The Jesus of Suburbia

(Green Day)
Welcome to the rage and love of St. Jimmy. You think the world has gone to shit, that nobody cares? Well then step right up because you've come to the right place.

The Jesus of Suburbia is my personal interpretation of the Green Day album American Idiot. Each chapter is associated with a song, or part of Jimmy's story. These interpretations are my own and other's PUBLIC interpretations.

(Cover image not mine, credits go to †Not Relevant†
@LauraGDMCR on website )

*All content written and used is created solely by me unless stated otherwise! Please be kind and do not use my work, or give credit where credit is due! Thank you*


2. American Idiot pt. 1: Who's the real Idiot here?

"Have you ever thought about how fucked the world is? Like just stopped what you were doing and thought about it. Like how your mom is fucking a guy who is fifteen years older than her for the money or how you fuck your girlfriend who really isn't your girlfriend because you know she is fucking other dudes?", I teetered on the edge of the trunk of my friend's Saturn. He looked at me plainly.

"No, that's just you buddy." He said with a bored tone. He hopped off of the trunk and waltzed to the front door of his house. 

"Are you gonna get the fuck out or sit on my car all day?" He asked and I climbed off, walking down the sidewalk. I kicked a can into his yard and he walked through the front door, slamming it. Well fuck you too, pal.  I shoved my hands in my pockets and shuffled sulkily down the cracked sidewalk. People shouted my name as I walked passed their houses, giving each one a quick salute and continuing on my way. I walk passed a few people gathered on the sidewalk who clearly aren't from around here. They are all prim and proper. The man wears a suit, not too expensive but something no one living in this shitty town could afford. Hell, I don't even think you could find something that nice here. His shoes are shined enough to were the sun reflects back even brighter. His wife, or so I assume, is wearing a sweater. It looks uncomfortable, and not to mention it's the middle of fucking July. Her skirt is purple and is the same material as the sweater but it clings to her body. Her heels are longer than her hair and as soon as she catches sight of me she stops talking. She grabs her assumed daughter to her side as she looks me up and down. 

They stare until I pass, and when I do I flick my cigarette on his shoes. The wife gasps but he doesn't say anything. I don't see them again until I get home and I am sitting on my porch. They drive past my house and they speed up just the slightest bit. I smile to myself and stand up, walking to the end of the sidewalk leading to my porch. I see the wife look back in the mirror. And that's what is so fucked about society. No one is the same. You either have it or you don't, and for those who don't have it now, they never will. They don't have a chance. We don't have a chance. I don't have a chance. 

Maybe if my mother didn't marry a gambler. A drunk gambler who only came home to steal the money she worked her ass off for. He didn't care about me, shit I don't even think he knew I existed. I know he certainly didn't care about my mother. She was just enough money to get him his next few drinks. I like to blame my mom for the hell she puts us through. I like to blame her for driving me to become like my dad. I dropped out of school two years ago. I would graduate this year. I started drinking. I started smoking. Hell, if it's available I'll do it. Anything to avoid the fact that my life is a shit show. It's her fault she isn't in love, just infatuated. He uses her for sex, and when he isn't using her for sex, he is using her to blame for his own shit. That's for me, not him. She uses him for money. Money that he doesn't even have. It's hardly anything more than what she gets already, and what she uses it for doesn't make our lives better. It just makes hers better temporarily. 

Other times I like to blame my dad for this. It's his fault that he knocked my mom up with me. It's his fault that he left us here. It's his fault that we have no money. It's his fault that he got so drunk that he died. Literally. Imagine yourself being a kid, God knows how old, waking up to your dad fucking dead on the floor. No, that didn't happen but I'd like to imagine it did so that way he can take all the blame. All of that really was on him, but it's also on my mom for letting it happen. 

But then that leaves me. I don't do shit to stop it. I just blame it on other people so I really don't have to. All I have to do in life is not get killed, and I am pretty shitty at that job considering I've almost met my fate multiple times. The fact is, I don't really care. I'm not afraid to die anymore. It's not my fault I am stuck here. Or is it? I don't know who the real idiot is anymore. All I know is that this city, this state, this entire fucking so called united nation doesn't give a shit about me or anybody else here. Maybe they are the real idiots. Maybe they are the real people to blame here.  



Well, that's part one of American Idiot! Tell me what you thought?? I don't know if I should make these longer so please PLEASE tell me lmfao  I don't want them so long that no one wants to read but not too short that people are finished in a few minutes. One more thought before I go, do y'all think this matches the message of American Idiot well? Let me know what you think, it really means a lot!

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