AN: Once again, much like Bully and the Beast, this was a fic originally thought up by the writer known as Cre8tivelyBankrupt87 who apparently has gone on hiatus. The original title was supposed to be Curly on the Couch but instead I felt this title was more appropriate seeing as how I already used the 'On the couch' reference for another fic. Normally I don't make such decisions without reaching out to get permission (or attempting to do so) so CB, if you read this, sorry? I guess. I hope you like what comes out from this.

Also, much like a certain pigtailed antihero in this series, Curly is prone to inner monologues; most of which occur when narrating his past to Dr. Bliss. For simplicity's sake, they are bold and bracketed and NOT italicized so as to stand out against the instances of flashbacks (centered).

Enough blathering, on with the...show, I guess.

HD.

(Gammelthorpe Dry Cleaning-Lexington Ave, Hillwood)

"Call from. David Wartz."

These phone calls have become expected, perhaps even inevitable, but that still didn't make them enjoyable. After emitting a deep and disappointed sigh, Lawrence Gammelthorpe turned off the steamer and began his trek to the telephone; clearly feeling the high he'd been riding on all day leave his body like air from a punctured balloon.

It had been another long but productive afternoon for the Gammelthorpe patriarch. Sure, operating a dry cleaners/laundromat wasn't the most exciting or dramatic occupation in the world; but on top of being a stable and relatively simplistic mode of income, there was a certain sense of humanity to his profession.

Oft it has been said that clothes make the man, and going off that maxim, Lawrence felt in an odd way he held the dignity and livelihood of his customers in his pudgy and unworthy hands. For example, where one saw a suit, he saw either a lawyer looking to win a career-defining case, or a job seeker eager to impress a potential employer, or a lad boldly embarking on that big step from boy to man in his respective house of worship. As such, all clothes that came across his path, from the humblest sock to the grandest of mink coats where deserving of the best foot he could put forward.

While giving a final steaming and ironing to Big Bob's velour cape, the owner and proprietor of the eponymous washroom looked at the opening day portrait mounted above the doorway as a reminder of what stood at the heart of why this place of his existed; family. For Lawrence, family consisted of a wife Monica and a son Thaddeus (or as he was better known, Curly).

But pictures are worth a thousand words; and more often than not, the question becomes a matter of which ones get conveyed and which go unsaid. While Monica shared in her husband's elation over chartering the business of his dreams, Curly sneered disgustedly at the camera; as if awaiting some alien race to beam him from the scene, or the earth to swallow him whole.

The laundromat wasn't Lawrence's first rodeo when it came to municipal commerce. Initially, he had inherited a floundering ice cream parlor from Monica's late father Thaddeus Sherb, a man who in his youth had a partnership turned rivalry with Sam Slausen (who went on to start his own and more successful parlor after their partnership flamed out). Throw in the Jolly Ollie man and Sherb's Soda Pop Shop was essentially on life support. As much as Lawrence deeply loathed the profession foisted upon him, he justified the status quo with platitudes about how manhood and growing up meant 9 times out of ten putting away your dreams for a greater good; values of sacrifice and duty he hoped his son would take to heart. Instead, the final nail in the coffin came in the form of Curly bribing his way into being Class President back in third grade with promises of all the ice cream his peers could stomach and more. With that, Lawrence resolved to kill two birds with one stone; fittingly punish his son for dishonesty while resolving in his heart to live out his dream of owning and operating the business of his heart's desire.

The phone rang again, before his caller ID could monotonously herald who had called Lawrence, the beefy man picks up the phone and identifies himself. As the voice on the other end fills Lawrence in on the nature of this buzz, the man's blood freezes in disbelief. Sure, Curly had a history of antics but what Principal Wartz imparted in his ears beggared belief.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE TRIED TO BLOW UP THE SCHOOL?!"