Bob was alone. Again. No one in the band cared about him. He was that weird emo in the back of the room. "The only person I have is...myself." He whispered, obviously to himself, because as said, he had no one. What he did have, was his drums. He assumed they loved him back, but they were merely inanimate objects. Well, maybe they didn't like him. All he did was hit them. But he would tell himself they did. One day he was incredibly lonely, longing for someone. Then he got an idea. He smiled to himself and picked up a drum stick. He rubbed it soothingly and smiled, holding it close. "I won't be the one banging you for long." He whispered. He stripped down and slowly slid his stick up his ass, whimpering and shutting his eyes. After a minute he was pulling it in and out and moaning loudly. He let out all of his anger, frustration, and fear. He couldn't be in Danger Days... "Is my moaning good enough to be in Destroya now Gerard?" He yelled at nobody. He probably had splinters up his ass, but it didn't matter. He was enjoying this erotic little number. He panted and started to move it around, letting out bald old man sounds when he hit his prostate. He screamed and came hard all over his drum set. He pulled out the drum stick and panted, taking the stick and holding it close. "My only friend." He whispered, licking up the side of it. He slid his clothes back on and stood up, laying down on his bed and cuddling his drum stick. "Good night my love." He whispered.
