It was a Thursday morning in Arlen, Texas. The sun had risen, and Strickland Propane was supposed to be open an hour ago, but instead a crowd had gathered around the front of the store.
They all saw assistant manager Hank Hill in his tidy whities while clearly smelling like beer. Hank drank his fair share of beer, but he was by no means a drunk which made everyone question what happened.
"Hey, isn't that a black eye?" one of the onlookers said, noticing Hank's very visible wound, but Hank was still completely out of it.
"Probably," another onlooker said "But he definitely got blackout drunk."
Then Buck Strickland, an aging business man arrived, and saw the crowd right outside the door.
"What in Sam Hill?" Buck said, getting out of his car, and shoving through the crowd. Then he saw his right-hand man: the brown-haired, middle aged Hank wearing nothing but his underwear.
"Hank, what the hell?" Buck asked.
Buck and Hank have known each other for several years, and Hank's been nothing but reliable, so what could have caused this sudden drunken antic?
It was evening the day before, and Hank went down to his friend Dale's basement. Dale was a fragile, skinny man who wore an orange hat proudly displaying the brand of cigarettes he smells like. As Hank and Dale went down into the basement, Hank saw two of his friends laughing. Bill, an overweight military barber with self-esteem problems, and Boomhauer, a handsome blonde man who is probably a sex addict.
"Alright, what's so funny?" Hank asked. "If it's that Tweety Bird made of X's, I've already seen it."
"Hank, welcome to ." Dale announced to Hank.
Hank straightened his glasses, and got a good look at the website. He never really used the internet that much, so he wasn't sure what he was looking at.
"What the hell is this?" Hank said.
"A fetish site," Dale said "There are plenty of perverts out there whacking off to your wife's feet right now."
"What?!" Hank said, before he noticed Bill smile at a video of his wife, Peggy, walking through pork and beans. Hank wasn't having that, so he kicked Bill's chair, making his fat friend fall on his ass.
"Hey!" Bill said, before Hank glared at him which only made Bill cower in fear.
Peggy Hill had already told her husband about the video, but she assumed it was an empowerment video for women with extraordinarily large feet. She had always been insecure about her feet. They were just so big, and paired with her thick awkward glasses and her short brown beehive, she was never the attractive one. Peggy had always thought she could compliment this with her intelligence, but considering she got duped into being in a fetish video, she wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.
"So, uh Peggy, if I wanted to shake the hand of the director of this, uh well, where would I go to wait for him? To shake his hand." Hank said as Peggy sat on the couch while having a nice foot bath.
"Director-Writer-Cameraman Grant Trimble does it all. He has his own motion picture warehouse out by the truck scales." Peggy said.
Hank then walked away, and without looking at Peggy, he said "I'll be right back."
Then Hank went to the garage, got his lucky hammer and car keys, and drove to Trimble's studio.
"This is it," Hank thought to himself when he saw the "Reserved for G. Trimble" parking space that held an expensive, bright green car.
So Hank got out the car, and went into a door labeled "Transnational Amusements Inc.", and found himself in a small lobby that made it clear this was a smut house.
"Are you The Tickler?" the receptionist asked.
Hank groaned and said "No," as he went into Trimble's studio space where he saw a stack of empty egg cartons, a pile of feathers, partly melted candles, and a fancy hot tub. Hank hated the look of this place. Even though Hank's sense of smell wasn't the best, he could even smell the perversion that went on in here.
"Trimble?! Get your ass out here!" Hank yelled, while he had a hammer tucked in the back of his jeans.
"This is a closed set." Trimble smugly said as he took off his glove.
Grant Trimble was an older man in his mid-50's, but he looked nice for his age. His haircut was significantly nicer, and wore a blue tracksuit that made him look fit. Trimble looked at Hank, and gave him a look of disapproval.
"I want you to stay away from my wife!" Hank yelled.
"And who's your wife?" Trimble said.
Hank walked towards Trimble, and said "Peggy Hill."
"Then you're a very lucky man," Trimble said "But I'm afraid we're gonna have to share."
"You, sir, are nothing but a low-rent smut-hound!" Hank said, taking out the hammer "And you're going to delete my wife's feet from your internet before she finds out what you've done with them!"
Trimble's eyes widened. He's faced the wrong end of a gun a time or two, but Trimble thought Hank probably isn't bluffing with the hammer so he had to try to persuade Hank not to bash his brains in.
"I've made them into stars!" Trimble declared, but this only made Hank more agitated.
"You made them wade through pork and beans!" Hank said, swinging the hammer.
Trimble avoided the hit, but he still fell on his ass. This gave Hank leverage as he stepped on Trimble's chest.
"You're going to delete my wife's feet off that damn internet if you want to live!" Hank said.
"Okay, alright, I'll take down !" Trimble said, petrified.
Hank realized he scared Trimble. Hopefully he scared some sense into that smut-hound. So Hank gave one last kick in the ribs and said "If you go anywhere near my wife again, and I'll fucking kill you!"