"How's Kirby doing?" Joe asked, holding up
his phone. "The little guy."
On his screen was an image of Stewie sleeping, taken
through his bedroom window. The shot was partially obscured by the baby's
mobile, made up of guns since it was bought in Detroit.
"Joe," Peter said slowly. "His name is
Stewie."
"Huh," Joe muttered in response, "He
looks like a Kirby, and I'm never wrong."
Ron asked, "Is your baby pregnant again?"
"I don't know. Lois is in charge of the
kids."
"Peter," Lois growled.
She barged into the Drunken Clam, arm outstretched to
the side of the wooden door, flung open. With each step she took, the hopper
windows above their small booth rattled, and dust fell from the ceiling. She
glared angrily at Peter.
"It's my birthday, and you're out here partying
without me," she whined. Her tensed eyebrows folded into sadness as tears
pooled in her eyes.
"Horace," Quagmire signaled to the barkeep.
"Could we get her a birthday pastry? Nothing with cherries, though. She's
already got two big ones."
Without another word, Lois stormed out crying, and
drove off in the incoming rain. Ron, Joe, Quagmire, and Peter remained and
watched as the red taillights disappeared in the distance. Thick, fluffy gray
storm clouds rolled above them, complimented by flashes of lightning and heavy
drops of rain.
"I am going to win Lois back," Peter
proclaimed, stuffing a leather aviator cap on his head. He pushed down the
goggles as he jumped into a tiny red biplane. As soon as he took off in an
attempt to paint the heavens with Lois' name, the sky rumbled and the daggers
of rain turned to blood and hail.
"Earth to Peter, Earth to Peter," Quagmire
repeated from the Griffins' front lawn.
A treble of nearly three dozen frogs erupted from his
shirt as he set down the communications set, prompting him to step back in angst. Above, the wind rippled against
the small wings further as Peter looped an "O" with white smoke.
Boils broke out on his arms, barely visible, gnats and flies buzzed, clinging
to the lone wooden propeller, and Quahog was engulfed in darkness.
Locusts pelted Peter's face as he spiraled into Joe's
bland house, engine exploding into a fiery plume, flinging him next to
Quagmire. An angry Brian burst out of the house, fists clenched as he strolled
up to Peter.
"Oh, hey, Brian, what's going on?" Peter
asked, brushing himself off. "What are you clenching in that fist?"
"God is pissed," Brian yelled, slapping
Peter in the face three times.
Ron advised, "Your baby needs to have an
abortion," as he looked to the roof. Pails of rain poured down, slapping
against each shingle. "I'm a roof baby, now," Stewie said, feeling
his oversized belly.
Inside the Griffins' humble home, Lois was having an
exciting party. "What's up, sluts?!" she yelled. Donna, Bonnie, and
Meg cheered, all hoisting their own bottles of wine. Chris jumped in with his
purple vape pen, loaded up with ganja. "I'm alive with pleasure!" he
exclaimed.
"Lois," Peter said, barging in the house,
machine gun in hand. "You are the love of my life and I'm sorry. Would you
like to dance?"
"Peter," she trailed off. "I would love
to."
As they danced the dance of life, the Sun came out of
hiding, and everything returned to normal in Quahog.
"Thanks for letting me use your time
machine," Ron said. He patted Stewie on the back as he hopped in with
Laura, Mike, and Gutter.
"Ron," Brian aimed to say his goodbyes.
"You gotta live life while you can, and live it hard."
-
Written by Jerry Zervas w/ Brian Steele on 5/1/26.
Set Three 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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