Register a SA Forums Account here!
JOINING THE SA FORUMS WILL REMOVE THIS BIG AD, THE ANNOYING UNDERLINED ADS, AND STUPID INTERSTITIAL ADS!!!

You can: log in, read the tech support FAQ, or request your lost password. This dumb message (and those ads) will appear on every screen until you register! Get rid of this crap by registering your own SA Forums Account and joining roughly 150,000 Goons, for the one-time price of $9.95! We charge money because it costs us money per month for bills, and since we don't believe in showing ads to our users, we try to make the money back through forum registrations.
 
  • Locked thread
Autumn Angel
Jan 18, 2014

Lots of people like to make fun of KotH but I don't get it. It's a good show for cool people. More or less, it's the best anime ever, even better than Evangelion or Cowboy Beebop. Just because Bill is a rapist doesn't make it a bad show. Bobby is the voice of my generation.

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

TontoCorazon
Aug 18, 2007


God I hate Peggy so much.

Nigmaetcetera
Nov 17, 2004

borkborkborkmorkmorkmork-gabbalooins
Peggy couldn't help that she was better at everything than everyone else.

Punk da Bundo
Dec 29, 2006

by FactsAreUseless
the one where hank gets testosterone from peggy is so funny i laugh when i think about it.

when hank is working out in the garage and gets pissed he has to eat dinner at his dads.

Autumn Angel
Jan 18, 2014

Peggy likes Boggle which is basically the worst board game ever. Monopoly 4 lyfe

Moridin920
Nov 15, 2007

by FactsAreUseless

Cream-of-Plenty posted:

Hank forced his finger under the tab of a cold Alamo Beer can, but the metal bit beneath his fingernail and briefly bent the nail backwards. He sighed. As usual, the metal was flimsy, but the flesh was flimsier.

Where there once were four, there are now only three, he thought to himself, noting that Dale was absent, as he had been missing for three days. "Probably up to something harebrained, I'll tell you what," Hank had reassured the other men. "He'll be back." But deep down inside, he wondered what had become of his closest friend. Texas remained impenetrably silent on the matter. It paid no mind to the affairs of mere men. It did not weep for their follies.

As Bill nursed a can of Alamo, he whimpered under his breath. It was a pathetic noise, a sound that came from a man who had been broken by years of brainwashing and abuse. Hank imagined it coming from a POW as he saw the interrogator returning to his cell for the thousandth time. It made him strangely angry. He wanted to crush Bill under his boot, to put him out of his misery.

Dang it. Hank tried to ignore the noise and refocus on his drink. Condensation sweated on the pale skin of the can...but suddenly it was Dale's pale skin and sweat that Hank saw. "I'm on to something big, Haaaaaank," Dale had said in his whiny, nasally voice. "The Bootstrap Paradox, Einstein, Wormhole-deniers...they're all smoke and mirrors to hide the truth that's in plain sight."

For months, Dale had grown increasingly obsessed with the concept of a time machine. And then, recently, he had come to Hank--his noxious body odor clinging to him like a ghost, his skin pale and sagging from his malnourished skeleton, his knuckles burnt from cigarettes chain-smoked to the filter--and seized Hank by his Strickland Propane polo. Despite going perhaps days without food or sleep, his grasp was frighteningly firm. "Hank...Hank. Hank--do you have any uranium?" The question came out strange, almost like a purr.

When Dale looked at Hank, he saw that one of Dale's eyes was pointed in a completely wrong direction; It yawed off to one side at a startling angle. "Ungh, what happened to your eye, Dale?"

"Uranium, Hank: Do you have any of it?" His fingers were like cold claws digging into Hank's shoulders. Suddenly something hard poked Hank in the stomach--a pistol. "I...I don't want to kill you, Hank, but I'm not going to let a little supply and demand get in the way of my time machine. So I'm going to make a demand, and you're going to supply me with some goddamned uranium." Dale licked his lips rapidly.

"Dale," Hank's eyes were full of sadness, "I don't have any uranium."

Suddenly, Dale let Hank go and sprinted for Hank's front yard. He crouched down on the lawn and snatched something out of the grass, clutching it tightly in his bony hands. When Hank looked closer, he realized that it was one of Ladybird's turds. "I'll kill you later, Hank," Dale hissed, and threw himself over the fence that divided their properties.

For the first time in his entire life, Hank couldn't bring himself to finish his beer. He reflected on those final moments with Dale. "Will he ever come back?" Bill had asked, a child in man's flesh. "He will...he always does," Hank had replied.

But part of Hank hoped he wouldn't.

this was good

Cream-of-Plenty
Apr 21, 2010

"The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering."
Even as he pedaled down the flat stretch of road that was Rainey Street, Bobby huffed and wheezed. When he arrived at his destination, he thrust the toes of his sneakers into the asphalt and let them drag his bike to a lurching halt. The neighborhood was alive with the sound of new neighbors.

"Sigh," he panted. Beads of sweat ran down his heavy white brow, across his bloated pink cheeks, and dangled down off of his virtually formless chin. "There goes the neighborhood." The words were spoken slowly, their meaning counterfeit.

"You don't even know what that means," his cohort, Joseph, snapped at him.

"It's true," Bobby mumbled, unfazed. He snorted and spat mucus into the dirt. "I do not know what that means."

The two boys were the same age, but Joseph was already twice as tall as Bobby, with long, gangly red limbs that dragged behind him like broken tree branches. He wore an intensely ugly scowl on his face, enhanced by the dark wisps of puberty beneath his broad nose. Lately, the boy wrestled with a perpetual state of rage that drove him to heinous acts and brazen crimes.

"Who do you think it is?" Bobby asked as they watched the movers unloading a truck trailer. The answer was immaterial, however--whoever they were, he already knew that Joseph would want to kill them.

Joseph stalked the moving truck as he approached, head ducked down, shoulder hunched. He braced himself against the smooth metal of the trailer and peered into the garage. "Chinese, probably."

Just then, the boys caught a glimpse of somebody who wasn't with the moving crew: A paunchy, middle-aged man with no more than half a dozen hairs spanning his scalp and a gut that sagged around his waist like a deflated balloon. Bobby reflexively reached down and touched his own stomach and pet it lightly. The most unusual thing about him, however, was his--

"--yellow skin." Joseph breathed. "I knew it. The Chinese."

Bobby reluctantly countered. "He doesn't look Chinese to me."

Joseph's ugly face twisted into a grotesque grimace. "What would you know, you fat idiot?"

"Nothin' worth knowing," Bobby agreed.

One of the movers approached the man and handed him a clipboard. "Mr. Sampson, if you don't mind, we need your signature."

"But I am illiterate," Mr. Sampson replied sorely. Reluctantly, the yellow man scrawled a doodle on the signature line--a vaguely phallic shape followed by Sampson's crude approximations of language--and the mover disappeared again.

"Are we gonna do this or what?" Joseph produced a short length of lead pipe and clutched it tightly in one hand. Before Bobby could even answer, Joseph was upon Sampson, savaging the back of his head with the pipe. The bright red blood was a startling contrast on his mustard yellow skin; flecks of bones and brains shot off into the air as Joseph hit him again and again. The man had fallen almost instantly, and Joseph was reducing his skull to barely a smear. Tears welled up in the boy's dark eyes, and he forced himself to sing the Song of the Destroyer.

"You...you need to save the brains!" Bobby whined in his raspy voice. "Joseph I think you're doin' it wrooooooong!" But Joseph was oblivious. Joseph was a prisoner of his own secret song, which came out of his throat in a low, undulating moan. A horrible sound, it caused Bobby's eyes to vibrate and his teeth to sting.

When the music was over, Joseph knelt down and fingered a dab of carnage off of the driveway; he applied the mess to his forehead, drawing a rudimentary six-pointed star on his red skin--the mark of the Knowledge Eater. A strangely effervescent sensation immediately overcame him, his limbs weightless and his head swirling with an intoxicating sense of limitless power. He drooled out a, "it's like...it's like being a feeling...like...like I'm a river of soda spilling over a whole mountain of popcorn!"

"Candy corn!" Bobby shouted excitedly.

That's when they both saw him: A boy, similar in age and size, with the same mustard yellow skin. His head was shaped vaguely like a meat mallet; the spiky end formed his "hair". They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, everyone silent, everyone motionless.

chaosbreather
Dec 9, 2001

Wry and wise,
but also very sexual.

Cream-of-Plenty posted:

Even as he pedaled down the flat stretch of road that was Rainey Street, Bobby huffed and wheezed. When he arrived at his destination, he thrust the toes of his sneakers into the asphalt and let them drag his bike to a lurching halt. The neighborhood was alive with the sound of new neighbors.

"Sigh," he panted. Beads of sweat ran down his heavy white brow, across his bloated pink cheeks, and dangled down off of his virtually formless chin. "There goes the neighborhood." The words were spoken slowly, their meaning counterfeit.

"You don't even know what that means," his cohort, Joseph, snapped at him.

"It's true," Bobby mumbled, unfazed. He snorted and spat mucus into the dirt. "I do not know what that means."

The two boys were the same age, but Joseph was already twice as tall as Bobby, with long, gangly red limbs that dragged behind him like broken tree branches. He wore an intensely ugly scowl on his face, enhanced by the dark wisps of puberty beneath his broad nose. Lately, the boy wrestled with a perpetual state of rage that drove him to heinous acts and brazen crimes.

"Who do you think it is?" Bobby asked as they watched the movers unloading a truck trailer. The answer was immaterial, however--whoever they were, he already knew that Joseph would want to kill them.

Joseph stalked the moving truck as he approached, head ducked down, shoulder hunched. He braced himself against the smooth metal of the trailer and peered into the garage. "Chinese, probably."

Just then, the boys caught a glimpse of somebody who wasn't with the moving crew: A paunchy, middle-aged man with no more than half a dozen hairs spanning his scalp and a gut that sagged around his waist like a deflated balloon. Bobby reflexively reached down and touched his own stomach and pet it lightly. The most unusual thing about him, however, was his--

"--yellow skin." Joseph breathed. "I knew it. The Chinese."

Bobby reluctantly countered. "He doesn't look Chinese to me."

Joseph's ugly face twisted into a grotesque grimace. "What would you know, you fat idiot?"

"Nothin' worth knowing," Bobby agreed.

One of the movers approached the man and handed him a clipboard. "Mr. Sampson, if you don't mind, we need your signature."

"But I am illiterate," Mr. Sampson replied sorely. Reluctantly, the yellow man scrawled a doodle on the signature line--a vaguely phallic shape followed by Sampson's crude approximations of language--and the mover disappeared again.

"Are we gonna do this or what?" Joseph produced a short length of lead pipe and clutched it tightly in one hand. Before Bobby could even answer, Joseph was upon Sampson, savaging the back of his head with the pipe. The bright red blood was a startling contrast on his mustard yellow skin; flecks of bones and brains shot off into the air as Joseph hit him again and again. The man had fallen almost instantly, and Joseph was reducing his skull to barely a smear. Tears welled up in the boy's dark eyes, and he forced himself to sing the Song of the Destroyer.

"You...you need to save the brains!" Bobby whined in his raspy voice. "Joseph I think you're doin' it wrooooooong!" But Joseph was oblivious. Joseph was a prisoner of his own secret song, which came out of his throat in a low, undulating moan. A horrible sound, it caused Bobby's eyes to vibrate and his teeth to sting.

When the music was over, Joseph knelt down and fingered a dab of carnage off of the driveway; he applied the mess to his forehead, drawing a rudimentary six-pointed star on his red skin--the mark of the Knowledge Eater. A strangely effervescent sensation immediately overcame him, his limbs weightless and his head swirling with an intoxicating sense of limitless power. He drooled out a, "it's like...it's like being a feeling...like...like I'm a river of soda spilling over a whole mountain of popcorn!"

"Candy corn!" Bobby shouted excitedly.

That's when they both saw him: A boy, similar in age and size, with the same mustard yellow skin. His head was shaped vaguely like a meat mallet; the spiky end formed his "hair". They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, everyone silent, everyone motionless.

this is a good post, hail bobby

Schnedwob
Feb 28, 2014

my legs are okay
Coming this fall, King of the Hell: A Complete Anthology by Cream-of-Plenty

fuck the ROW
Aug 29, 2008

by zen death robot
You can't prove that bobby is a cuck son

Schnedwob
Feb 28, 2014

my legs are okay

gently caress the ROW posted:

You can't prove that bobby is a cuck son

You cain't prove he ain't, neither.

fuck the ROW
Aug 29, 2008

by zen death robot

Schnedwob posted:

You cain't prove he ain't, neither.

That's true. Its one of those mysteries in the show

Schnedwob
Feb 28, 2014

my legs are okay

gently caress the ROW posted:

That's true. Its one of those mysteries in the show

Dude. KotH is deep. Like. Adventure Time deep. Wowzers.

Sephiroth_IRA
Mar 31, 2010
I always liked that episode where Bill has a happily ever after ending with Kahn's mom but then she's gone the next episode. I think she came back later but her relationship with bill isn't brought up.

edit: I hate when TV shows do that.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKmoze-hlXU

Sephiroth_IRA fucked around with this message at 04:26 on Aug 22, 2014

Highbrow Slick
Jul 1, 2007

it is a fool who stays alive - but such fools are we.
Hank: "Did you stop to think that maybe the backhoe wasn't the best tool for opening up a beer can?"
:rolleyes: "Yeah, Hank, I did!"

coolskull
Nov 11, 2007


yesss

Say Nothing
Mar 5, 2013

by FactsAreUseless
I don't know about Bill, but everybody else had a go on Luanne.

Every.



Body.



Else.

TOILETLORD
Nov 13, 2012

by XyloJW

Say Nothing posted:

I don't know about Bill, but everybody else had a go on Luanne.

Every.



Body.



Else.



becuase she was pitched to fox by mike judge as being the shows character to attract young men so she had to be in sexy "situations"

Say Nothing
Mar 5, 2013

by FactsAreUseless

Frostwerks
Sep 24, 2007

by Lowtax
Hank hill is a card carrying captain save a hoe. like the card is laminated and everything. he moved the family portrait in his wallet from the plastic sleeve and put it with the credit cards and all the miscellanea in the leather folds and replaced it with his preferred display of pride and joy. only has to save 3 more hoes and he gets one free.

Cream-of-Plenty
Apr 21, 2010

"The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering."

Say Nothing posted:

I don't know about Bill, but everybody else had a go on Luanne.

Every.



Body.



Else.




You are sexy beauty. Luanne rubbed a broken chunk of lipstick on her puckered, chapped mouth, making several loops before finally examining herself in the mirror. Her lips were obliterated by a heavy ring of greasy red color that reached from the base of her nose to the crease of her chin. She smiled, revealing yellowed teeth tinged with more red. "Beau-ti-ful."

Tasty love-beauty. She tugged at the belt of her dingy blue robe and let it fall off of her nude form--the moment it hit the tile, it began soaking up old puddles of water that had nowhere else to go. "More beau-ti-ful."

She squinted and studied her reflection, but it was difficult to make out details in the dim light of the bathroom: Despite a dozen light bulbs circling the mirror, only a couple of them still worked. Lines stretched across her tired face, aging her well beyond her years...but perhaps it was only because of the poor lighting. "Beau-tyyyyyyyy..." She pressed her fingers into a small mound of concealer and began rubbing the powder into her cheeks. She noted that it did not match the color of her own flesh. "This is for someone else's skin," she told the person in the mirror. Still, she persevered, applying several more handfuls to her nose and forehead until her face was covered in thick tan splotches.

Sexy beastly beauty.

Luanne reached for the plastic Dallas Cowboys-themed cup that sat next to the sink--a mustachioed Mark Tuinei grimacing for the camera--and held it under her nose. She breathed deeply, as if recalling distant memories from a long-lost piece of clothing. The brew was predominately bleach, ammonia, and powdered detergent, and the chemical stench that emanated from it burned her nostrils and filled her head with a pleasant nausea. "Baby beauty."

Like a penitent worshiper cleansing his hands in a font of holy water, she slowly dipped hers into the cup and lifted handfuls of the liquid to her supple breasts. Although much of it spilled between her fingers, she rubbed what little remained on her skin until her chest took on an oily sheen. "White...is right." Snow White was pale as milk...but she was just a fairy tale. Soon, Luanne would be the real thing. She would glow like a pure white light, a beacon of hope for all who might gaze upon her.

Leaning her head back, she dumped the rest of the cup's contents across her chest; it spilled in a thousand different directions, reawakening parts of her that had long been lost to a strange numbness. Still dripping, she knelt down and picked up the bath robe once more, balled it up, and stuck it on the top of her head. She grinned, for it was not unlike a glorious crown. "I....am a queeeeeeeen."

She exited the bathroom, taking long, dramatic strides like she imagined a queen would take; she envisioned rose petals raining down on her head as a million subjects wept and rattled the bars of the ornate fences that circled her alabaster palace. A thousand princes and celebrities would serve as her suitors, lining up for a fleeting chance to dine on her dainties. Even her uncle Hank would...

"BWAAAAAAAH!" Hank gasped. "Luanne, what are you doing?!"

"Am I beau-ti-ful?" she asked her uncle. "Are you one of my royal suitors, Uncle Hank?"

"Put some dang clothes on, Luanne!"

At that moment, Peggy walked through the front door with a bag of groceries clutched in her thick, strong hands. Her eyes snapped to Hank, and then to Luanne, and finally back to Hank. "Hank Rutherford Hill!" she screamed, dropping the bag. "NOT AGAIN! You're NOT doing THIS to ME! AGAIN!"

"But Peggy!" Hank weakly protested--too late. Peggy stormed to the kitchen, and when she returned, she was clutching a paring knife.

Ghaz
Nov 19, 2004

Bill is easily the most GBS character because he's a fat bald loser

#2 is joseph because he's the result of actual cucking

TOILETLORD
Nov 13, 2012

by XyloJW
remember when cotton makes bobby sit on the block of ice and it doesn't faze him and he says "mom said i was built for the cold" is a foreshadowing of project walrus to prove bobby is bill's son.

Hellsau
Jan 14, 2010

NEVER FUCKING TAKE A NIGHT OFF CLAN WARS.

TOILETLORD posted:

remember when cotton makes bobby sit on the block of ice and it doesn't faze him and he says "mom said i was built for the cold" is a foreshadowing of project walrus to prove bobby is bill's son.

It wasn't Bill who was experimented on, since Bill got the placebo and ruined his own drat life. Bobby was the true test subject. Dale was so close to figuring it out but as usual he missed what was happening right under his nose.

Cream-of-Plenty
Apr 21, 2010

"The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering."
There's a really good story in Bill being on top of Peggy at some point BB (before bobby).

shiksa
Nov 9, 2009

i went to one of these wrestling shows and it was... honestly? frickin boring. i wanna see ricky! i want to see his gold chains and respect for the ftw lifestyle

Cream-of-Plenty posted:

There's a really good story in Bill being on top of Peggy at some point BB (before bobby).

ho-yeah

Bismack Billabongo
Oct 9, 2012

Wet
Hey OP hope somebody attacks you with pocket sand.

Cream-of-Plenty
Apr 21, 2010

"The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering."

Can you imagine that? Peggy's size 17 feet bobbing through the air above her, Bill Dauterive grunting and sweating over her like a dumb pig as he defiles her strangely masculine nethers. "Ho-YEAH!" Peggy exclaims and squeezes Bill's forearms so hard that she shatters his malnourished bones. He's such a desperate dirtbag that he keeps going, knowing full well that this may be the last time he has his wiener in anything living.

FedEx Mercury
Jan 7, 2004

Me bad posting? That's unpossible!
Lipstick Apathy
Do u think people would like Peggy if she was a man? Then she would just be wacky and funny instead of irritating and incompetent

Father Wendigo
Sep 28, 2005
This is, sadly, more important to me than bettering myself.

notZaar posted:

Do u think people would like Peggy if she was a man? Then she would just be wacky and funny instead of irritating and incompetent

People loving love Dale and he's essentially Peggy with the numbers filed off, so yeah.

Frostwerks
Sep 24, 2007

by Lowtax

Father Wendigo posted:

People loving love Dale and he's essentially Peggy with the numbers filed off, so yeah.

Dale is loving awesome and actually speaks a foreign language unlike Peggy who brags about it incessantly and it turns out is always full of poo poo.

GenderSelectScreen
Mar 7, 2010

I DON'T KNOW EITHER DON'T ASK ME
College Slice

Cream-of-Plenty posted:

Can you imagine that? Peggy's size 17 feet bobbing through the air above her, Bill Dauterive grunting and sweating over her like a dumb pig as he defiles her strangely masculine nethers. "Ho-YEAH!" Peggy exclaims and squeezes Bill's forearms so hard that she shatters his malnourished bones. He's such a desperate dirtbag that he keeps going, knowing full well that this may be the last time he has his wiener in anything living.

:suicide:

John Liver
May 4, 2009

Bobby. Bobby.

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=iZ8nN6hTnmM

Bobby.

Wicker Man
Sep 5, 2007

Just like Columbus...


Clapping Larry

Frostwerks posted:

Dale is loving awesome and actually speaks a foreign language unlike Peggy who brags about it incessantly and it turns out is always full of poo poo.

Dale is extremely talented and has mad dexterity.

I think it was suggested on the side by the creators that Dale secretly knows about the affair, but is in massive denial. His passion for conspiracy is like a coping mechanism for the one right in front of him

Code Jockey
Jan 24, 2006

69420 basic bytes free

Wicker Man posted:

I think it was suggested on the side by the creators that Dale secretly knows about the affair, but is in massive denial. His passion for conspiracy is like a coping mechanism for the one right in front of him

hmmm

also


Rupert Buttermilk
Apr 15, 2007

🚣RowboatMan: ❄️Freezing time🕰️ is an old P.I. 🥧trick...

"Beggy Heel is down to her last bencil."

Also, Rad Thibideaux's was fantastic. Kinda wish there was some weird crossover where Rad is partnered with Woody Harrelson to stop a serial killer. I think he'd drive the guy nuts more than Rust did.

Cream-of-Plenty
Apr 21, 2010

"The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering."
The toilet was clogged. Again. A soupy mess--a thousand shades of brown--slowly climbed up the white ceramic bowl, leaving Bill to wonder where the high water mark would be. As he stood and watched with expressionless pig eyes, he was strangely reminded of his Aunt Esme and New Orleans.

She would always say "New Ohleeeens", and the voice now echoed in his head. He faintly wondered what she would do in this situation.

And then, as the bowl continued to fill with human filth, his mind roamed into darker areas. Of levies. Of Katrina. Walls of poo poo-water a hundred feet high, sweeping across the landscape and swallowing the world up. He could practically hear the water rushing in his head.

And then it was replaced with the sound of thick, chunky toilet water spilling onto the tile floor; gurgling and burbling and bubbling, as if suddenly possessed with a life of its own. And the stink--the stink invaded his nostrils and forced tears to his eyes. The boys had remarked that you could always stomach your own "brand" (or perhaps even savor it)...yet, standing there, he suddenly found it to be intolerable.

Bill inched back from the growing mess, but he never removed his gaze. New Ohleeeeeeens... Eventually he found himself standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, with almost the entire floor drowned in filth. He slowly closed the door.

On the way out, he passed by another closed bathroom door. He would have to figure out a new place to commit his shameful acts.

"Hey Bill," Hank greeted him when he stepped outside.

Bill let out a soft sigh and felt a smile come to his face. "Hey, fellas..." An Alamo Beer was pushed into his hand and he immediately cracked it open; a cold mist played across his fingers as he lifted the can to his mouth and began the day.

Gaunab
Feb 13, 2012
LUFTHANSA YOU FUCKING DICKWEASEL

Cream-of-Plenty posted:

The toilet was clogged. Again. A soupy mess--a thousand shades of brown--slowly climbed up the white ceramic bowl, leaving Bill to wonder where the high water mark would be. As he stood and watched with expressionless pig eyes, he was strangely reminded of his Aunt Esme and New Orleans.

She would always say "New Ohleeeens", and the voice now echoed in his head. He faintly wondered what she would do in this situation.

And then, as the bowl continued to fill with human filth, his mind roamed into darker areas. Of levies. Of Katrina. Walls of poo poo-water a hundred feet high, sweeping across the landscape and swallowing the world up. He could practically hear the water rushing in his head.

And then it was replaced with the sound of thick, chunky toilet water spilling onto the tile floor; gurgling and burbling and bubbling, as if suddenly possessed with a life of its own. And the stink--the stink invaded his nostrils and forced tears to his eyes. The boys had remarked that you could always stomach your own "brand" (or perhaps even savor it)...yet, standing there, he suddenly found it to be intolerable.

Bill inched back from the growing mess, but he never removed his gaze. New Ohleeeeeeens... Eventually he found himself standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, with almost the entire floor drowned in filth. He slowly closed the door.

On the way out, he passed by another closed bathroom door. He would have to figure out a new place to commit his shameful acts.

"Hey Bill," Hank greeted him when he stepped outside.

Bill let out a soft sigh and felt a smile come to his face. "Hey, fellas..." An Alamo Beer was pushed into his hand and he immediately cracked it open; a cold mist played across his fingers as he lifted the can to his mouth and began the day.

nerd

Long Francesco
Jun 3, 2005
Bill is Bobby and Bobby is bill. he is his own father.

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

TOILETLORD
Nov 13, 2012

by XyloJW
i kinda wish we could of seen hank squirm, by having bill marry luanne for a season.

  • Locked thread