This fic is rated PG.

Disclaimer: Matt Groening owns the Simpsons.

----

In Dr. Hibbert's office, Homer was seated across from the doctor, who was examining the results of his cholesterol test. "Homer, your cholesterol level is 255," Hibbert informed the overweight man.

"Is that bad?" asked Homer.

"For a hippopotamus, no," replied Hibbert with a chuckle. "Well, maybe borderline. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your lifestyle. Do you eat many fatty foods?"

"Yes," answered Homer, "but I work it off by chasing the boy."

Hibbert shook his head. "Homer, I'm afraid chasing your son around the house isn't enough exercise to make up for your kind of diet."

"Okay," suggested Homer, "I'll start chasing Lisa too. She never does anything wrong. I'll think of an excuse."

"You've greatly increased your risk of heart disease, Homer," said the doctor. "In addition to diet and lifestyle changes, I recommend you take cholesterol-lowering drugs."

"Okay, but I still want to chase Lisa," said Homer. "And Maggie, when she gets older."

Although he didn't take the doctor's advice very seriously, Homer was afraid of the nagging he might receive on his next visit. The next morning he stopped at a pharmacy on his way to the power plant. The Pimply-Faced Boy filled his prescription.

"Sixty capsules of Blimpitor, Mr. Simpson," said the boy in his squeaky voice. "Take two a day on an empty stomach."

"Whose empty stomach?" Homer asked him.

As he drove toward the plant, Homer held up the bottle of Blimpitor capsules and started to read the label. "Warning: May cause drowsiness. Use caution when operating a motor vehicle. Do not read warning label while operating a motor vehicle. D'oh!"

To his horror, a black stretch limousine had suddenly pulled into the street directly in front of him. He slammed on the brakes...

It was his misfortune that the passenger in the limo was none other than C. Montgomery Burns. "Ah, such a lovely day," gushed the old wraith to his lackey/chauffeur, Mr. Smithers. "Anyone who can't enjoy a day like this must be utterly insane, or work for me."

Smithers grinned warmly. "I get all the sunshine I need from your radiant...INCOMING!"

He had no time to react as Homer's station wagon barrelled toward the limo's driver side. The collision reverberated throughout the neighborhood. By the time the smoke cleared, the front end of Homer's car was totaled, as was the midsection of the limo.

"My...my heart...my heart..." croaked Burns, startled by the impact.

While Smithers tended to the old man, Homer jumped out of his car and was horrified to see Burns in the limo. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "I crashed into my boss! Mustn't panic...he probably doesn't remember me...but what if he does? I've got to hide! I wonder if Osama has any room in his cave. No! I should stay here and help!" Conflicted between helping and fleeing, he merely ran in circles and screamed in terror.

Burns' usually cold and clammy body became even colder and clammier in Smithers' hands. The bespectacled man began to weep as he realized the truth of the situation. "He's dead!" he wailed, embracing his boss. "The only man I ever loved is dead!"

Then Burns' eyes opened a crack, and he gasped out an order. "It's only my heart, you ninny. You'll find defibrillator paddles in the trunk."

Smithers hastened to the back of the limo to retrieve the paddles, when the still-panicked Homer hurried to his side. "Is he okay? Is he okay?" queried the frightened fat man.

"Yes," answered Smithers impatiently, "no thanks to your imbecilic driving."

"Hey, if your limo wasn't so gosh darn long, I would've missed it!" retorted Homer.

Smithers only glared. "Well, if you would pull your head out of your..."

As the men argued, Burns felt a strange chill sweep over him, and his body began to quiver. "Breathing...labored..." he mumbled. "Vision...getting...foggy..."

Within seconds he became completely stiff, and a winged angel of himself rose up from his body and floated into the sky. "So it turns out you can bribe God after all," gloated the angelic Burns. "Eeeexcellent."

Below him, Homer and Smithers continued their heated exchange. "Oh, yeah?" bellowed Homer. "Well, your mother sleeps with a night light!"

"Why, you..." Smithers roared. "Take that back or I'll...oh, no! Monty!"

Grabbing the defibrillator paddles from the trunk, he hurried to the passenger side of the limo and attempted vainly to reactivate Burns' heart. Homer came up behind him. "Is he dead?" he asked innocently.

"If you hadn't insulted my mother's honor, I could have gotten to him in time!" snarled the teary-eyed Smithers.

"Oh, it's my fault!" Homer snapped sarcastically. "It's my fault!"

At that moment Chief Wiggum appeared behind Homer, holding a pen and a pad of paper. "What was that you said?" he inquired.

"I said, it's my fault!" repeated Homer as he turned. "D'oh!" he added when he recognized Chief Wiggum.

A few days passed, and Homer was dragged to court for his alleged complicity in the death of millionaire Montgomery Burns. Homer's family waited breathlessly for the sentence to be passed, while Homer and Smithers stood at the head of the courtroom next to Homer's attorney, Lionel Hutz. Judge Constance Harm presided.

"This court hereby finds Homer Simpson at fault," announced Judge Harm with a bang of her gavel, "and orders him to pay damages in the amount of one million dollars to the estate of Charles Montgomery Burns."

"One million dollars?" Homer whined despondently. "Where will I get that kind of money?"

"You don't have to," Hutz told him. "You can make other arrangements with Burns' estate. It's all explained in this brochure." He then handed Homer a brochure with the title, "Are You Stuck in a Dead End Job? Then You Have Nothing to Lose with a Career in Indentured Servitude."

Hutz checks his watch. "Oh my goodness, I'm almost late for my three o'clock!" he exclaimed, and exited quickly.

Things looked bleak for the Simpson family as they gathered and commiserated in the courtroom. "I don't know how you'll get us out of this one, Marge," said Homer sadly.

Marge gave him a fond kiss. "Don't worry, dear. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"You realize that the damages will have to be paid by our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren," Lisa remarked to Bart.

"Whoa, Lis, you lost me at children," was Bart's reply.

"We could run away," Lisa suggested. "Change our names. Make new lives for ourselves. With my brains and your uncanny ability to weasel out of deserved punishment, we could go a long way."

"Yeah," Bart mused. "We could go all the way to Antarctica, and maybe live with the Eskimos."

A few more days passed, and the Simpsons were discussing their situation around the dinner table. Lisa held a sheet with figures on it.

"According to my calculations," she announced, "if Dad quits his job at the plant and takes a job that pays twice as much, and if Bart and I become fast-food professionals instead of going to college, and if Mom and Dad don't have any more children, and if Bart and Maggie and I don't have children at all, and if Mom gets a job as a fashion model, then between the five of us, we should be able to pay off the damages in about fifty years."

"Things aren't as bleak as you picture them, Lisa," was Marge's response.

Bart smirked at his father. "Hey, Homer, my friends at school all think you killed Burns on purpose."

"I did not!" Homer insisted.

"C'mon, Homer," Bart goaded him, "you can tell me the truth. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I would have done it."

Marge interrupted Bart's idle talk. "Why don't you kids go play in your rooms while your father and I talk about how to make ends meet?"

"Okay, Mom," replied Bart and Lisa.

They left the kitchen, while Maggie remained behind and crawled about on the floor. When Bart and Lisa had made it halfway to the staircase, Bart had an idea. "Let's listen in on them," he whispered.

"No, that would be rude," Lisa whispered back.

"Fine," snapped Bart, and he hid by the doorway leading into the kitchen.

"Oh, Bart," Lisa grumbled as she climbed the stairs to her room.

As Bart eavesdropped, Marge offered to write some new ideas on the whiteboard. Picking up a black marking pen, she accidentally dropped it while pulling off the cap. Before she could pick it up, Maggie grabbed it and wrapped her fingers tightly around it.

"Well?" said Homer expectantly.

"Wait," muttered Marge as she struggled to pull the marking pen from Maggie's grip. "I just need to...tear Maggie away...from this...black marker." She finally took the pen away from Maggie, who started to cry.

Bart's eyes bulged in horror. He rocketed up the stairway into Lisa's room, where his sister was sitting on her bed and playing her sax. "Bart, what is it?" she asked when she saw his astonished expression.

"Lisa," Bart blurted out, "Mom and Homer are gonna sell Maggie on the black market!"

TBC