No, we both took the test to check if we were fertile, and we were, and we tried-“
“Please,” Bill said. “Spare us the details.”
“We tried,” Mick continued, “and we did it!”
“I asked you to spare us the details!” Bill cried.
“But that’s impossible,” Charlie said again. “You’re both male.”
“Stop being so homophobic, Charlie,” Brian said, then stepped up to firmly shake Keith’s hand and congratulate Mick with a warm smile.
“I’m not being homophobic,” Charlie said. “I’m being not stupid.” He rolled his eyes for good measure.
“Just because they’re not like you doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to have children and start a family.”
“That’s not what I meant! Are you even listening to yourself?”
“Your ignorance blinds you, Charlie,” Brian said, shaking his head sadly. “Can’t you just be happy for them?”
Mick looked like he was about to cry and Keith’s fists looked like they were itching to swing a heavy guitar at someone’s head, so Charlie relented and released all his sensibility and sanity into the wind.
He nodded. He could play along if he had to.
Two months later, Mick started stuffing a small pillow up his shirt to create the image of a bulge over his abdomen. He and Keith would sit about the studio gently rubbing it and cooing things at each other. Keith’s coos were especially entertaining to hear, since they usually came out as growls and scared away all the janitors and rabid fans who had somehow snuck into their private sanctuary. Mick was endeared and Keith was actually trying to be sweet, and everything they did changed to revolve around the baby.
Charlie rolled his eyes. They cancelled a tour in Japan for this.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? Keith’s even given up cocaine to become a good father figure for his son,” Brian said, leaning his head against his hand as he watched the couple read a book of fairytales to the pillow beneath Mick’s shirt.
“And heroin too,” Bill said.
“And LSD.”
“And marijuana.”
“And Reader’s Digest.”
“How do they know it’s going to be a boy?” Bill asked.
“The bulge is higher up the tummy if it’s a boy. If the bulge drops low, then it’s a girl. My mum taught me that,” Bill answered.
Charlie was surrounded by crazy people. He was in a band full of crazy people. He looked around for cameras. Maybe this was all some big joke at his expense, like the one they aired on television of the woman who was told her son was dead, then right at the moment he was about to be buried he jumped out of his coffin and yelled, “You’ve been Prank’d!”
“Oh, isn’t this so sweet? I’ve always pictured Keith as a family man,” Brian said.
Charlie wanted to tear his hair out and then stuff it down their throats. He settled for rolling his eyes instead.
Five months passed and Mick switched the pillow for a football. Curiously, he was gaining a little weight around the hips.
Mick would sing to the football while Keith accompanied him with a gentle melody on his guitar. ‘Paint It Black’ didn’t go over so well, but ‘Dandelion’ was a smash and even brought about a few kicks.
Nine months, and Mick was as big as a zeppelin. Keith paced about nervously nearly every waking moment of the day and grew fidgety, as if he were going through drug withdrawal only he’d been clean for months now. It drove Charlie to the brink. The madness was going into uncharted territory; Charlie wondered how Mick would simulate his water breaking. More importantly, Charlie wondered how Mick would simulate a vagina for the “baby” to pop out of.
Sadly, he never got to find out, because Keith called him in the middle of the night sounding tired and relieved: Mick had the baby, it’s a boy just like Bill said, and both Mick and the baby are healthy and sleeping.
They came to the studio together the next morning, the new parents with baby in arms. He was wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket, and Charlie was shocked to see an actual human being moving beneath the cloth, tiny hands grasping at nothing in the air while gurgling noises rang in Charlie’s ears.
Then Charlie looked at the baby’s face and realized he was Chinese. He kept watching his wispy dark strands stay flat against his head and his dark almond-shaped eyes blink up at him in silence, so engulfed in the horror that his two band mates had possibly stolen a baby that he couldn’t speak.
“Aw! He’s adorable!” Brian said. Bill clapped Keith on the shoulder and gave a bouquet of pink carnations to Mick, who was blushing and smiling wider than the moon.
Charlie snapped out of his stupor and looked at the ecstatic couple, his two friends. They had never seemed so happy in all the time he’d known them.
“Congratulations,” he said, and rolled his eyes.
Sequel? Where Walter the sound technician kidnaps little Mei Li in an act of revenge, and it’s up to Charlie to save the day.