The following story is fictional. It never really happened to Green Day (I don’t think), so don’t you worry!
I got the idea from my brother.

It started out as a normal Green Day concert. Somewhere in the crowd, a punk rock kid with jet black hair lit a joint. The lights went out, and the light of a hundred joints popped up as Billie Joe Armstrong walk out on the stage confused. The crowd roared he just looked more perplexed. Not realizing the mic was on, he yelled in the direction of offstage “Where the f**k is Blue guys? This isn’t funny anymore!”
Mike Dirnt ran across the stage with his bass and whispered something to Billie Joe. A look of realization crossed his face.
“It would appear that my guitar has been hidden,” he announced walking, “Behind the drum set. Thank you Tré. I’m going to kill you!”
Tré Cool himself came out of hiding. Tré was laughing so hard, he might have pissed his pants. He took his place and they started.
“Saint Jimmy’s coming down across the alleyway. Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade…”
Halfway through the set is when it began to go wrong. Billie Joe seemed to be slowing down. He took an unusually long drink before diving into jeebus of Suburbia, a particularly long medley song.
“Dearly beloved, are you listening? I can't remember a word that you were saying. Are we demented? Or am I disturbed? The space that's in between insane and insecure. Oh therapy can you please fill the void? Am I retarded or am I ju…” And that was as far as he got in the “Dearly Beloved” section of the song. Billie Joe grabbed his throat. “Help me,” he croaked as he collapsed. Tré ran to catch his friend as Mike just tossed his bass aside and ran to him.
“Oh god of your choice man don’t do this! Don’t do this!” Tré cradled Billie Joe’s head as Mike tipped his head back to give him some water. Billie Joe breathed heavily. A whimper escaped his lips.
“Hell, I don’t want to go this way. Promise me I won’t die. Please!”
“You won’t die. f**k, you will not die dammit! Hear me Billie, you WILL NOT DIE!”
Paramedics ran on the stage and tore Tré off of his friend.
“Tré! Mike! Don’t let them leave me!” He was tired, “Don’t let them leave me…” Billie Joe was asleep. He had an odd dream that his mother was an old granny, crying her eyes out over his limp, lifeless body. But he was in a clown outfit. And younger, as well. Everything was white, and nothing made sense.
A voice was calling “Billie Joe, Billie Joe. Wake up Billie Joe!” Billie Joe opened his eyes slowly. He was in a dark place surrounded by red and blue lights.
“Just hold on son, it will all be OK”
“Son? I’m 33, I’m not that young” Billie Joe was surprised how slurred and weak his speech was.
“No, I suppose you aren’t,”
“Where am I?” His faced twisted, winced and frowned. “Don’t tell me I’m dead.”
“No, I wouldn’t say that either. You’re in an ambulance.”
“Shiiiit. What happened?”
“Something like a heart attack I guess. We can’t know for sure, you haven’t got to the hospital yet.”
“Aw man! How did that happen?”
“Hey like I told you we don’t know for sure! Don’t you be getting angry at me!”
“Where are Tré and Mike?”
“Over here Billie Joe,” That was Mike’s voice. Billie Joe felt better.
“Good, you didn’t leave me. I can’t move in this f**king stretcher, I can’t see anything. Everything hurts. So tell me when we’re there,” He closed his eyes only for a second.
“Guess what man, we’re there!” Said Mike. Billie Joe opened his eyes back up.
Billie Joe remembered a blur from then on. His wife and two kids showed up somewhere in that blur. There were a lot of doctors. A lot of needles, too. Billie Joe was in so much pain, he just went back to sleep.
It was a bright and sunny day in California as Billie Joe Armstrong fiddled with his hospital bracelet with his name printed “Armstrong, Billie Joe.”
His two best friends entered his hospital room.
“How are you doing?” Tré said softly.
“It wasn’t a heart attack, I can tell you that.”
“What then?” Mike asked.
“Marijuana toxicity from the fumes of all the joints in that concert.” He threw up his hands. “Been years since I quit, first time anything happened!”
Tré leaned back in his chair. “Crazy,”
End