Author's Note: There were some major problems with the formatting of this story; hopefully, I managed to fix them all! Please review!
Who Stole the Labor Dabor?
"Man, oh man! I don't know what I'm gonna do!" cried Bubs, wringing his hands as he paced around and around his concession stand. Having volunteered to be the host with the most for this year's Labor Day barbeque, he was shaping up to be the host with the least—at best.
Homestar and Pom Pom were strolling along on that fine, warm day, as good a Labor Day could be in Free Country, USA. As they approached the counter of Bubs' stand, Bubs had just completed another frenzied lap around the stand and crashed into them.
"Why thank you," rambled a dazed Homestar, "for that delicious sample of Bwoccoli Wabe-"
Pom Pom, bouncing back easily, shook Homestar to his senses—what little of them he would have normally, that is.
"Oh, sorry Homestar, Pom Pom—it's just that I'm in a nasty fix today!" Bubs cried. "Come around the back and see!"
Stepping through the back door of the brick stand, Homestar noticed something unusual; only a can of soybeans remained, amid small puddles of Melonade, on the cold, cement floor in the cavernous, empty stand. "Oh wow! Bubs—you like beans?"
"I'm gonna forget you just said that," said Bubs, pacing in frustration around the barren store. "What am I gonna do? People can't just go around, robbing other good folk, especially when they're hosting—"
"Whoa, Bubs, you got wobbed?" Magically, Homestar whipped out a flashlight and billy club. "This calls for police wowk by no one else than Homestaw Wunnew!" He turned to face his friend. "So, Pom Pom, got any ideas?"
Pom Pom sighed a bubbled sigh. "Bubble bubble bubble bubble, bubble-bubble?"
A light bulb went on over Homestar's head—literally, of course, because at that moment Bubs turned on the single bulb that dangled from the ceiling. "Wow, Pom Pom, you're wight! We've got to start intewwogating—but who?"
"Hmmm," Bubs wondered. Then he snapped his fingers. "I'll bet Strong Bad's still sore for missing last year's BBQ!"
"Wight!" Homestar exclaimed. "He also twied to steal your fundwaiser baws a few weeks ago. On to intewwogate—Stwong Bad!" He spun around, intending to march out the door, but simply smacked his head against the brick wall.
Pom Pom sighed another bubbled sigh.
Strong Bad seated himself on his customary stool and opened the weekly e-mail. "Dear Strong Bad, do you take special Glove-typing lessons—dugga,dugga,dugga,dugga DELETED!" He moved on to the next e-mail, which read, "Dear Strong-Bad, is it true that you stole Bubs' food supply—"
"Bye, Strong Bad. I'm off to the demonstration," said Strong Sad, revealed to be standing to the right of Strong Bad.
"Ah!" Strong Bad cried, thrown off by Strong Sad's sudden presence. "Hey wiener, how long has your pathetic carcass been standing there?"
"Well," began Strong Sad, whose round body was painted like the Earth, "I'd say about twenty minutes or so. But, like I was saying, I'm going to leave, so," he said, peering at the e-mail, "is it true that you stole—"
Strong Bad just glared at him. "Well, get lost! I liked you a lot better when you weren't here."
"OK, OK, I was leaving anyway. Sheesh," Strong Sad said, shuffling out of the room.
Strong Bad shook his head. "Man, getting rid of the loser took a lot out of me. Time for a break!"
Strong Bad slicked back his hair with his gloved hand, then returned to answering his weekly telegraph. "The Sneak is a most valued associate against that Homestar Runner—"
"Hey, Strong Mad, what's on?" Strong Bad asked as he entered the living room. The TV glowed black and white with an old-time cartoon.
"Aaaah, oooold Strong Baaaaad," replied Strong Mad.
Strong Bad flopped onto the couch beside his brother. "Classic, man."
Just then, they heard a loud, dull knock from the front door. Boom, boom. "Let me in!" Boom, boom, boom.
"Strong Sad, get the door!" Strong Bad heard no response from the upstairs bedroom. "Hey, Gron Sad, get the freaking door!" Another series of booms rocked the living room. "Ugh, man. Let me take a wild guess what moron is knocking," Strong Bad groaned.
Just at that moment, the door opened and Homestar Runner entered the living room—uninvited as usual, Bubs and Pom Pom in tow.
"Confess if you value your fweedom!" Homestar cried, nudging Strong Bad with his billy club.
"Confess to what, doofus?" Strong Bad knocked the billy club out of Homestar's hand and began to turn back toward the television, but Bubs stood in between, blocking his view.
"You know exactly what you've done, going on and ruining Labor Day like that—"
"Whoa, man, it's Labor Day again?" Strong Bad asked, surprised. Then he rose from the battered couch and casually strolled toward the door. "Gotta take advantage of the Labor Dabor and hang out by the stick—"
"Oh, no you don't!" Bubs cried. "You'd better give me back all the Labor Day food you swiped, first!"
"Labor Day food? I have stolen many choice items in my career, like the Poopsmith and Trivia Time," he said, ignoring Pom Pom's irritated bubbles about the dog, "but never have I stolen Labor Day provisions."
"Oh yeah," Homestar challenged, picking up his fallen—and broken—billy club, "if you didn't steal the Labow Day food, who did? Hmmm?" Homestar whipped out his flashlight and clicked it on and off in Strong Bad's face.
Strong Bad sighed. Then, he hauled off and punched Homestar Runner clear across the room. "If you crapfaces want to find stolen food, just ask the freaking King of Town!" He walked out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Bubs paused in thought. "You know, I think Strong Bad actually has a point!" Bubs said. "I'd bet anything the King of Town wouldn't flinch from stealing all the food in Free Country!"
Pom Pom bubbled in agreement.
"Let's go, then!" Bubs and Pom Pom lifted Homestar to his shaky feet, then walked off, leaving Strong Mad alone.
Strong Mad, still seated on the couch, blinked a few times. "I WANT BBQ!"
The trio ambled along the way to the King of Town's castle in the midday sun, with Homestar Runner and Pom Pom placidly following Bubs, who resumed wringing his hands—if one could call them hands—and making a few unfriendly plans for the King. As they neared the castle, Homestar reached into air and produced a small, metal box with three switches.
"Hey guys, since we'we cwuising wight now, I think I'll bust out my hydwaulics!"
Bubs paused and turned. "Say what?"
"I twicked out my pwopellew cap! Hewe, let me show you!" Homestar began to flip the switches in various combinations and send his cap cruising around his head.
Bubs just squinted and scratched his head. "Um, those hydraulics are tight, Homestar, but—"
Suddenly, Pom Pom started; he began to bounce rapidly toward an object on the ground.
"What is it, Pom Pom?" Homestar asked. The pair followed Pom Pom to the object, only to discover the remains of—a chicken wing!
"How in the name of chickeny goodness did this get here?" Bubs asked, gently picking up the wing and sniffing it. "Hmmm, just as I thought," he added, after another sniff. "This here's not any ol' chicken wing: it's barbeque!"
"Hey! Hewe's a sauce twail!" Homestar Runner cried. He took a magnifying glass to inspect the trail of barbeque sauce, following it while Pom Pom and Bubs followed him. The trail led where they guessed it would—directly to the King of Town's castle.
Bubs began to notice remnants of cake, mustard, and other, less desirable foodstuffs alongside the sauce trail. Eventually, Bubs came to a screeching halt; there was the King of Town, seated at a golden spray- painted picnic table, stuffing his face. "Oooh! I'm going to get you, eh, Steve—I mean, the King of Town!" Bubs shouted.
The pasty-faced King of Town, startled at the sudden, hostile company, shrank into his seat. "But I didn't do nothing!"
"Oh down't you play innocent awound me, Kingy! We caught you wed-handed!" It was true; The King of Town's hands were covered in red, sticky barbeque sauce.
"Yeah, Mr. So-Called King of Town," Bubs added, coming threateningly close to the old man. "So where'd you get all this food? You been paying any unauthorized visits to the back of my stand?" Bubs loomed imposingly over the King of Town, who merely cowered and trembled in response.
"Doo hoo hoo!" the King cried, almost giggling in fright. "I've never paid any unauthorized visits since you threatened me with a restraining order! Doo hoo hoo!"
Pom Pom glanced out of the corner of his eye and spotted something disturbing. "Bubble bubble, bubble bubble bubble bubble-bubble bubble bubble, bubble?"
"Wow, King of Town," Homestar said, picking up the object in question. "You dwink this stuff?" It was a can, from a forty-can case, of Butter-da.
"Well, they tell me not to, but I still drinks it!" The King flashed a gooey smile. The others tried not to retch. Seeing his chance to speak, the King continued, "And I didn't steal any food, if that's what you mean, since I've been ordering from the other country to get ready for today's feast!"
Pom Pom confirmed that the case of Butter-da came from the other country; Bubs, however, was not satisfied.
"Alright then, King! If that's the case, why are you 'feasting' now, when I actually invited you to the BBQ—despite the opposition of certain people I won't mention?"
Homestar Runner suddenly had a coughing fit. "Hack, cough-cough—Mawzipan—cough cough."
The King flushed deep red. "Well, this is actually my mid-day appetizer!"
The others stared, silent, at the little old man seated beneath twin mounds of food.
They all turned, however, to see a slow-moving ball of yellow fur—or so it seemed, rubbing its beady eyes as it shuffled along the grass.
"The Cheat?" Homestar asked. "Whewe did you come fwom?"
The Cheat just narrowed his tired eyes at his enemy. "Meh! Meh mehmeh mehmeh!"
"Oh, sowwy the Cheat," Homestar said. "We didn't mean to wake you up."
"Man, you sleep in, the Cheat—wait a minute!" Bubs yelled, turning back toward the King. "The Cheat sleeps in your grill! How did you get barbeque chicken?"
"Meh meh mehmehmeh," the Cheat explained. "Meh meh, mehemeh meh, meh mehmeh."
"Oh wow," Homestar gasped. "You two switched places last night? Hey, King, youw almost cwaziew than Pom Pom!" After Pom Pom bubbled a retort, he added, "No, man! Youw still the cwaziest!"
Bubs blushed as red as the King. "Um, sorry, man. No hard feelings?"
"None at all, my loyal subject!" the King of Town proclaimed proudly. "Um," he whispered, "am I still welcome at the festivities?"
"Sure, King, if we ever find who stole my food!"
"Then be sure to pass these on to Marzipan, with my apologies." Stealthily, the King of Town passed a long string of candy corn lights to Bubs. Despite the fact he had stolen them, he gave them over to Bubs with great difficulty; while Homestar and the rest were still distracted, he almost jerked them out of Bubs' hands.
"Bye, the Cheat. Tell Stwong Bad to come to the bawbeque this time!" Homestar called as the Cheat departed. He turned around and noticed the candy corn lights. "Whoa, Bubs, whewe'd you get those? Mawzipan's been looking fow those since last Halloween!"
"Uh, they, uh, just fell into my hands, I guess," Bubs said, eyes shifting toward the King of Town.
"Gweat!" Homestar whisked the lights away from Bubs' hands. "Let's give them back to Mawzipan! Bye, King of Town!" Homestar cried, running away for no reason in particular, except maybe to get away from the disgusting sight of splattered food. Pom Pom casually bounced after him.
Bubs ran after them both with breakneck speed. "Wait! We still haven't found the food! The BBQ's only gonna be in a few hours—if it happens at all!"
After being left alone, the King of Town, glad to have escaped heart failure despite the combined tension and high cholesterol level, treated himself to a vat of Cocoa Butter.
Homestar Runner, reaching Marzipan's house, stopped suddenly; unfortunately, he stopped so suddenly that Bubs crashed right into him. Pom Pom, however, just lazily bounced out of the way.
Scrambling to his feet, Bubs quickly caught his breath and spoke. "Man, Homestar! I was just trying to tell . . ." Bubs said, his voice trailing off. He was mesmerized by the sight of what appeared to be a small mountain, about fifteen feet high, right in front of Marzipan's vegetable garden.
It was a stockpile of food.
In front of the monstrous stockpile—pickle jars, hamburger patties and hot dogs, hamburger and hot dog buns, cases of various colas, an assortment of snacks, and much more—marched Marzipan, Strong Sad, Homsar, and Coach Z. They all carried signs bearing the messages, "Waste Not, Want Not," "Be Kind to Your Vegetables," "Broccoli are People, Too," and "Say No to Vegetable Discrimination."
Marzipan, spotting Bubs, began to chant, "Hey hey, ho ho, veggieism has got to go!" The others quickly joined in, with variations from Coach Z ("vayggerasm has got to go!") and Homsar ("I was raised by a cup of coffee!").
Before long, Homestar joined in, chanting, "Witches' Bwew—"
Bubs had had enough. "What you talking about, Marzipan? And what have you done with my food?"
"Bubble bubble bubble bubble, bubble."
"I know it's a demonstration, Pom Pom! What on earth are they demonstrating, that's what I'd like to know!"
Homestar quickly stepped in between Pom Pom and Bubs. "He wasn't twying to step to you, Pom Pom. He's had a bad day."
Marzipan finally silenced the others—well, except Homsar—and approached Bubs, head held high and nose in the air. "So, are you ready to negotiate terms, or what?"
Bubs blinked. "Negotiate?"
Marzipan lifted her sign, the one that read, "Say No to Vegetable Discrimination," and shoved it in Bubs' face. "Negotiate for the use of veggie burgers in today's Labor Day barbeque. Homestar Jr. is very upset that you refused to have veggie burgers as part of this year's menu."
Now it was Homestar Runner's turn to blink in surprise. "Um, Mawzipan, you don't still have that sandwich I gave you last yeaw, do you?"
"Of course I do! And it's Homestar Jr., if you don't mind. He has a name, and you should use it. By the way, Homestar," she added, taking on a look of motherly joy, "he began to walk just a few weeks ago. Isn't that precious?"
The three cringed in disgust and horror.
"Um, excuse me," Homestar said, taking a few steps back, "but I think I need to find someplace to lose my lunch!"
Marzipan glared at him. "I'm breaking up with you." Turning back to Bubs, she said, "So, unless you are willing to treat vegetables with true dignity, I have no choice but to demonstrate." She turned abruptly and marched back into her place before the stockpile.
It was at this time that Bubs' brain registered the presence of Coach Z. "What? What are you doing here?" Bubs cried angrily, walking up to him.
"Well, I was just sneaking around Marzipan's—I mean," he said, realizing Homestar was there, "um, I was just minding my own business when Marzipan handed me a sign and told me to march!" Glancing around, he added, "Gotta get back to chanting! Hey hey, ho ho, vayggerasm has got to go!"
Bubs shuffled away, dejected. He sat on the ground, only a few yards away from his unreachable goal. "What am I supposed to do, guys? There's no way I could prepare veggie burgers in time for the barbeque!" Then, Bubs glanced at Homestar and realized he still had the candy corn lights. "Wait a minute! I've got an idea!"
He whispered his plan to Pom Pom and Homestar Runner. "Homestar, I'm gonna need you to run like you've never run before! Just remember to give the signal."
"Awwi—I mean, you can twust me!" With that, Homestar strolled, whistling, toward the fence that enclosed Marzipan's garden; he kept walking until he passed the stolen stockpile. Then, he just stood, whistling, until Marzipan finally became aware of his presence.
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing over there?"
"Um, I uh," Homestar said, fumbling for words, "just wanted to say that youw gawden is awwight!"
Confused, and with obscured hearing because of the loud chanting, Marzipan marched closer to Homestar. "What did you say?"
Not expecting this, Homestar stepped backward, falling right into the stockpile—and was promptly covered with bags of Fluffy Puff Marshmallows. "Awwight!" Homestar cried in a muffled voice.
The fellow protesters spun toward the intruder.
"It's an ambush!" shrieked Coach Z.
"Oh, gee," sighed Strong Sad.
"We've been polka-dotted!" cried Homsar.
Homestar stumbled to his feet. "Awwight! Awwight! Awwight!"
Finally hearing the signal, Bubs and Pom Pom tossed one end of the candy corn light string to Homestar Runner, who then took the string and ran. The others chased him as he ran, around and around the stockpile, until the coiled string ended.
"PULL!" cried Bubs. And they pulled.
The stockpile, like a thundering beast howling in defeat, tipped, tottered, and fell. Buns, sodas, beans, and other assorted goods spilled into Marzipan's garden, onto the walkway, and all over the yard.
As the dust cleared, the protesters mourned their defeat; Marzipan mourned her yard, especially the crushed vegetables of her garden. Finally, Strong Sad appeared—from underneath the pile of Fluffy Puff Marshmallows—and raised a white flag, crying, "Truce! Truce!"
"Alright, I gratefully accept a truce," said Bubs, "as long as I can reclaim the food you stole and finally prepare us a BBQ!" Almost everyone cheered.
The only one not cheering was Marzipan who, crushed in spirits, emerged from her vegetable garden with a squashed tomato. From somewhere in the distance, a mournful trumpet blew Taps, and all the gathered bowed their heads. Homestar even removed his propeller cap out of respect for the deceased.
"Oh, man, Marzipan," Bubs sighed. "Why don't you go on and get yourself some veggie burgers. I don't have time to make 'em for everyone, but you can feel free to make some for yourself, if you want to. I wasn't trying to be discriminating, or nothing. Still," he added, referring to the impromptu procession, "this is getting a little strange, don't you think?"
Just then, Strong Bad came walking along. "Hey, Bubs, Pom Pom, Doofus, Hippie, Crapface, Gron Sad, and Wierdo."
Strong Sad lifted his head. "He actually said my name second-to-last this time."
"What the crap happened here?" Strong Bad picked up a Cold One that had rolled across the lawn.
"We're about to have ourselves a BBQ, Strong Bad! We got a bit of a mess, though." Bubs said, gathering some packages of hot dogs and hamburger patties into his arms.
"OK, I'll come back later—losers," Strong Bad added under his breath.
An hour later, the gang settled down to a nice Labor Day barbeque on what proved to be a hot, sunny afternoon. Bubs feasted on meaty hamburgers, and Marzipan, seated next to him at the picnic table, dived into her veggie burgers. Homestar and the Cheat performed a reasonably decent rendition of "Everybody Knows It," and the King of Town lay in the shade, recovering from his binge. Even the Poopsmith was having a good, clean time—meaning he managed to reek a little less on this laborless day. As far as nearly all the citizens of Free Country, USA were concerned, life was good.
Strong Bad, unfortunately, had resumed checking his e-mail. "Dear Strong-Bad, is it true that you stole Bubs' food supply for the Labor Day barbeque—What?" Strong Bad growled. "First, Frank-J., have you ever seen a hyphen in my name? No! Second, how would you feel if I asked you if you stole your mother's lifetime supply of hairnets or something? No, I didn't steal Bubs' Labor Day food supply; actually, I think the guy is beginning to lose his grip on reality, or Marzipan is, or something."
He continued on the next page. "Man, it's like I've been trying to tell everyone today: If you want to look for stolen food, ask the freaking King of Town!"
Strong Bad wasn't far off the mark: from his spot in the shade, the King just managed to steal back Marzipan's candy corn lights.