This story focuses on Hank Hill and his journey on jury duty in Heimlich County's Court House following the case of severely abused propane tanks and accessories that occurred in Strickland Propane's opposition, Thatherton. Despite Hank's obvious dislike for the competing co., his heart is torn to shreds at the neglect of the propane, and will stop at almost nothing to solve the case and catch the sick, twisted, bastard who did this, because what he did just ain't right.
*A 5 to 6 part story, not too long, and interesting, I hope.
Rated T for some language.
Disclaimer: All rights to Mike Judge, that got-dang genius.
It was a beautiful day in Arlen, Texas. The birds could be heard chirping away in the summer breeze and the sun was rising to its peak, radiating its warmth and everlasting brightness down on Rainy Street.
It was 7 o'clock in the morning, and Hank Hill was promptly up in his light blue robe and slippers, in the kitchen at the dinner table, reading that morning's paper. Despite it being Hank's day off from work at Strickland Propane, he still had a big day ahead of him. He had to make some trips to a few of his preferable hardware stores to get some, well, hardware. He had to drop Bobby off at his youth group's activity camp, not much to Hank's preference, but it made his son happy.
As Hank skimmed through an article on a robbing incident that occurred in Arlington, his wife, Peggy, waltzed in yawning and stretching her arms out, while dressed in her usual light pink robe and long slippers.
"Mornin' Hank," she yawned while getting out a couple pans to start breakfast on. The usual eggs, sausage, waffles and toast.
"Mornin'," he replied almost absentmindedly. He just had his thoughts too fixed on what was occurring in several weeks. The annual 'Propane Festival' had Hank hyped up as ever. Like ever year, Hank would be assisting his boss, Buck Strickland, in holding this event. He'd be displaying the tanks for public view, giving speeches on the history of propane, how long Strickland's been in business, and being a substantial tour guide for the customers and citizens attending this wondrous and proud event. Hank couldn't help but smirk a little whenever his thoughts crossed over to the day this would be going on. He was simply got-dang excited.
"I'll tell you what, Peg, I just can't stop thinking about the Propane Festival. I'm just so got-dang anticipated for it," Hank said while Peggy had sausage links sizzling on the greased pan, the steam emanating off of it having woken Bobby from his slumber. He then jumped right out of bed once the scent of mouthwatering sausage had hit his nostrils.
"Alright! Sausage!" hollered a giddy Bobby Hill once he was at the kitchen table. Peggy returned a little giggle in response and Hank sighed and continued on with his paper - and relentless thoughts on the upcoming Propane Festival. Boy, was he excited!
Once breakfast was ready, Hank set his paper down and helped himself to two sausage links and a small helping of scrambled eggs with some coffee, while Bobby didn't hesitate to fill his platter right up. Peggy took a seat and began to gloat on about her plans for the next week with her substitute teaching and the upcoming Boggle tournament that Thursday.
Hank was generally a great listener. He found that daydreaming while others were speaking was completely rude and unnecessary. He considered himself to be a keen and sharp listener, even if he didn't take much interest in whatever the heck the person speaking was even talking about. Though, this morning he honestly couldn't pick up on much of what his wife was yacking on about. He just...didn't give enough of a damn. He almost wished that the event would be approaching sooner, just so he could stop thinking about it for ten got-dang seconds and focus on other things, but this here, these thoughts of propane recreation, were just too much for him to handle. Even worse, he was keeping this overwhelming thoughts to himself, not even venting on about his excitement to his wife or son. He decided that he would take up the matter to the fellas in the alley later on that day.
Hank stood after having picked through his breakfast, over half of his eggs and 1.5 sausage links still being on it. "That's great, Peggy. Now, I best get to the hardware store. They've got a sale till noon on plywood, and Lord knows I could use more of that." He headed to his bedroom to get dressed, and begin what he thought was going to be a glorious day, but little did he know that that would be changing just a little later on, when he'd get his mail.
At the back alley, Dale, Boomhauer and Bill were, as Hank would say, 'Jackassing around' by theorizing a supposed 'sasquatch' siting in the Tri-county area. Hank hadn't shown up yet, since he was as of now, purchasing a pile of wood at the local hardware store. Had he been there at this moment, he would've put an immediate halt to such asinine speculation.
"Ooh, what if the beast comes here on Rainy Street! Where, where will we hide?" the often dimwitted Bill Dauterive inquired, while skeptical Boomhauer and the outlandish and peculiar Dale Gribble were contemplating a solution to such a possibility.
"I wouldn't worry just yet, Bill. They say that the Bigfoot is still at large out in the Northern region of Heimlich county. Yet, perhaps we should take precaution for if and when the half man, half grizzly humanoid does make his way over here, we shall take cover under an underground shelter that we shall spend the remainder of the day and all throughout the next week building." Dale lit a cigarette after having declared his proposition, then turned to Boomhauer. "Boomhauer, fetch me your best shovel."
Boomhauer cocked an eyebrow at his close friend's odd plan, but went with it anyways just for the heck of it, and as Dale had stated, "precaution". Just then, Hank arrived back home from the local depot with enough plywood to build a small outhouse.
Dale warned Bill to not inform Hank of the situation or plan, since that would only result in accusations of being a "Dumb ass". Bill agreed and smiled at Hank who was now approaching them with their usual cooler of 'Alamo' beer.
"Ah, Hank! ...How's it goin?" Dale improvised, cheaply covering up what they had just been discussing. Hank shrugged. "Fine, thank you." Hank popped open his beer and took a sip. "I'm lookin' forward to the annual Propane Festival to be held on the 25th."
Dale nodded to praise his statement, while Bill nervously shook next to him. Suddenly, Boomhauer joined the gang with his 4 foot long Ortovox shovel specifically made for heavy duty cases, like this one. Dale and Bill shot the blond bachelor an apprehensive look, while Hank hadn't even noticed anything askew yet.
Dale whispered "Just toss it over my lawn, and we'll discuss this further later on" into Boomhauer's ear, while he nodded in understanding and quickly yet carefully chucked his best tool over the Exterminator's lawn.
"Congrats, Hank. Soo, will you be managing the event again?" Dale asked, in a desperate attempt to keep things natural and away from the subject of the supposed 'loose Bigfoot' that was mere miles away.
"Yup, as always, Dale. I'll be in charge of just about everything." He paused to sip his Alamo, and prepare for the gloat of the day. It was his time to shine. "What an honor it is, to run such an event as this one, to provide and distribute propane and propane accessories for the public to take home and use themselves. I can almost smell the sirloin on our ten by fifteen foot grill that we use for our 'big event'. Dang, am I anticipated."
Silence followed Hank's memoir, until Hank initiated their usual daily tradition. "Yup."
The fellas caught on. "Eeyup."
"Mmhmm."
It was around 3 o'clock when Hank had gotten the chance to grab that day's mail from his box. He brought it back inside into the kitchen and set it all down on the table. There was a stack of envelopes and that month's MAD magazine to go to Bobby. Hank sorted through them, one by one, noticing most were just normal bills and subscriptions to 'Women's Magazines' that he'd leave for Peggy to look over.
The second to last envelope was a tad different, however. It was addressed to him and labeled: Heimlich County Court House, issued to Mr. Hank Hill. Hank sighed a little and torn open the envelope with as much of his usual diligence as possible. He was no fan of 'ripping things open like an animal'.
He had read through the first paragraph, and realized that he was chosen for Jury Duty. He was required to attend a hearing in the Heimlich County Court House on...
Hank's face went pale. His heart felt as if it had stopped beating. He felt paralyzed in traumatization. He let go of the paper that had been previously held firmly in his right hand. He backed away a few steps, brushing up against the stove behind him. He blinked, and forced himself to let the news sink in. He was due in court on the 25th of June, the same day of the Propane Festival.
Once Hank had acknowledged the fact that he would not be attending the Propane Festival, meaning that he would also not be managing the event, also signifying that either Enrique or, God, Joe Jack would be running the event, he yelled "BWAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" at the top of his lungs and began to black out. He collapsed to the floor, just as Peggy had returned home from picking Bobby up from his day camp.