"Stan, look at yourself. You've lost your mind," said a frustrated and bewildered Bullock with his arms folded.
"I'm just trying to find myself!" said Stan, picking up packages of documents and sorting through them.
"You'd never fit in that box!" said Bullock.
"I know but it looks so comfortable" said Stan.
"Face it Stan, you've lost it ever since you went on that experimental focus pill" said Bullock.
"Focusing," said Stan, darting his head back and forth like an intense praying mantis while staring at a Sunny Delight bottle.
"Stan, until you can get yourself back together I am officially relieving you of all your duties" said Bullock.
"I just need to spend more time with my daughter playing Israel and Palestine with her" said Stan.
"No, you need to get it together" said Bullock.
"They're gonna get along this time!" protested Stan.
"Ahem. I think you need to get off of this pill and look for a hobby or a spiritual re-emergence" said Bullock.
"What am I supposed to do? Open a stamp collection agency? Internalize my outer soul? I'm having trouble following
you, B Man!" said Stan. Bullock shoved Stan out the door of his office and locked it.
"Now for the Daytona 500!" said Bullock, turning on the television and lighting up a cigarrette.
Stan returned home:
"Root beer! Haylee tell me there's still root beer in this fridge it's my only hope for survival" said Stan.
"Yeah, there's root beer, Daddy" said Haylee.
"What's wrong with Stan?" asked Francine.
"Bullock told me he's on some new focus pill and ever since then his focus has been kind of misplaced on the
wrong things" said Haylee.
"Yes, yes, and root beer is the only cure!" said Stan, guzzling Barq's and Virgil's until he could take no more and slouched
down against the fridge slowly to the floor like a defeated partridge.
"He looks kinda-kinda-kinda-kinda!" concluded Francine. Haylee nodded in agreement. Then Roger entered the
room.
"Oh my guawwd, Stanuel speak to me!" said Roger, slapping Stan on the face several times. Stan finally woke up, and
stood up raising his arms in the air.
"YES. YES. I am cured!" said Stan.
"YEAH! He's cured!" said Francine.
"Just call Mr. Root Beer the curator of the Stan museum cuz Stan is CURED!" said Roger.
"Woo! Call me a curator too!" said Francine.
"Me three!" said Haylee.
"Hey, wha-wha-what are we doing? Why are we jumping up and down?" asked Roger.
"Without drinking ROOT BEER!" shouted Francine, taking the bottle and guzzling it.
"YAY! Root Beer!" said Roger, guzzling down a Bud light. "Okay...okay...THAT one...was not root beer" he confessed.
Later...
"Roger, I barely remember anything but Bullock told me I'm fired for a week or something unless I can prove myself
worthy" said Stan, entering Roger's attic.
"Uhh-that doesn't really sound like something he'd say. Have you ever considered a hobby?" asked Roger.
"I've done a lot of hobbies. Hobbies were my life. They were always distracting but never really solved
anything" explained Stan.
"Stan, sometimes hobbies are exactly what we need to solve everything. And they can be very productive!
BASEBALL!" said Roger, putting on a baseball cap and wielding a bat and hitting a ball that was thrown to him by
Francine from a distance.
"I already tried that once," said Stan.
"Football?" asked Roger.
"Uhh-he already perfected it" said Stan, pointing to a picture of Patrick Mahomes on Roger's wall.
"True. Okay well get ready to know my deepest darkest secret" said Roger.
"What? Please tell me you didn't clone my feet" said Stan.
"Huh? No-no-no that was last month. This-yes this-is the deepest darkest secret of Roger Smith" said Roger,
opening up a closet drawer with a large array of stamps falling out.
"Roger that's a lot of stamps!" said Stan.
"It's a stampede of stamps, isn't it?" said Roger, looking proud.
"This can't really be your darkest secret" said Stan.
"Yep. It is. Meet Phil Lately-Stamp Collector extraordinaire. He's known for having a stamp with every
single person who claimed to have invented the hamburger" said Roger.
"Who really invented it?" asked Stan.
"Well I've compiled a list of all the people I think were lying and all the people I think were telling the truth.
It gets longer every day-like-you have no idea how long this list is" said Roger.
"I've heard enough," said Stan.
"So what do you think about the whole stamp collection thing? Every year the Langley Post Office issues
new commemorative stamps based on historical events. The ideas on what to use in this district are brought
to them by brilliant minds eager to get their stamp on and go for it!" said Roger.
"Roger we could make millions" suggested Stan.
"I'm trying to cut down on beef-ranchers have been complaining and I'm so fat" said Roger.
"No, no, that's not what I mean. Roger, get me the Yellow Pages" said Stan.
"Stan, today we use the Green Pages" said Roger.
"What? No Purple Pages?" asked Stan.
"Nope. Just green!" said Roger, pulling out a green phonebook.
Later that day...
"Yes-is this Langley Big Stamp Ideas HQ? My pet orangutan and I have some great ideas
for stamps and I'd like to know if we could drop in? I can come but I have to leave the orangutan at
home? Okay I'll just come myself!" said Stan. But then he saw Roger with an angry expression.
"Like hell you will!" said Roger, with his eyelids half closed, arms folded in a discontent fashion.
"Okay, actually I'll be bringing a friend. Dr. Phil!" said Stan.
"No, Phil Lately!" corrected Roger.
"Oh, did I say Dr. Phil? I thought for sure no one would buy that I was hanging with someone named Phil Lately"
explained Stan.
At the Big Stamp HQ:
The Big Stamp HQ was a rather small building with an all-blue brick interior and a small cashier like desk with an
office in back.
"I have an idea for a stamp that'll leave you stumped with my splendiferous spontaneity"
said Stan.
"Yeah, what is it? My name is Phil by the way" said the man.
"Mine is too. Small world, beeyitch!" said Roger.
"You're gonna be completely enveloped in our creative stampodium!" said Roger.
"Here are my ideas!" said Stan, dropping a big tray of stamps designed by Roger on request of Stan.
They showed the following stamps:
A stamp with a Brixham fishing trawler with Roger's face on the front with text saying:
Roger of Deep Sea Fisheries. Bitch!
A stamp with a hamburger with angel wings reading:
God Invented the Hamburger. (C) Sometime long ago. We won't say.
A stamp with George Washington eating a hamburger.
God Gave America the Hamburger. (C)
Another stamp showed Roger standing by a STOP sign with a smug grin.
"South Dakota. We're on it. Weed. It's better! And can be served at dinner! TONIGHT"
"These are...creative!" said Phil.
"Yeah, if you decide to Chum Bucket these I'll just design more and more and torment you
in your dreams...so...yeah, better issue these suckers" said Roger. He gave the man behind the desk
a telepathic message by staring.
It read:
ISSUE OUR STAMPS, BITCH.
The offers were accepted and given to higher authority. People began receiving the stamps on their mail packages
and envelopes. Stan was given an offer to be promoted to boss of the entire building but said he wanted to create
one more stamp based on his favorite gas station-Kathryn's.
"Kathryn's Gas Station? What's gonna be on the stamp?" asked Roger.
"Now you're cooking with class-Katheryn's is more than just gas!" said Stan.
"What is Katheryn's gas station all about anyway?" asked Roger.
"Glad you asked, let me explain in story mode!" said Stan.
"It all started when I was driving my gorgeous 2020 Kia Telluride through Interstate 35 in Laredo Texas. I was on a
super secret mission with my favorite briefcase. I debriefed my briefcase to help me on my mission by opening it up
and pulling out a hamburger and eating it. It was a delicious hamburger. I had to stop for gas before meeting with the
man I was to recruit to create a beautiful computer program for the CIA. That's Central Intelligence Agency. That's what
it stands for. Anyway, I had to fill up my tanker and was heading for a 7-11 but stumbled upon an unusual sign!" said
Stan.
"Woah, woah, you lost me at the briefcase. What did the sign say?" asked Roger.
"How could you have been lost at the briefcase if you're asking about the sign?" asked Stan.
"Eh!" grunted Roger.
The sign read:
Katheryn's Gas Station (OR Mosley's Gas Station, whichever you like better)
"Back to my story-I entered the station to buy a Fig Newton after the other aspect of the story that was nothing more
than filler. I couldn't help but notice how fancy Katheryn's looked for a gas station. Built with crimson red Veneer
brickery drenched in a delightfully durable finishing I couldn't help but be awe-struck at its interior, especially the awkwardly awesome 1802 lamps constructed by none other than Humphry Davey-the real inventor of the lightbulb. A man who looked like Nikola Tesla was seated at his post with a rather large electric box and observing some rather
interesting licorice sticks, or were they actual wires? Not sure. I felt like Tesla had transported me here in his time machine" explained Stan.
"Cool, go on go on" said Roger, eating licorice.
"I was just about to order food when a beautiful short 5 foot 5 ghost-ish woman in a Victorian dress approached me and literally pulled what I wanted right out of my mind!" said Stan.
"Howdy Stan, I'm Little Miss Sure Shot, also known as Annie Oakley!" said the woman.
"Okay I'm ready to tell you what I want to order!" replied Stan.
"Aw shucks fellah, I already know. My mind's eye is as sharp as my shooting, I'll get ya what you want, no worries dear it's a sure shot!" said Annie, winking at Stan.
She served me up some pre-colonial gourmet herring and buffalo with a side dish of
Post-Colonial Rocky Mountain Oysters and perfect old fashioned cornbread just like Mother used to manufacture and churn out like Furbies on an assembly line! Everything was perfect including the Strawberry Daiquiri that contained the
best of both worlds-alcoholic and non-alcoholic in one!" said Stan.
"How is that possible? And what's good about non-alcoholic daiquiris anyway?" asked Roger.
"Trust me, this place was Heaven. The woman introduced herself as Annie Oakley, I wasn't sure if it was really
her or if she was just calling herself that or if it was really her. But when I saw her pull out a rifle to kill the malfunctioning lights that's when I knew it was that powerful little sharp shooter of antiquity, Annie Oakley herself.
As soon as she killed the lights she immediately apologized and told Tesla to fix the problems with the electricity, which
he did. The whole situation was so strange and adorable that I wanted to stay forever and leave like the wind at the same time. Little Annie approached me, put her arms around my waist and told me I'd be just fine here. This was her way of telling me she was a ghost. I think. You don't say no to Annie Oakely or any pistol packin' mama without a bullet in your head so instead of telling her about Francine I just turned on the radio and asked for a fancy chocolate cigar. That's when she told me she was cold and wanted to borrow my sweater. So I let her do so. I then lit up my cigar and listened
to the very first baseball game ever played. It was between the Knickerbockers and the New York Nine. The by-laws
committee was made up of William R. Wheaton and William H. Tucker who invented the first rules of baseball that sadly
prevented fistfights and kickboxing during the game! I couldn't believe it! This was the most wonderful all American gas station I had ever been to. But I had to leave when I felt myself falling for Miss Oakely! After I left and drove away my
mission felt complete. And I almost got fired that day!" explained Stan.
"Somehow I think this story was concocted" said Roger.
"No, no it was totally real. I still have the sweater, it got hit by a lot of cars though. And the fact that I-Stan Smith-the greatest CIA agent who ever lived visited Kathryn's is testament to the historical authenticity of the event!" said Stan.
"Oh okay we'll draw it. But I get to be Little Miss Sharpshooter!" said Roger.
"Deal!" said Stan, shaking Roger's little gray alien hand.
Later...
"I just looked on Google Earth. Kathryn's Gas Station does not exist anywhere on I-35 in the entire United States of America" said the man at Big Stamp Ideas.
"Hey, the guy's in the CIA. Smith. Stan Smith. He makes Our Man Flint look like a nobody" said Roger.
"Who's Flint?" asked Phil.
"Forget about it, just put this stamp into circulation" said Stan, showing his badge.
"Oh, alright, I'll tell the superiors about it and they'll put it into circulation" said Phil.
"Good, tell them it's an extremely important project from the CIA. Tell them my story Roger" said Stan,
pointing to a book on the floor.
"The blue morning dew shined beautifully on the illustrious and brobdingnagian clearing as the lateritious leaves plunged into the refined crystal clear
and opaque waters of the Fairy Forest, as the baroque sounds of a flute band could be faintly heard in the distance. The camaraderie of the waters and small
patch of round grass and its surrounding squirrel toiletry put the beautiful golden haired dillitante fairy angel Gwendeleh at ease as she showered under the lurid peaceful waterfall!" read Roger.
"That's from a different book!" said Stan.
"Okay okay, so Stan met Annie Oakley at this gas station and it's a historical uniquely American event and I strongly urge you to get these stamps into circulation or I'll torment your dreams!" said Roger.
"Do yo thang" commanded Stan. Roger did his thang telepathically.
"ISSUE MY STAMPS. BITCH"
With that Roger and Stan became heads of their own stamp collection agency. Everyone loved the story
of Kathryn's and the gas pump with Little Miss Sharpshooter standing next to it. Even if it was just Roger in
a dress and a CIA experiment.
The End...but this may get a sequel!