So Bill in King of the Hill was a serial rapist right?

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Schnedwob: Feb 28, 2014; my legs are okay

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.