Ch. 1

And so while I'm working on my other Simpson's story, I shall make another, but this will only be a short one. I do not own any of these characters.

"Fire! Fire! Ah! Oo! Ah! Oo!" Homer screamed, running around the kitchen. "Oh no oh no oh no! What do I do!" he asked, now dancing in one place and starting to

bite his nails. He was home alone. Bart and Lisa were at school, and Marge was out grocery shopping. Homer had decided to make his own donut, but it didn't work of

course. He looked around for a fire extinguisher. "Aw crap!" he shouted, not finding one. He turned on the water faucet and started sprinkling the oven fire, trying to out it.

Screaming again he ran to the phone, dialing 911 after some battle with remembering the number, and called the fire department. Two minutes later they arrived, Homer

running out of the house, still screaming.

Annoyed by this, Ned Flanders came out. "What seems to be the trouble neighbor?" he asked, seeing the fire department running inside with a hose.

"Shut up Flanders! It's none of your buisness!"

"Well, sorry neighbor! Just uh, seeing how you're doing..." and he went on his own ways of trimming the hedges.

Homer then saw that the fire had spread from the kitchen to the floor above it. "Oooohhhh!" he cried out. Now angry, and yet bored, he decided to bother Ned. "Hey

Ned, you've got something ugly and gross growing out of your neck!" he commented, trying to steal one of his son's ridicules.

"Oh gee, really?" he asked worridly, dropping the hedge trimmers and feeling his neck.

"Oh, nevermind! It's just you're face!" he shouted, getting in Ned's face and then recoiling. "Ew!"

Chuckling, Ned went back to trimming the hedges.

"What the-where's the yelling? Where's the neighborly hatred? GOD NED!" Homer yelled angerly, but was soon interrupted by seeing the firemen running out of the

house, the fire put out.

"Stupid Flanders," Homer muttered as the fire recruit came back out side, successful. "Woo-hoo!" He cheered. After them leaving, Homer came back inside, the

floor slippery and wet, and the whole kitchen soaked. "Oooohh, why me?" he whined, carefully walking across the kitchen to get to the refridgerator. "Only if doughnuts

weren't so hard to make." He grabbed a beer and crept to the faimly room, sitting down on his favorite couch. "Ah, that's better," he said, opening the can and turning on

the T.V.

Five minutes later, Marge came in and was on her way to the kitchen to put groceries away when she saw it soaked. "HOMER! What happened to the kitchen!"

she yelled, wanting an answer.

"I was trying to make a donut, but it didn't work," Homer said casually.

"A dougnut? What the? Homer, explain," she ordered.

"Well, a few things didn't work out and the oven started on fire. It also reached the room above too," he said.

Shocked, Marge dropped her groceries. "A DOUGHNUT!" she yelled.

Homer, surprised by this, took a pillow, and tried to hide under it. Marge yanked the pillow off and threw it across the room. "Ah!" he yelled, and ran for cover.

Now cross, Marge sat in the sopping wet kitchen, mulling this over. "A doughnut...good lord..." she muttered, drumming her fingers on the table.

Homer crept in the kitchen. "Sorry..." he said. "I didn't mean to..."

Being the woman she was, Marge sighed. "Well, you never were much of a good cook," she said and laughed. Homer laughed to, and they hugged each other.