The Great Misadventures of Classic Rock's Finest

The Cover

ANOTHER ELOQUENTLY WRITTEN STORY BY ME AND MY FRIEND RITAAAAAAA (GorgingGeorge ). This is a rewrite of a story that was in my deleted book. Maybe I'm just running out of ideas??? Just kidding.
Pizza & Love!
-Pretzel
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Clack clack click

"Divide by three, multiply the square root, carry the five..."

Clack clickety click clack

The door opens silently as Paul peeks into a room with a singular lamp. It shines over John who is hunched over a typewriter like a cat. His fingers are punching the buttons so hard that they momentarily stick before springing back into place. John doesn't notice Paul has come in.

"John?"

John looks up horrified, he gasps, and shoves everything including the typewriter onto the floor.

"John, why are you typing, it's 3 in the bloody morning."

"Typing? I wasn't typing. I was just crocheting really loudly." John adjusts his glasses.

Paul squints, "Really? Sounded like typing to me."

"Piss off, Paul!" John threw a lego piece at him, "Writing's for old people and orange juice drinkers."

"Orange juice drinkers? That's very specific."

"Well no one should be drinking that stuff! It takes all the vitamins out of the orange and leaves nothing but pure sugar in its wake! It's the demon drink disguised as something you'd think is healthy! Like Froot Loops, you think they would at least taste like fruit but it's nothing more than a sweetness bomb!"

"Hey! I happen to like Froot Loops! But now we're just getting off topic, who crochets with a typewriter?"

"It's... Umm.. Well I have found a new way to make lovely sweaters! You put a spool of thread where the paper goes and then voila!" He panicked, picking up some socks he had scattered around.

".... You're a horrible liar you know that right?"

"I've had enough of your questions. Leave and go enjoy your stupid Fruit Loops!"

Paul huffed, he had had enough, but he had to get the final word, "Oh yeah? Well you can't Monopoly so ha!" He slammed the door before John could make a half-ass remark about his ass.

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Click click clacky click clack

The Beatles minus John were sitting in the living room trying to retain their sanity as the typewriter clicked its way into their ears and eroded their sanity.
George, who had been particularly annoyed, had his head buried in a pillow to keep himself from screaming 1,000 screams of the damned. Ringo was on his 56th pack of cigs, if anything the smell made it worse. Paul was relaxed, but his hazel eyes were agonizingly screaming for relief. To put it bluntly, John's typing was the worst.

"THAT'S IT, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. I'M GOING TO DESTROY JOHN'S BETTY BOOP FIGURINE COLLECTION IF HE DOESN'T STOP!!!!

"He has a what now?! I thought the only thing he collected was DC comic books?"

"DC?! Wow he has REEEAAAAAAAAALLLY bad taste then! Everyone knows Spider-Man is the best comic around. But honestly, I ain't surprised he has one of those considering we found out how he loves pink things in real life."

"Ugh, I'll destroy everything in his entire room if he doesn't at least tell us why he's so persistent on typing 24/7!"

Meanwhile, up in his room, John was deep in thought on whatever he was typing about. You may think he was too immersed in his works to notice that he was disturbing the peace. But no, he was just wearing a pair of earplugs so he could type without giving himself migraines as well. So when his three mates burst into the room sending the door flying off its hinges and nearly hitting him, he hadn't heard them. He clicked away unaware of the beating he was about to get. Paul strode to him and yanked one of the earplugs out.