CHAPTER 1:
WELCOME TO SPRINGFIELD
It was Friday morning as a red Bentley Continental sedan law-abidngly cruised down the highway, heading towards the small town of Springfield. Two men were present in the vehicle. The driver, somewhat of a muscly man sat in a rather relaxed position, with his left arm resting easily on the driver-side door, though not out the window, right arm on his lap, but still in stirring wheel range. The passenger was more on the scrawny side, and had somewhat of a nerdish appearance to him as he donned a anime-themed t-shirt, one from the My Hero Academia franchise to be exact, and rather noticeable eye glasses to improve his sight.
"Today's the big day," the passenger said in a voice that had a sound the driver was all to familiar with. A squeaky, pre-pubescent voice that had a hint of adult male within it. A voice that didn't sound as if it belonged to a man in his early 30's, but sure enough, it did. "You excited, Avery, You're finally moving to Springfield like you always wanted."
"I guess," Avery responded with a voice that was the polar opposite to his scrawny friend's. A deep, manly, but young voice. "It's time for a new chapter in my life. I spent too many years back in that town, and for my job, I felt this change of scenery would be just the thing I need to get re-inspired."
"I wish I were you, man," the nerd said. "I'm getting real tired of Dollar Tree. Yeah, being store manager makes it somewhat better, but dealing with the workload is a pain in the ass sometimes. You got customers always complaining and giving you attitude about shit, and there's a small hand-full that's always lookin' to come up on some free shit."
"Of course there is," Avery said with a chuckle, thinking about how his mother can, at times, be one of those bargaining customers. "Every store has those customers. You know how my mom is. I'm surprised you didn't already know this, Matt. You've been there for what... twelve years."
"Yeah," he replied. "I had that job since I dropped out of high-school in my senior year. I got seniority like a motherfucker."
"Damn," Avery said. "Has it really been that long?" He paused momentarily to allow his mind to reflect on the many years that passed on between high-school and the present and then continued, "but haven't you ever wanted anything better?" The question comes as Avery momentarily diverts his attention from the road to examine the passing vehicles on the highway. Dodges, Fords, Chevis, all general cars belonging to the working class. Sure, he stands out in his Bentley, but he wasn't the only one riding in a luxury vehicle on this highway. He also saw a Cadillac as well as Porsche pass him by, and only one thought came to mind. "Matt, you don't even have a goddamn car. On top of all the crap you deal with at your job, I'm sure walking to work's been getting pretty tiresome."
"I'm lucky enough to have a good mother to drive me to and from work, thank you very much," he rebutted childishly. A momentary silence befell the two, which caused Avery to sigh. "I know what you're getting at, but not everyone's able to get a dream job like you, Avery. Some of us have to play the cards that we're dealt in life and hope it gets better with each move we make."
"Listen, I understand that not everyone can be as fortunate as me, but you can put the work in to be something," he pauses. "Something more than a ninety-nine cent store manager." Silence falls upon the two again, which Avery uses to let his comment sizzle. "I'm not dissing you or anyone who is content with working a blue-collar job. In fact, I think people who are content in those positions should be praised, because not everyone wants to do those jobs, and they need to be done."
Avery, nearing his destination, removes a pack of mint-flavored gum from the right pocket of his black Nike sweat jacket, retrieves a piece, and restores it to his pocket with ease. After placing the gum in his mouth, he decided to go in for the final blow. "Matt," he says softly. "Most people are different from you. Most may have extrinsic factors keeping them in the same position they're in; kids, bills, college, scheduling issues, there can be a number of reasons why they keep a dead-end job like yours."
"What the hell're you trying to say," Matt says confrontationally, his nerdy child-like voice becoming more stern and angry, all while reaching a higher octave.
"Simple," Avery replies, his tone still the smooth, laid-back and relaxed version it was when the conversation started. "People have legitimate reasons to maintain a lower middle-class lifestyle and freely complain about it. In other words, it is out of their control. You, on the other hand, have no reason to be complaining about shit. Yeah, your life and job suck, sure, so get off your lazy ass and change it. You're a thirty-year old man still stuck in your teenage years; living with mommy, working a dead-end ass store job that you had since high school, and binging cartoons and smoking pot on your off time. I don't necessarily call that a formula for life improvement."
Matt remained silent as Avery's zinger hung in his mind. Avery ponders what he said to his friend, but only for a moment. He came to the realization that what he said was indeed called for. It may have been a hard blow, but everything he said needed to be heard, for Matt's sake. Suddenly, his phone began to ring a basic iPhone ringtone, breaking the silence between the two men. He reaches into his pocket to retrieve what some would consider a piece of highly-overpriced technology, but Avery however disagreed, He enjoyed the finer things in life: food, drinks, clothing, technology, you name it. If he wanted it, and if he could afford it, he'd most certainly purchase it.
"Hello," Avery said in a voice not to far from the original. "This is Avery Kelington."
"Yo Avery," a husky man's voice responded from the other end of the high-end smartphone. "My guys and I are beginning to move some of the boxes and furniture into your new home. The guy you had waiting for us said that you just wanted us to move the boxes in: no unpacking and organizing shit, right?"
"That's right... Just move the boxes in and organize the furniture per the instructions that I gave him. I should be there shortly... Probably in another fifteen minutes. My guy's holdin' down the fort pretty well I hope?"
"Oh yeah," the husky-voiced man replied. "He seems to have a good idea of how you want everything."
"Good," Avery said as his eyes look over the road ahead of him, briefly examining the cars in his view. Suddenly, a rush of excitement hit him. He was going to start a new life in a new town. Just the thought of the adventure and endless possibilities that lay ahead of him caused figurative butterflies to dance in his stomach, butterflies of excitement. "Tom, thanks man. I really appreciate you and your guys helping me out."
"Hey man, don't mention it," Tom replied with a coy tone. "We go way back. Shit like this is nothing. Hell, you'd do the same for me. I'm positive of that."
Avery chuckled slightly and said, "Yeah, I know. I'm just letting my thanks be known. Whatever you need, just lemme know."
"Well," Tom said in somewhat of a high-pitched, questioning voice. "The sooner you get here the better. Since we're not charging you anything, you're help would come in handy."
Avery knew Tom was joking. He is also aware that Tom knows that he and his workers will receive payment despite his offer of discounted services, so he says, "You got it!" Ending the call with a smile on his face, Avery Kelington feels as if he's on top of the world. Sure, his friend may not have liked what he said, but it was more than appropriate, and hopefully soon, he will too realize this. Now however, he has more important things in mind. Arriving to his new home, completely settling in, and starting off what he hopes to be an epic adventure.
CHAPTER 1.5:
BLACKOUT
A door slams loudly, causing a now dazed and groggy Bart Simpson to wake from his sleep. Bart let out a quiet yawn as he opened his eyes and surveyed his environment. He looked over to the left, briefly taking in the sight of the outside as he peered through the large bedroom window that was parallel to the bed.
"Lisa's house," he says to himself out loud but in a whisper. "When did I get home?" Bart rubbed his hands across his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he tried to wake up more. "Damn, it couldn't have gotten that bad could it." His eyes travel to the bedroom entrance to the right of his bed. By the way the bolt was positioned, Bart knew it was unlocked. His gaze scanned the room, then down o the bed where he sees that laid practically naked on a still made, but clearly ruffled bed.
Bart's first thought was slight anger. "Of course they did," he muttered. "What if Lisa walked in and saw this crap!" His anger then went to a mood of somewhat disappointment as he started to put the pieces of last night's events together, and he began to realize that his life was in shambles.
Bart Simpson is popularly infamous around the town of Springfield for being the first-and-only, troublemaking son of the Simpson clan. Throughout his childhood and adolescence, Bart Simpson was known to be the town prankster, always wreaking havoc and causing trouble whenever, wherever, and whomever he's around. He was known to his elementary and high-school teachers alike to be the mischievous, underachieving student who seemed to have wanted nothing out of life, and now, sitting in the bed of his sister's small, but habitable two-bedroom apartment, he begins to reflect on his past.
He reminisced on all the times he spent causing mischief; from the simple prank phone calls to Moe's Tavern and to the time his first dog, Santa's Little Helper got loose in Springfield Elementary, and wondered if all those times were worth it. Were all those times goofing off in school and causing mayhem around Springfield worth the hobo, somewhat bum-like life he lived currently. And finally, he remembers his father telling him that he would make it a goal of his to straighten him out from the troublemaker that he was to a supreme court justice.
After his fourth-grade teacher, Edna Krabapple, placed the idea that Bart's life can reach the extreme heights of success or plunder to the deepest-depths of depravity in his father's head, Homer Simpson made it a goal of his to improve the behavior of his son. Unfortunately, his resolve wavered, his parenting methods apparently didn't stick, and this, at least in Bart's eyes, was the reason for why his life is the way it is.
Sitting up slightly in his bed, Bart's eyes glance over his exposed yellow-skinned legs and up to a black thong that covered his genitals. Examining himself more, he notices a white t-shirt that covered his flabby stomach. "Man, I hope she didn't see this," Bart says to himself, trying to remember how he was put in this position.
Last thing he remembers is that he was at a bar, same one he used to prank call as a child ironically, and he was sucking down beers like a vacuum-cleaner designed with the purpose of disposing of alcoholic beverages. He was not alone of course. He had a few high-school friends who were there to cheer him up with support after a long, bad, unprofitable night at the strip joint. However, he is unable to remember how he arrived home. Most importantly, he didn't know who undressed him. It was another blackout. He was sure of it.
Bart Simpson, still dreary-eyed, gingerly stands up, stretches his arms up to the ceiling which causes the joints in his legs and arms to crack, and retrieves a pair of blue jeans. He sighs as he slides them up to his waist, not thinking to remove the only piece of his stripper attire, and recollects the comparison his father told him that his teacher made. Either he'll become Chief Justice of The Supreme Court, or a sleazy male stripper trying to make it through life.
They joked about it, but it happened. The thing that no one in the Simpson family expected to happen happened. Bart Simpson, somehow someway, was a male stripper. While his family and friends were aware of this, they didn't know the full story, and nor was Bart planning to tell them. The sound of the building door crept through Bart's window. Realizing that it only could be he sister, he cleared his eyes, fastened his pants, and prepared himself for what he assumed was going to be a probably endless, mind-numbing rant from his younger sibling.