"If I Can Only Hold On"
Rated T
Disclaimer: I do not own everything associated with the show "Married... With Children", including it's characters. "Married... With Children" and it's characters are owned by Sony Pictures and it's creators Michael C. Moye and Ron Leavitt. Anyway, here's a nice Al and Marcy fic that you're gonna love. Of course, I thought of this a minute ago, so enjoy!
It was a clear Chicago day as Al Bundy finally had the whole house to himself. Apparently, Peggy and the kids were finally out of town to go to Wanker County to visit her fatass of a mother. Al, to his relief, faked having a flu, just to get out of seeing Peg's mom. To his surprise, it worked off without a hitch.
Now all that was standing before him was his TV, a can of beer, and an episode of "Family Matters" just to tie him over. Of course, Al would like "Family Matters", but his son, Bud, didn't. It was Bud's loss anyway, because the shoe salesman loved this show to death. But not too long ago, he was already done watching the show itself.
"Okay, everyone... stay tuned for a you-can't-miss 24-hour marathon of Step By Step!" The announcer said, bringing Al's attention, "And don't forget the new episode when J.T. comes out of the closet!"
"Huh," Al muttered, "No wonder TV turned so gay..."
As soon as he was about to change the channel, he felt his lower body cringe. Suddenly, his Al senses was turned on instantly.
"Oh, bathroom time." Al replied.
As he got out of his chair, he got upstairs and headed for the nearest bathroom. But when he got to his destination, Al noticed a note hanging on the door. Realizing this, Al grabbed the note and read it.
Dear Al,
By the time you read this, you'll be sad to know that the entire bathroom is out of order. Apparently, having to clog the toilet with those huge cannon-ball shaped poop bombs was enough to get it jammed. Don't blame me for having to eat too many bonbons while watching Oprah, it's just the way that I am.
Love, Peggy.
P.S.: Make sure you run down to the store and give me an extra box of Tampons. When I get back, I want to see a fresh pair right by my bedside.
The news didn't affect Al one bit. Of course he knew that the toilet didn't work, considering that his wife was the last one in the restroom yesterday.
But he had himself a back-up plan.
"No problem," Al shrugged, "I'll just use the one in the garage."
And that's what he did. Al went downstairs in a hurry and went to his garage to use the secret restroom. It was a good thing he put it there closer to his dodge, so he could take a quick number two and get back to work on his vehicle.
But as soon as he got there, he noticed another note hanging on the doorway.
"A note?" Al raised an eyebrow, "What could this be anyway?"
Making sure for herself, Al read the note carefully.
Dear Al,
I also forgot to tell you that the other bathroom in the garage is also out of order. Apparently, Griff's puke was heavy enough to get the toilet clogged as well. So sad, too bad, Al.
Love once again, Peggy
P.S.: Don't forget those tampons. Just thought I let you know.
Al felt a little scared now. There was no way he was gonna pee in his slacks again.
The first time was when Jefferson told him a dirty joke, and Al laughed so hard, he peed himself. But this was no joke for the shoe salesman. He really needed to pee so damn bad!
"Okay, so two toilets don't frickin work in this house," Al thought, "There's gotta be something I can use!"
However, an idea came to mind. Have he ever thought peeing in a cup. It worked in the olden days, just in case if a toilet didn't work or an outhouse was destroyed in some god-awful war.
Feeling this idea, Al raced to the kitchen and looked up on the cabinet for a clear glass.
But as he opened up the cabinet door, there came another note.
"Oh, great, another damned note," Al cried out, "What on earth could this be about now?"
Cringing, Al grabbed the note and read it clearly.
Dear Al,
I want to let you know in addition to the toilets being out of order, me, Bud and Kelly have decided to take every glass out of this cabinet, so don't even think about peeing in a cup. Last time, I accidentally drank out of that urine-stained glass and thought it was lemonade. I'm still washing my mouth off with mouthwash three times a day. Make sure you pick me up some along with the tampons too when you go out.
Love for the last time, Peggy
P.S.: Seriously Al, I really need those tampons!
These notes were driving Al crazy! So far, his groin was cringing to death, feeling like he got low blowed in the jimmies.
There were some other options left. He tried to go outside to go pee, but Lucky had the entire backyard to himself. Not to mention there was dog poop everywhere, so that was out of the question. He would have tried peeing in a beer bottle, but to his shame, he was all out of beer. He would try going in a newspaper to urinate, but he needed that newspaper so dearly for his number two's.
To Al's disappointment, he had no other options.
"I give up!" Al cried out, "I might as well take my chances and pee my pants again. After all, the least I could do is blame it on the dog."
But before he could so such thing as urinate himself, a plan hit him. If he can't go in his own house...
...
...why not try Marcy and Jefferson's house? I mean, they gotta have toilets, don't they?
Of course they have, they must at least have a toilet that functions, right? So that's what Al did. The shoe salesman raced over to their house in breakneck speed and knocked on the door.
After seconds of waiting, Marcy answered the door.
"Oh, it's you..." Marcy snarled at him, "What is it this time, Al?"
"Marcy, can I use your bathroom?" Al cried out, holding it in tightly.
"You don't know how much I've heard it a million times," Marcy smirked, "I've heard it when it came to my bush, my birdbath, my entire 'Welcome' mat, and even my whole entire Maserati itself. They all knew what the scent smells like, because apparently, it was coming from you."
"So can I use your toilet, then?" Al replied.
"Sorry, the toilet's only used for people who actually have an IQ," Marcy smirked again, "That, and the toilet's out of order. If you want, there's a nice fire hydrant for dogs like you to tinkle in! Ta-ta!"
With an evil laugh, Marcy shut the door in Al's face, which forced the shoe salesman to steam up in anger.
"Why, that no-breasted, heavily-minded chicken-butt..." Al spoke behind her back.
Like Al said, there was no way he was gonna pee his pants again. So he bent down on his knees and prayed to the higher power above.
"Oh, please Heavenly one," Al prayed, "Find some miracle for me, and a better wife with delicious hooters. And fast."
With some amazing coincidence, however...
...
...a couple of birds flew past Marcy's house, and ended up taking a dump all over the Maserati. Marcy saw this from outside her home and felt flabbergasted.
"Hey, get outta my car, you damn birds!" Marcy shouted to the birds.
As soon as Marcy fought off the birds one by one, Al looked over to Marcy's un-opened door and looked back to the sky above. The higher power was appreciative enough to make half of Al's wish come true.
"You're a very cool god, I must say!" Al chuckled to the sky.
With an opportune moment, Al raced inside the house, looking for somewhere to pee in.
One hour later...
Marcy came back inside looking beat and exhausted, trying to get the birds off her car. The damage to the Maserati was already done, as tons of bird crap was splattered through the front hood and all around the windows.
"It's about damn time the birds were gone," Marcy sighed, "I'm so tired, I need a drink."
Still beat, Marcy dragged to herself to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.
"Maybe some lemonade might calm my nerves..." Marcy sighed again.
She then took the lemonade pitcher in her hands and poured herself a nice, juicy glass of lemonade. From there, she ended up taking a sip from that cool yellow glass.
But something didn't feel right to her. The lemonade she was drinking got a weird funky aftertaste.
"Why on earth does this lemonade taste funny?" Marcy said to herself.
Just to make sure, Marcy took a sip yet again and started smacking her lips.
"And why on earth does this taste like moldy chicken broth?!" Marcy replied in panic.
Meanwhile at the Bundy household, Al felt relieved for some other reason. He had a smiling look on his face Al usually makes whenever he was done taking a pee or whenever he saw a hot chick. What on earth could this be about?
Apparently, Marcy was about to find out herself in about three...
...
...
two...
...
...
one.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, IT'S PISS!"
She yelled out. Marcy was shocked to believe that she was drinking Al's urine. The shoe salesman couldn't help himself by the way. He needed to go sooner or later. Good thing Marcy's drink pitcher was a good second choice for the high school football hero.
"Yes it is, Marcy," Al chuckled to himself, "Yes it is..."
Feeling relaxed, he put his hands down his pants and watched his favorite show. And that's the way Al wanted to end it.
For Marcy however, she learned only one thing when it comes to cruel payback coming from Al:
Don't mess with a Bundy.
Damn right. As the late Jim Croce usually puts it: You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger, and you don't mess around with Al Bundy. Plain and simple.
What did all of you think of this? Leave feedback if you can! ^_^