Special Edition: 4/20/26
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Ron, trailed closely by Laura, knocked on the
Griffins' red front door. He brought a burnt pan of meatloaf, drizzled with a
cheap instant gravy mix from the local Mini-Mart. As Brian Steele opened the
door, Laura's periwinkle floral blouse fluttered in the soft, warm breeze
alongside her blonde hair.
"Hello my baby," Brian said upon seeing
Laura, before adding: "Hello, Ron," as he welcomed them in.
Ron set the meatloaf pan, charred to a rocky rubble,
on a wooden table adjacent to the entryway. "So, how was the drive up
here?" asked Brian. He led them to the dining room, table already set but
lacking anything of edible substance.
"It sucked," Ron replied plainly.
"Priuses are the worst."
"Oh, word?" Dreaming in a world of his own,
Brian continued, "I wouldn't say I'm a hero specifically for driving a
Prius, but I really am."
"Yeah, I still hate Priuses."
In the kitchen, Ron pulled out a chair for a giggling
Lois, just before setting down the tin of meatloaf. He sat down beside her, and
glanced around. A large painting of the Badlands Range, framed by bronze gilded
edges, stuck out above a small table, flanked by an empty vase. He was seated
next to the man of the house, Peter, as well.
"You're a nice looking guy," said Peter,
resting his bubbly chin on his hand. "Tell me your secrets."
"What?" Ron said, befuddled.
The little dinner party included most of Spooner
Street: Joe, Bonnie and Susie; Quagmire; and Laura, Greg Gutter, as well as the
usual cast of Griffins. They were all squished around the table, teeming with
dishes of all sorts, crowded around the centerpiece: a perfectly golden turkey,
made by Lois.
After prayers, Ron started to carve the beautiful
turkey. He sliced off steaming chunks with a silver serrated knife, holding it
in place with a wooden roast fork.
"Wow, Laura," Meg scooted her chair over
closer. "You're really beautiful."
Peter said, "Meg, I refuse to believe you will
ascend," in between mouthfuls of preservative-laced cranberry jelly.
"Lois," Jessica, Brian's girlfriend, took a
seat. "You didn't have to make a whole feast for me." Brian smiled,
just before landing a peck on her lips.
"It's the least I could do," Lois replied.
Bonnie dunked her spoon into the mashed potato bowl,
scooping some out for both her and Joe. They bit into the clump on the single
spoon, a sign of their unwavering love.
"What did you do at school, Chris?" Peter
asked, filling up his plate with food. He added, "Anything fruitful, as
you're my only heir?"
"Dad, what the hell?" Meg interrupted
angrily.
Eyes beaming with joy, Chris replied, "I got a
pet monkey."
He opened his cupped hands, nearly throwing them open
midair, setting the chittering monkey loose. It leapt and sprinted down the
length of the table, dodging in between glasses of wine and beer, and plates,
tearing up the light pink tablecloth. Every time the creature chirped, Brian
barked and howled.
"To five hundred years of me and Lois!"
Peter toasted, grinning as he pulled out a bottle of champagne.
With the flick of his thumb, the cork flew off,
shooting Stewie in the eye. "You dick!" the baby screamed, flailing
his arms. Brian leapt from his chair, knocking it over as he jumped to the
cupboards at the sound of the cork. He racketed around the room, clinging,
swinging, yowling, and clawing along the cabinet doors, trailing the monkey.
"This food is so fucking good, Lois," Bonnie
muttered over her own chewing.
"Oh, okay," Lois trailed off as she looked
around. "Wow."
Jessica asked, "Has anyone seen the recent
polls?" Gutter raised an eyebrow in annoyance, scribbling away with a
Sharpie on a lone, stained napkin.
"Yeah," Brian smiled. "It looks like
Proposition 420 is going to pass." With anger, Joe wiped his mouth and
slammed his fist on the table. "That's just what we need on our
streets," he said sarcastically.
Chris muttered, "Well, at least there would be
something to vape." He continued, "Dope's always good in the
lungs."
"Caleb, I'm not sure you've seen the horrors of
the hood," Joe replied calmly.
"It's Chris. You don't know my name?"
"I can't believe you're eighteen already,"
Quagmire commented, slinking an arm around Meg. "Time really flies."
Gutter dunked his Sharpie in his empty glass.
"What polls, Jessica?"
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Written by Jerry Zervas w/ Brian Steele on 4/20/26.
Set One of the FG Trilogy.
Twentieth Century Fox Television and Fuzzy Door Productions reserve all rights.
DO NOT USE UNLESS GIVEN PERMISSION BY ME (i.e. email
me)
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