Here it is; the American Dad fic! Which is a counter part to my Family Guy fic 'The Queen and I' and also a prelude to my X-over 'American Guy' fic…I hate exposition. Anyway, even though it actually has nothing to do with the Family Guy fic, it's just a way for me to flex my funny and preview it as well. The American Dad show that I know and love uses edgy, racy humor and I tried to replicate that, hence the discomfiting, slightly offensive plotline to purposely make the reader uneasy. Enjoy!...or don't. Writing in script form may be tedious, for both the reader and writer—believe me—but I feel that this could work if you gave it a chance. It helps to visualize that you're actually watching the show.

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[EXT: The Smith Family House at night]
[INT: Klouse is in the kitchen with Francine who's setting the table for dinner]

Klaus: Oooo, Francine, your dinner spread looks delectable.
Francine: Thank you, Klouse. It's nice to know my efforts are appreciated. (Sighs) If only Stan would compliment me this much.
Klaus: Oh Francine, that oaf, he does not deserve you. But I know one who does. Yes, Francine, it is I. I who deem you as having the face of an angel and body of a goddess. You don't know how long I've been mustering the courage to speak to you, to tell you how I feel. Please tell me that you feel the same way too?
Francine: Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry Klouse. It seems that I lost concentration when you started pouring your soul out. Come again?
Klaus: (Sniffing sadly) I was just saying that I would like some food now.
(Stan comes in)
Stan: Hey, honey.
Francine: Stan! How was your day?
Stan: Well it mostly involved top secret stuff, so I guess it's okay if I talk about it.
Klaus: (Excitedly) Oooo, oooo, did you find out that two hot but married CIA operatives were having an affair with each other and you decide to blackmail them for it?
Stan: …No
Klaus: …You're job blows.
Stan: The guys at the office entrusted me with keeping a serum that has certain potential properties and side effects when taken in by people, all of which are classified.
Francine: Serum? I don't know about this, Stan. What if it's dangerous and what if the kids get their hands on it?
Stan: Don't worry Francine; it's disguised as a bottle of beer.
Francine: A bottle of beer? Couldn't they have chosen something a bit more inconspicuous?
Stan: Francine, what is this; twenty questions?...cuz I'm pretty sure you're playing it wrong.
(Hayley comes in followed by Steve)
Hayley: Mom, I cannot take this anymore! Tell Steve to stay out of my life!
Francine: What's going on?
Hayley: He keeps bugging me and making my life a living hell!
Steve: Hey, that's not true! All I did was write a poem about how much I miss our brother-sister bond.
Hayley: You used my FAVORITE RED LIPSTICK TO WRITE IT!
Steve: So that you could feel that it meant something. Also that particular color conveyed my feelings about it.
Hayley: Well, that's gonna be the color of the liquid coming out of you if you don't leave me alone!
Stan: Steve, stop writing poems! It's only acceptable if you're pursuing a gullible girl or attempting to come out of the closet.
Steve: But Dad, how do I get rid of all this excess emotion that wells up inside of me sometimes?
Stan: You could punch someone…preferably someone who writes poems.
(Roger walks in)
Roger: Oh Frannie, thank God you're here. Your little womb pellets have been bickering like most couples who find out a year into the marriage that the sex isn't a good enough reason for getting hitched.
Francine: (Adamantly) Don't worry, Roger; they were just about to make up.
Roger: No, I don't want them to stop; I just want them kept away from me as they argue. I figure that if any of them dies in a fight to the death, I could move out of the attic and have the dead persons stuff. If anyone wants me, I'll be online picking out a mattress for my new room. (He walks out)
Klaus: There's something wrong with that one. I just can't put my finger on it…because I have no fingers. If I had fingers, I'd put one on his head…I bet that's where the problem is.
Steve: I'm not gonna apologize for trying to do a kind yet subtly creepy thing for my sister!
Hayley: I'm not gonna apologize for hating that you did it! Y'know what, I'm not hungry anymore! (She walks out angrily)
Steve: Oooh, what a cheap shot at achieving dramatic effect, Hayley! In fact, it…(he starts sniffing and his voice wavers) it just makes me wanna cry!
Stan: Sorry son, but your girlish breakdown isn't working. Hayley's storm off has you beat.
Steve: What if I were to threaten to, umm…to, uh, go upstairs and kill myself?
Stan: There you go!
Steve: Awesome! (He runs upstairs)
Francine: Stan! Don't you think you should go talk to your children?
Stan: Don't worry Francine, I'm sure they'll work this out by themselves. Besides, get between Hayley and Steve? I'd rather have people wait on me hand and foot while I watch a whole day of sports.
Francine: What?...you just said that you'd rather do something enjoyable. You're supposed to say that you'd rather do something that sounds just as bad as what you should be doing.
Stan: Why would I say that? Why would I run from doing something bad to doing something else that's bad, when I could be having fun? I like fun. What're you, some sort of fun Nazi?
Francine: Just go talk to your kids, Stan.
Stan: (Gets up) Fine. But I'm not talking to Hayley. Y'know, in case she decides to segue into a one way conversation about lady things. Or liberal things. Or even worse- lady liberal things!
Klaus: What are 'lady liberal things'?
Stan: I have no idea. (Grimly) And let's keep it that way. (He walks out)
Francine: (Sighs) Looks like yet another dinner ruined by family Smith. I'll get the large book with the tallies. (She also leaves the kitchen)
Klaus: Finally, she's gone. Now I can pretend to fart…Ohhh yeah!...is vhat I would say in relief…if I could fart and if I just did.

(Stan walks up to Steve's room door)
Stan: Steve, it's me. Open up.
Steve: Go away! I'm trying to be as hurt as Hayley.
Stan: (Sighs) Fine. (Walks back a couple of steps then approaches the door again and knocks, using a lighter voice to talk) Hey Steve, open up. It's me, Jennifer Lopez.
Steve: (Quickly opens the door but sees that it's Stan) Aww, man! That's the fifth time you got me with that!
Stan: (Follows Steve inside his room) Look Steve, I know that this must be a confusing time for you, what with your body going through changes and-
Steve: Dad, I am not going through puberty!
Stan: What? Then why the hell are you acting like a douchebag?!
Steve: I'm not trying to, it's just…I just feel that Hayley and I haven't really been close in a long time like we used to. Aaah, the good times…
Stan: Okay look, if you wanna have your little flashback montage thingy, then go ahead. But I have to warn you, it'll just be filled with bad memories.
Steve: No it won't! Watch…
(Steve flashes back to all the times that Hayley was mean to him—sticking his head in the toilet, putting itching powder on his clothes, and planting a dead body in his bed before calling the cops on him)
Steve: Oh God, Dad, you were right!
Stan: Told you so.
Steve: Oh man! I guess that I'm reaching out to Hayley now, because…we've never had any real bond.
Stan: I don't think so. Based on fuzzy memories of a play that your mother dragged me to, I think your problems are more psychological.
Steve: What do you mean?
Stan: You're clearly displaying the complexity in Oedipus Rex. You want to kill your father and marry your mother.
Steve: What! NO! Eeeew!
Stan: Don't worry, your mother and I have never really been there for you. So, Roger who is your older, I-think-male friend and confidant is your father figure while your nagging, fun-killing, put-downer mother? Sounds like Hayley to me.
Steve: What am I gonna do?
Stan: Don't worry, I have an idea.
Steve: Oh, thanks Dad! (Steve runs to hug him, but Stan pulls a gun on him)
Stan: Get away, father killer! ...(He calms down and puts the gun back) Sorry Steve, you can never be too sure. (He walks out of the room leaving a sad Steve behind just as Roger peeps inside the door)
Roger: (Angrily) What the hell?! Why haven't the two of you faced-off yet?! You're killing me Steve, you're killing me! Why're you killing me? Why do you want, to kill me, Steve?... (Deadpanned) Feel free to interpret that however you want. You can take it out of context and, y'know, fit it into a predicament that you may be facing at the moment. (He leaves)
Steve: (To himself, worriedly) Oh, God! Dad was right! Roger thinks he's dying because of me and I've been subliminally wooing Hayley!
Roger: (Peeks into the room again) Oh yeah Steve, I forgot to ask—when Hayley dispatches you, what kind of theme would you want for your funeral? I told the mortician to use 'Star Wars'…Is 'Star Wars' okay? Hmm? You want a 'Star Wars' theme, champ?
Steve: …(Flatly) Yes please.
Roger: Too bad cuz we're not doing that. (He leaves)

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