June 29, 1996
"Uh, hello?" Beavis answered, rubbing his eyes as the morning sun drifted through the kitchen window, fiddling with the phone cord attached to the wall mount. "Hello? Hello? Uhh, what? Oh, hem, okay. Uhh. Yeah, yeah." Without further ado, he slammed the well-worn phone back into the mount on the wall without a "good-bye" as per the usual Beavis fashion and dawdled into the bedroom, which still had that lingering scent of smoke even after years of switching to only using explosives outdoors. Yanking open one of the slightly charred drawers, the seared marks a testament to the escapades that took place in the bedroom before he was banned from using firecrackers indoors due to a close call with Butt-Head's favorite CD at the time, he rummaged through the mess inside until he pulled out his mustard-scented Burger World uniform. As he yanked off the mussed shirt he'd worn for the past two days, tossing it onto the floor and tugging on his uniform shirt while swallowing an occasional surge of acid in his throat, the bathroom door down the hall swung open and Butt-Head's laugh trailed down the hall until he appeared in the doorway.
"Uhhh, we don't have work today, right?" Butt-Head asked, scratching his left forearm as he noticed the uniform, Beavis unfastening a button he had put in the wrong hole and retrying to button his shirt correctly for the third time in a row. Man, if they had to work today, that would really suck because the brunette did not want to go to work today. It's not like he was normally an enthusiastic employee, because he definitely wasn't, but the guy was just not in the mood at all today. Even his laugh was subdued. Vibe check? Bluhhhhh.
"Uhhh, nah, but that dumb manager guy called and said I had to go to work," Beavis grumbled, finally getting all of the buttons in the right spots on his fifth try. "He said somethin' about, uh, 'filling in' for some guy, hem, what's his name, I dunno, probably the bald one, hem, but, you know, I'll be filling in, if you know what I mean." Despite the tragedy of having to go to work at some stupid burger place for an extra day because some dweeb decided to slack off- geez, slackers suck- Beavis didn't miss the chance to seize one of their usual euphemisms. Their sense of humor essentially unchanged since they were little, aside from the addition of sex jokes to their usual repertoire when they first hit their horny phase, both teens giggled and traded mindless quips that would amuse nobody but each other.
"Chicken legs," Butt-Head teased, knowing that would annoy the heck out of Beavis, who had pulled down his shorts in exchange for his work pants. The blond's legs, which had always been sort of scrawny but still had shape, had seemed to have lost a noticeable amount of muscle mass lately- it wasn't very surprising, given how lazy the dillhole could be- hence why they looked like "chicken legs" in Butt-Head's eyes. Besides, Beavis was a wuss anyway, so the recent nickname fit him in more ways than one that Butt-Head didn't feel like pondering at the moment but knew were true on a near-philosophical level; man, Butt-Head was a real wordsmith, it's a shame he didn't win the spelling bee in third grade. Honestly, that spelling bee was probably rigged, in retrospect; he had probably been such a threat to the rest of the competitors that he bet he had been intentionally pulled out in the first round. Yeah, that actually made a lot of sense. Successfully irritated, Beavis glared at him, mumbling for him to shut up as he yanked up the grease-stained pants. Tugging at the fabric, which wouldn't stop sagging even though everything was actually fastened properly today, Beavis gave up and just slipped into his shoes without even bothering to change the sweaty socks he'd been wearing since yesterday, joining Butt-Head in the hall.
Shoes clacking on the scuffed floor, they giggled their way into the living room, sharing a quick peck on the lips- don't ask about the morning breath- before Butt-Head plopped down onto the couch and Beavis made a beeline for the front door. As the door swung open and slammed shut, Beavis' laughter faded as he drifted further away from the house. Both 16 going on 17, they still went everywhere on foot because neither of them had a car and only Butt-Head had a bootleg driver's license, not even the questionable licensor trusting Beavis to operate a vehicle. Beavis' laughter too far to be heard, Butt-Head grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. Shaving? Nah. Showering? Nope. Breakfast? Probably some chips later. Whether he was still hazy from waking up less than half an hour ago or simply in a lazy mood was difficult to say, but he definitely lucked out since Burger World only needed one backup worker today; had he been the one to pick up the phone earlier, he would've sent Beavis in his place anyway, but it sure would've sucked if they needed two people to fill in. Ghosting his hand over his forehead, he found a pimple to pop as he watched TV since there wasn't any point in going over hypothetical scenarios. Today seemed to be going well, plus he had extra couch space although that meant no Beavis. Whatever, at least he wouldn't have to smack some sense into him every half hour until he returned later.
Sprawled out in the middle of the couch and slumped against the backrest, Butt-Head stared blankly at the TV as a rerun of Star Trek played. Through the yellowed blinds, the heat of the midday sun seeped through and warmed the room uncomfortably. He didn't want to get up, but it would only get hotter and his armpits were already damp. Tempting as it was to stay in his comfy spot on the couch, a too-probable hypothetical scenario running through his head compelled him to get the fan; he sighed, imagining getting up to greet Beavis whenever he came back from his Burger World shift and leaving a massive butt-shaped pool of sweat on the cushion. He was Butt-Head, not Butt-Sweat, which Beavis had called him a handful of times after similar incidents. What a hippo-crite. Beavis might not have left nearly as many sweat stains, but he sure did stink worse. In fact, his farts had been getting worse than usual, like something rotten. Regardless, the teasing never failed to threaten Butt-Head's supposedly outstanding reputation. Shoving aside a mostly-eaten bag of sour cream potato chips and pushing himself off of the cushions with a grunt, he plodded over to the hall closet and dragged out the dented fan. Lugging it into the living room, he unplugged the lamp and jammed the fan's cord into the outlet, reaching up and adjusting the fan's switch to the highest setting. Blades humming, the fan's cool air gradually began to circulate throughout the stuffy room as he settled back in the middle of the couch, arms resting atop the backrest.
"Beam me up, Sco-" Captain Kirk, who seemed kind of annoying today, was cut off when Butt-Head pressed a button, hopping onto a different channel. MTV didn't have any good music videos on, and it was more fun dissecting them with Beavis, so he jumped onto another channel. This one featured some black-and-white monster movie featuring a swamp guy with flippers for hands, complete with cheesy effects and overly dramatic music, which would do for the moment. He briefly considered walking over to Burger World to see Beavis, hold up the line, and maybe break a thing or two before getting kicked out by the dumb old manager, but the sun pouring in through the window was intense enough to give him an idea of how miserably sticky and hot it was outside. Practically July, the Texan sun would only get worse from here on out until it mellowed out sometime in October; a five minute walk in this heat would have sweat running down his back. The air conditioning in the house might not have been perfect, but it was functional enough and kept the house at a bearable temperature during the worst heat waves, therefore offering a preferable alternative to his brief consideration. Nah, he definitely wasn't in the mood to leave his perch. Oh, that chick in the movie was getting groped by the swamp thingy! They should sco- aw, never mind, some guy threw a thingy at the swamp thingy and now it's swimming away. The movie dude should've at least used explosions or guns or something actually cool. This movie sucked. Butt-Head changed the channel.
"Uhhh, hem, would you like fries with that?" Beavis asked most professionally, as if the angry middle-aged woman in front of him hadn't just asked to speak to the manager. People at Burger World always had pretty short tempers for some reason. It was like they were hungry or something, which is why he had occasionally recommended that they eat something before coming to the restaurant so they wouldn't be so cranky, but that usually made them even more mad and the manager had made Beavis stop saying that. He had obliged, understanding that there was no sense in trying to reason with such irrational people. Ever the reasonable one, Beavis wondered how he hadn't been promoted to assistant manager for his businesslike thought process but Butt-Head had, swallowing acid in his throat as the manager walked over at the sound of the woman's loud voice. Maybe he would get an even better promotion instead. The manager and mad lady had moved off to the side so the line could keep going while they argued, a sunburned man with a beer belly and receding hairline stepped up and asked about a special that was exclusive to a different chain restaurant. While Beavis and the guy tried and failed to understand each other, both apparently being equally stupid, the lady received her refund and stormed out of the burger joint with the threat of a scathing review tossed over her shoulder. Slumping his shoulders, the manager glanced at Beavis and the man stalling the line, promptly sending him to the kitchen and the previous line cook to the counter. Settling in his usual position at the grill, Beavis dumped a ton of frozen patties onto the searing steel and misarranged over half of the orders he received over the next few hours.
Stupid. Fat. Gross.
Beavis squeezed the last dregs of mustard onto a squished bun with shaky fingers, tugging at his pants. He peeled off the expiration date sticker on the bottle and tossed the latter in the industrial sink before grabbing a new bottle, lid, and a small funnel. Digging through the cabinets, he pulled out a storage jar of mustard. Unscrewing the lid, he stuck a knife into the protective foil at the top and peeled it off. Slapping one of those expiration date stickers on the side of it and sticking the funnel into the new bottle, he tilted the jar into the funnel so he could fill the bottle, a few stray splatters of mustard hitting the counter.
Ugly. Yucky.
Once the bottle was full, he screwed the lid back on the storage jar and shoved it into the cabinet. Then, he slapped a new expiration date sticker onto the bottle and hastily screwed a lid on, tossing the funnel into the sink and swallowing some acid that had risen in his throat. Glancing at the full sink, he decided to spare his hands a few more minutes by finishing up the last of the lunch rush before directing his attention to the steaming hot water and chemicals. Maybe he was a terrible student and not the best employee, but he had a routine in the kitchen that he was mainly capable of sticking to. The work sucked, especially when he had to go into the freezer to get ingredients right after getting soaked from the erratic spray of the hose thingy in the sink, but it gave him something to do. He didn't really care about goals or anything like that, but it was nice to have some sense of purpose sometimes.
Nasty. Disgusting.
Veins sticking out on the back of his hands and wrists, he packaged the last few orders as a lull in the rush settled. Handing the bags of poorly prepared food to reasonably wary customers, Beavis turned to the sink and filled it with hot water, squirting the designated chemicals into it. Plunging his hands into the water, which had steam rising off of its surface, he scrubbed the containers. Any tiny nick or cut in his skin would be impossible to ignore in water this hot; he could feel a searing pain in a small scratch on his right index finger, the near-boiling water and chemicals chewing at the fissure. He continued scrubbing, the voices in his head keeping him company. Sometimes he regarded them as friends because they were always there for him. Raising his bright red hands out of the water, he rinsed a few containers and tossed them into the cool water mixed with the sanitizing liquid, ignoring the intermittent ache of his stomach; although it was already well past noon, he hadn't eaten anything yet except for a few fries about an hour ago when he had started feeling lightheaded. Turning back to the painfully hot water, he plunged his weathered hands in again, more containers waiting to be cleaned. After all, work had to be done.
You stupid, worthless piece of sh-t. Nobody loves you. Nobody will ever care about you.
Wiping his hands on one of the tattered rags strewn about the kitchen, he stepped out of the kitchen, his shift over. A couple of hours had passed and it was now early evening, the teen having worked a full day shift. As a tall guy with tattoos got set up in the kitchen for the night shift, Beavis walked out from behind the counter and crossed over to the front doors to exit, holding a bag with a burger for Butt-Head. He pushed on the sticky door handles and walked out into the steamy evening air, the doors swinging shut behind him as he thought about Butt-Head's birthday. Though they weren't sure about the exact date, they always celebrated on the second Sunday of July, and June was almost over. Less than two weeks away, Beavis wondered what to do this year. Maybe birthday pancakes, Butt-Head liked it when he made regular pancakes, so birthday pancakes would be special. Yeah, he could put, like, all those sprinkles and food coloring and stuff in them. Plus, they would be cheaper than those fancy cakes at the store. Maybe he could find chocolate chips or, even better, peanut butter chips to make pictures on top; Butt-Head loved peanut butter, but he also liked chocolate, so it would work either way. Stepping over an anthill that had grown so large it took up a portion of the sidewalk, Beavis wondered what else he should do aside from making a treat. Maybe a card? He liked to draw sometimes.
You suck. I hate you. I wish you were dead.
Well, he made cards every year along with whatever else they did, so maybe making a card would be boring, oh, but Butt-Head would probably expect a card anyway. Ooh, wait, there was going to be a new alien movie coming out- Beavis' selective memory most certainly applied to dates for the releases of certain CDs and DVDs in stores- on DVD during the first week of July. He could buy the movie and slip it into the card or something. Wait, maybe it wouldn't fit. Okay, he would buy the movie and give it to Butt-Head separately from the card. Striding with a flare of anticipation for the awesome birthday he was going to give Butt-Head, courtesy of his master planning skills, Beavis kicked a rock in his path and eyed a woman with big boobs smoking on the porch of a rundown house as he passed by, choking down a painful surge of acid. She didn't even look his way, just staring absently at the crusty yellow grass of her tiny strip of lawn. A bird in a nearby tree let out a series of rapid chirps, followed by a sustained, shrill call that rang in the humid air. Other birds in neighboring trees distantly parroted the call, their voices ringing out. On cue, the storm the birds had been warning each other about rolled in with a boom of thunder, ants retreating to their anthills and stray dogs seeking shelter. Beavis glanced up at the dark clouds, a drop of cool water landing in his eye. Rubbing at it, he tugged at his pants and sped up his gait, not in the mood to get caught out in the rain today. He'd been cold all day.
Batman and Robin ran around on the screen, their theme song fading into a cartoon episode involving the Joker replacing the wieners in a hot dog factory with dynamite or something. A half-full pizza box balancing on the arm rest, Butt-Head had shifted to his side of the couch, knowing Beavis would be back soon. Thunder rolled outside and the TV went fuzzy for a horrifying second before returning to its normal state. Butt-Head crumpled up the napkin he'd used earlier and stuffed it between the cushions, not feeling like getting up and walking all the way to the overfilled trash can in the kitchen. While Batman and Robin were facing off with the Joker, Beavis' faint laughter trailed in as he neared the front door. Soon, the door swung open and Beavis walked in, slamming it shut and automatically plopping down on his side of the couch. Hair and shirt slightly damp from a few errant drops of rain preceding the oncoming storm, Beavis curled up on the couch and kicked off his shoes. The teens acknowledged each other's presence, Beavis handing the bag from Burger World to Butt-Head. Then, Butt-Head casually shoved a few of the remaining slices of pizza into Beavis' hands. In response to the gesture, the blond shrugged and placed most of them back in the box, leaving one in his hands.
You worthless, pathetic shit. You don't deserve to eat. You don't deserve anything.
"Thanks, man, but I had a kinda big lunch, you know?" Beavis said, snickering at the Joker's antics on the TV. Butt-Head nodded without questioning anything, placing the burger bag on top of the pizza box, having had a hearty dinner himself. Together, they watched TV in companionable silence, the lights and colors flickering across their faces while the occasional roll of thunder would interfere with the TV's reception. Beavis peeled chunks of cheese off of his pizza, eating them one at a time. Wiping his hands on one of the stray napkins, he then tore off pieces of the sauce-covered bread, eating each bite slowly. Swallowing down the searing acid in his throat after he finished, he crumpled up the napkin and tossed it onto the floor as the cartoon drew to a close, both teens laughing along to the TV as usual. Yet again, Batman and Robin had saved the day, the Joker's plans foiled once more. Oh, that dang Joker, he just couldn't do anything right. He was such a failure.