Bart & Chucky: Friends till the End!

by Bloody Simpson Chibi

Disclaimer: I do not own Child's Play nor The Simpsons. I just write this crap for fun.

ATTENTION ALL SCAMMERS WANTING TO ASK ME IF YOU CAN TURN THE STORY INTO ART! DO NOT BOTHER REPLYING OR LEAVING A SO-CALLED REVIEW BECAUSE THE ANSWER IS A BIG FAT F*CKING NO! I KNOW YOU'RE A SCAM! I KNOW YOU DON'T MEAN WHAT YOU SAY! I KNOW YOU'RE ONLY LOOKING THROUGH THE STORY TO MAKE IT SOUND LIKE YOU GIVE A SH*T! WELL, DON'T! DON'T REPLY! DON'T REVIEW! DON'T PM ME! JUST PISS OFF! AND IF YOU REALLY WANNA MAKE ART ON MY STORIES, DO IT FOR F*CKING FREE, YOU ASSH*LES!

Chapter 1: The Birthday Boy

(You know, it really sucks that one of the first things I have to put in this chapter is that damn warning. Seriously scammers, just fuck off already.

Anyway, now that that's out of the way, I'm excited to begin what will hopefully be the first of many Simpsons/Horror crossovers. I've been a fan of both since my preteens and I've always wanted to create mashups of them. After carefully considering the plotlines, how the characters would react with each other and how to stretch it out to a few chapters, I'm happy to say that I can finally start after all these years! Of course, I won't just be dumping them all on you at once, especially since every story will need to be a part of my rotation once I start it. But the ideas are there and the stories might just start when you least expect them to.

Anyway, I've prattled along for far too long as it is so let's just get started with the actual story already!)

If there was one thing Homer Jay Simpson hated more than Ned Flanders, his twin sisters-in law, or exercise, it was his alarm clock.

It always had a nasty habit of invading his most wonderful of dreams. One moment, Homer would be in a magical literal candy-coated paradise, clad in only his underwear and dancing along in a great circle, his hands intertwined with the sticky fingers of gummy monkeys and marshmallow bears, neither of which seemed to mind at all when Homer periodically bit their heads off and swallowed them whole. The next, the sky would turn red and the candy paradise would be shaken by a giant earthquake brought upon by a horrible beeping sound coming from everywhere at once. Homer hung on to dear life to his friends/snacks but the sugar-coated ground gave way beneath him and the fat man found himself screaming as he fell right back into his bed and into his hopeless, candy-peopleless reality.

Homer groaned in annoyance as he slammed his fist on the alarm in an attempt to shut it off. He had missed the power button, however, and had to try a few more times before he could get the damn thing to shut up. Once he had silenced his tormenter, he slowly sat up and turned to his side. His wife, Marge, was not laying besides him.

Figuring she had already gotten up, Homer begrudgingly decided to do the same and staggered toward his closet. As he replaced his light-blue pajamas with his usual white shirt and normal-blue pants, he happened to glance at the work calendar Marge had him hang on the mirror. His sour mood softened as he realized today was Saturday the 1st, his one and only day off for the whole month.

"Whoo-Hoo!' Homer threw his arms in the air, which allowed his shirt to fall over his flabby torso. "A whole day off. I wonder how I'll waste it." Just then, the smell of sizzling bacon and frying eggs hit Homer's nostrils. His mouth salivated at the aroma, his tongue producing a long strand of desire as he held his maw agape. "Mmm...generic breakfast..." Homer wiped his mouth and giggled like a child as he raced toward the kitchen. It was amazing how Homer, who normally couldn't preform a light jog for five seconds without getting winded, could practically sprint after the smell of food without any strain on his body. Such was the miracle of gluttony.

Homer slid into the kitchen, his excitement growing as he noticed his wife standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand. "Good morning, good-looking! What's cook-Ah!"

So excited was Homer in seeing his wife preparing breakfast that he failed to noticed the banana peel that had been thrown right before his feet. He slid on the discarded fruit skin with a shriek and landed on his back, a spasm of pain flowing throughout his body. "Ow! What the!?"

"Good morning, Homer!" Bart's voice taunted from the kitchen table. "And Happy April Fool's Day!" Homer's rage exploded to a height greater than that of Mt. Everest as his son laughed at his misery. He swiftly got up from the kitchen floor and turned his furious gaze toward the laughing boy who sat sandwiched between his two sisters, the eldest of which was eating cereal. "Why you little! I'll teach you to subject your father to cliched gags!" He pounced on the table, knocking over his daughter's breakfast in the process, and reached for Bart's neck. The boy ceased his laughter as soon as his father leapt and got up from the chair, standing just a mere inch out of Homer's reach.

"Why you!" Homer shouted angrily. "Get back here and receive your strangling like a man!"

"No way, man!" Bart crossed his arms. "You can't strangle me! I get a free pass today!"

"What the hell are you talking about, boy?" Homer asked as he continued to reach for his son.

"Dad, don't you remember?" Lisa finally spoke up. "It's Bart's birthday today!"

"Huh!?" At that moment, the table finally collapsed under Homer's girth and he fell down with a thud. "Oof!"

"That's right, Homer." Marge walked up to her husband and former table, a tray with three plates of eggs and bacon in her hands. "Our special little guy is turning eleven today so I want you to give the strangling a rest, okay?"

Homer sighed. "Fine!" He got up with a groan and sat himself on one of the chairs that used to be tucked beneath the table. Marge handed him a plate and Homer began to eat with far less enthusiasm than he usually enjoyed his meals.

"I still can't believe it," Lisa said as she got up from her chair to fix herself another bowl of cereal. "My brother. Age double one!"

"I know, right?" Bart agreed. "It almost feels like I've been ten forever! But now, another milestone has been cleared, one step closer to being old enough to get a driver's license!" Bart's gaze darkened as a sinister smile formed on his lips. "With all the chaos that that entails." Within his mind, Bart lost himself in a daydream in which he was a laughing raving teenager dragging a screaming principal Skinner along the road by his rope-bound wrist. The army vet did his best to threaten the monstrous teenager despite his perilous situation or the various speed bumps which constantly interrupted him.

"If you hadn't-OW! burned down the school, this would most-GAH! definitely be going on your permanent record, young man! OH GOOD LORD!"

The teen Bart just replied by continued to laugh evilly. In reality, a still-preteen Bart marked the ending of his daydream with a dark chuckle.

"Well until then, you'll just have to be content with an extra helping of eggs and bacon," Marge planted a kiss on her son's forehead as she placed the plate on his lap. "And all the presents you're getting today."

Homer stopped himself right as he was going to take a bite of one of his bacon strips. "Presents?"

"Yes," Marge turned her head toward Homer with a glare. "You did remember to get Bart a present, didn't you?" She fully turned her body toward him. "Or did you forget that too?"

"Um.." Homer started to sweat bullets. "O-Of course I got Bart a present! A really good one! One that will blow all the other presents out of the park!"

"Oh yeah?" Marge raised an eyebrow with her arms crossed. "Then in that case, would you mind getting it out so I can put it with the other presents?"

Homer gulped. "O-O-Of course, sweetheart!" Slowly, he set his plate down and got up from his chair. Little by little, he backed up toward the entrance to the living room. "Let me just...go...and...get it..." Homer suddenly zipped around and took off toward the front door, slamming it shut behind him. A few seconds later, the family heard the door open again and Homer rushed back into the kitchen. He scooped up his plate and ravenously devoured what was left of his breakfast. Once he was finished, Homer handed the empty plate back to Marge, planted a kiss on her cheek, and ran right back out the front door. The rest of the Simpsons listened on to the sound of the garage door opening, one of the cars starting, and said car speeding down the street.

"I'm sure your father will find something you like," Marge reassured her son as she patted his head. "Until then, I've got a lot of work to do setting up the party for today!"

"I'd be happy to help out if you'd like, Mom." Lisa offered.

"Thank you, sweetie! I'd appreciate it." Marge cooed.

"Mom's pet." Bart grumbled as his sister gave him a knowing, cocky glance.

"Oh cheer up Bart." Marge spoke. "You can help out too. You can entertain the guest that come early."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Oh! Speak of the devil! Or devils?"

As Marge pondered as to whether or not she was using that saying correctly, Bart set his plate on the floor and made his way to the front door. He swung it open to reveal none other than his best friend, Milhouse Van Houten.

"Heya Bart!" The blue-haired nerd greeted as he swung his arms up. "The party animal has arrived!"

"Milhouse, the party's not for another few hours," Bart explained.

Milhouse's arms drooped down to his sides. "Oh." He looked away for a moment, unsure of how to process this awkwardness he once again found himself in. "Well, they always say it's cool to show up fashionably early right?"

"That's fashionably late, Milhouse." Bart corrected.

More awkwardness.

"Well...uh...I-I'm starting a new trend then! That's cool right? Right!?"

Bart rolled his eyes. "Just come inside, Milhouse. "We'll play Bonestorm III until the party's ready."

"Alright!" Milhouse raised his arms again as he walked inside the house. "By the way, I noticed your dad speeding down the road while I was walking up here. Did he have to go buy an emergency piñata or something?"

"Nah," Bart waved his hand as he closed the door behind Milhouse. "He just forgot my birthday and he's rushing to get me a present that doesn't totally suck."

"For real!?" Milhouse asked. "My Dad keeps forgetting to get something for my birthday too. Says I can just put it on the present tab." He smiled and clasped his hands together with a hopeful expression on his face. "One of these birthdays, its totally gonna pay off!"

"Right," Bart turned his gaze away from his tragically delusional friend. "Let's just start the game!"

"Alright," Milhouse followed Bart up the stairs. "So do you think your dad can do it, finding you a present that doesn't suck I mean."

"I dunno," Bart said. "But I'm not holding my breath."

"Come on. Come on. There's gotta be some place that can help me," Homer whined as he frantically turned his head side to side, desperately scanning the business buildings that lined the road he was driving on. "Auto shop...no...clothing store...no...used wedding dresses? D'oh!"

It had been three hours since Homer left to buy a last-minute gift for Bart and so far all he head to show for his troubles were the wrappers around his feet from his two visits to Krusty Burger. The toy store was closed due to an asbestos infestation, the pet store was currently being over run by an escaped shipment of Peruvian Burning spiders, and his attempt to break into the TV studio to get Krusty to come visit Bart in person ended with him getting thrown out of a window onto a conveniently placed trampoline, and bouncing into a open dumpster. Homer was now driving through the outskirts of Springfield, desperately searching for anything that would even remotely pass as a decent gift. Homer turned the corner into a rather shady looking neighborhood.

"Ok, let's see here." Homer looked to his left and saw a gun shop open for business, prompting him to rub his chin. "Bart does have a membership to the NRA...no, Marge said no more guns in the house. Besides, if Bart had a gun, we'd have to buy bullets and cleaning supplies to boot. That's how they get ya!" He noticed two men standing near the edge of the store, both wearing long overcoats. One of them seemed to be showing off something within his coat that the other man studied with keen interest. Now, Homer wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed but he had seen enough cop movies to realize what was going on.

He gasped. "Those guys are dealing drugs!" He pondered once more. "I wonder if drugs are still cool with the kids nowadays." Before Homer could continue to ponder what passed for cool among the youth of today, he heard the sound of a clown honk accompanied by a door opening. He turned to his right and gasped once more as he laid eyes on the gag store sitting right next to him. PRANKS FOR THE MEMORIES! headed the front.

"A prank store! Of course!" Homer exclaimed in relief as he pulled his car in closer and climbed out. "Prank God! I mean, thank God!"

Homer entered the store, recreating that same clown honk and marveled at the aisles of gags and props standing before him. To his right was the checkout counter, manned by none other than that one middle-aged guy that always seemed to be everywhere, also known as Raphael. Homer pondered just why he and his kin seemed to bump into this guy all the time...for about a second. Then he noticed the giant mural on the back of the store, depicting one clown throwing a pie into the face of the other while monkeys danced around the both of them. Homer couldn't help but chuckle.

"Tee-hee." Homer giggled. "Clowns and monkeys. The two Gods of comedy." He started walking toward the aisles. "Okay, I need to get Bart something fresh, something not even he's seen before. Luckily, as his father, I've fallen victim to almost all his pranks so I by using my personal experience as a reference, I should be able to deduce whether or not he has the trinket in questi-

*PFRRRRRT!*

"Huh?" Homer stopped in his tracks as he felt something deflate beneath his left foot, releasing a fart-like sound as it sank to the ground. He bent down and picked up the culprit. "Whoopie-Cushion. Who doesn't have one of those?" Homer tossed the deflated toy behind him and continued his search for a gift.

"Hmmm..." Homer noticed a box of fake bugs to his right. He picked them up and held them in his hand, a few dropping to the floor. "Fake bugs?" Homer scratched his chin and recalled the time when Bart had somehow rigged the shower head to rain fake roaches instead of water, sending a screaming and naked Homer running down the street. "He has those." He lowered his palm and let the rubber roaches, spiders and centipede fall back into the box. He turned to his right, his eyes widening upon seeing a box full of gum. "Oh! Gum!" Homer grabbed a stick and tried to pull a piece out, only to groan as pain enveloped his finger. "Gah! What the hell? Come on, give up the goods you sorry son of a...oh!" Homer remembered he was in a gag store and realized the gum was another gag. One his son had used on him before. "Has it." He said glumly as he threw the stick of gag gum back into the box.

"Gee, whoever thought of that gag deserves a special place in He-OH! A can of Wringles!" Homer giggled as he rushed to the can of chips jutting out from the aisle, all lessons concerning the gum forgotten. He gripped the lid and struggled with all his might to pop it open. "Come on...I want what's inside you..." At last, Homer got the can open, only to utter a shriek of surprise as, instead of a almost neat stack of chips, he was greeted by a bunch of rubber snakes popping out of the can, one of them hitting him directly in the forehead, knocking him down. Once he recovered from his daze, he lifted up the now-empty can and glared at it. "Again with the same gag? I hate this place!" Homer threw the can away but, as he was lying on his back, the can was tossed upward and fell back to Homer, beaning him on the forehead.

"D'oh!" Homer grumbled as he turned himself on his stomach and started crawling around on the floor in search of a new pranking item. "Come on, come on! There's gotta be something in here that Bart doesn't have yet!" He continued to crawl until he felt something rubbery flatten itself against his pal, releasing a strained clucking sound as it did so. Homer grabbed the rubber chicken by the neck and examined it more closely. "Oh, this is no good! Bart has a rubber chicken! Or at least he did until he deep-fried it and tricked me into eating it." Homer fondly recalled that memory. "Mmmm...rubber fried chicken!" He smacked his lips and tossed the chicken aside to continue his search. This lasted until he happened to place his hand on a discarded joy buzzer, which shocked him back to his feet. "Ahhh!" So fast did Homer jolt backward that he smashed into the aisle behind him, knocking a few trinkets off of it and onto him.

One of them was heavy enough to knock him back down as it collided with the back of his head.

"Gah!" Homer groaned as he hit his chin on the floor, the fallen trinkets burying him at once. He felt the one that knocked him down fall over his face. He waited for the pain to subside and blinked a few times, the shadows of the trinkets making it hard to see what was in front of him. Once he fully opened his eyes, however, Homer was able to fully comprehend the smiling freckled upside-down face mere inches from his own.

"Hi! I'm Chucky! Wanna play!"

Homer screamed at the top of his lungs and broke through the blanket of trinkets as he once again got to his feet. The doll fell from his head and lay lifeless on the floor, its unblinking gaze now directed to the ceiling.

With his hand pressed against his chest, Homer drew in deep breaths as he stared at the doll, his brain engaging in the rare act of putting two and two together. "Oh! It's just a doll! He he. Just a doll!" Once he felt calm enough, Homer picked up the doll and held it so that it was once again at eye level with him. It was a homely little thing, with orange hair, blue eyes and freckles lining the middle of his face. His mouth was fixed into a small smile, not too big or small. He was clad in a pair of blue overalls with a rainbow-pattern shirt underneath and "GOOD GUYS" stitched on the middle in red. His shoes were red as well and clean enough to reflect Homer's face on them.

"Hey, what's a boring old doll doing in a store like this?" Homer asked. "He looked the doll over for any sign of pranking potential, even checking the poor thing's pockets but could find nothing to justify it being in a gag store. "No gags. No pranks. Not even an automated fart!" Homer glared at the doll as he matched its gaze again. "You're nothing but a stupid, girly doll!"

The doll blinked a few times. "Hi I'm Chucky! And I wouldn't talk if I were you, fatass."

"What the!?" Homer was taken aback. "What did you just call me?"

"You're so fat, they can clean a tunnel by tying a rope around you and dragging your ass through it. Hidey-Ho! Ha ha ha!"

"Why you little!" Homer prepared to strangle the doll, only stopping as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute...oh I get it! You're one of those gag dolls that insult people! Bart's gonna love you!"

"Hi! I'm Chucky! Wanna play?" The doll asked.

"Hi Chucky! I'm Homer and no I don't want to play. But I do wanna prove I'm a good father by buying you for my son!"

"I liked to be hugged."

"Maybe later." Homer tucked the doll underneath his arm. "Right now, I gotta a birthday to save! Good father away!" Homer ran down the aisle, nearly tripping on some of the trinkets he knocked down earlier and made his way to the check-out. He slammed the doll ass-first on the scanner. "I'd like to get this doll for my kid please!"

Raphael looked down at the doll with a raised eyebrow. "You just blow in from stupid town or something, pal? This is a gag shop, not a toy store! That doll ain't from here!"

"Well it fell out of your aisle in your store so I'm pretty sure it is!" Homer argued.

"Look pal, I really don't know what to tell you." Raphael responded. "I've been working here for three whole hours and I ain't never seen that doll around here!"

"Come on, man!" Homer whined. "It's my kid's birthday and I forgot to get a present! I need this doll! Just tell me how much it cost!"

Raphael stared at the doll and then back to Homer. "80 bucks!"

"80 bucks!" Homer exclaimed. "How the hell do you get 80 bucks from-

Before Homer could continue his rant, his phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket and turned it on. Waiting for him on it was a text message from Marge, simple but loud and clear.

PLEASE HURRY

Homer sighed in defeat as he realized he was running out of time. "Alright, alright. fine!" Homer reached into his pocket and pulled out 80 dollars. "Here!"

Raphael smiled as he ripped the money from Homer's hand. "Pleasure doing business with your sir! And may that doll bring your little girl plenty of joy!"

Homer stiffened and averted his gaze. "Right...girl..." He grabbed the doll and rushed out of the store as the old man hummed a tune while flipping through his newly-obtained cash. Not even a moment later, however, Homer barged right in again.

"Almost forgot! What's the price range on those delicious rubber chickens?"

Marge paced back and forth in front of the living room window, her head downward and her hands behind her back. Every so often, she thought she heard Homer pull up in the driveway and looked out the window, only to see a random car passing the street. She cursed under her breath and continued her pacing and murmuring. It had been a few hours since Homer left and since then, the guest had been showing up like a plague. Kids ran wild through the house and backyard as their parents exchanged awkward small talk and backhanded compliments. So far, Homer had missed the pinata, the pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, and the cake cutting which Marge excused herself afterward to go pace near the window.

"What's wrong Marge?" Selma asked as she and Patty entered the room. "You'd think a mother would be excited that her child is finally turning eleven after all these years."

"Oh, I'm just worried about Homer," Marge confessed. "He left five hours ago to find a present for Bart and now he's not even answering his phone!"

"Maybe he realized just how futile it was to find a decent present at this point and went off to drown his sorrows in booze," Patty suggested harshly.

"That's assuming he didn't just forget about Bart's birthday altogether and gorged himself into another food coma," Selma added. Both sisters snickered at that one.

"Poke fun all you want," Marge said. "But I know my husband and he always pulls through when it counts the most!" Marge instant resolve seemed to vanish almost as soon as it appeared once she turned back toward the window. "I just hope he shows up before-

"Present time!" Bart shouted from the dining room.

"Oh no!" Marge rushed out of the living room with her sisters following her. The trio made it to the living room were all the kids and several of the adults were gathered around. Bart sat at the end of the table, the single window of the dining room behind him. "Whoa mama!" He grinned as he rubbed his hands together and hungrily eyed the stack of presents sitting on the table before him. Marge murmured in worry as she walked up to her only son.

"Bart?" She asked. "Wouldn't you rather wait until your father gets here to open your presents?"

"Hell no!" Bart replied. "This is Homer we're talking about, Mom! He may not get back until Monday for all we know! And besides," He gestured toward the the party guest gathered around the table as well. "You wouldn't want to keep our esteemed guests waiting, would you?"

Marge accidently met the gazes of a few of the adults and smiled nervously as a reflex. She sighed and scuffed up her son's hair. "Alright. I guess you have a point. Just...Just please be appreciative for whatever you get."

"Okay, Mom." Bart promised, although in his mind, he had already decided to bum off any gift he didn't like to Milhouse. Marge slid the first present, purple with an orange wrapping, toward Bart and he wasted no time at all ripping at it.

"Bart! Read the tag first!" Marge scolded.

"Oops! Sorry Mom!"

Lisa facepalmed as Bart searched for the tag he had ripped off by accident. "To Bart. From Grandpa. Thanks Grandpa!" Bart finished tearing up the present and opened the naked box left behind. Inside was a old leather watch with a crack in the glass.

"A watch?" Bart asked as he took the object in question out of the box.

"Now that you're in the double digits, you'll want to start keeping track of the time you have left on Earth." Grandpa explained. "Plus, it matches mine!" Grandpa lowered the sleeve on his wrist in order to show off his watch, only to gasp in confusion when he saw no watch at all. "What the!? Where the hell's my watch?" He started searching on the table, frantically patting the wooden surface. "Has anyone seen my watch? It's brown and has a crack on the face!"

Bart stared at his grandfather and then back to his watch. "Eh, I could always trade it in for a gold watch later, I'm assuming." With a shrug, Bart put the watch on his left wrist. "Who's next?"

Another present was slid over to Bart, this one blue with a pink bow. Remembering that his mother was watching, Bart reigned in his excitement and read the tag. "To Bart. From Moe?"

"That's right!" Moe shoved himself into the forefront. "Moe gets to be in this fic!"

Bart shrugged again and ripped open the present, revealing another white box. Afraid that it would be another watch, he gulped and opened it up, his unease turning into excitement as he saw what it was. "No way!" Bart laughed as he lifted his new gift from the box. "Wicked cool knife!"

"A knife!?" Marge turned to Moe. "You gave my son a knife?"

"Midge, the kid's reaching his teen years here." Moe explained. "That's the prime age barrack of meeting all kinds of shady folks. Drug dealers. Gang members. Jehovah's Witnesses. The kid's gotta have a little protection here!"

Bart laughed to himself as he stabbed the air around him. "This is awesome!" He swung it near Lisa's face, causing her to scream.

"Quit it, Bart!" She demanded.

Marge chuckled nervously as she went up to Bart again and gently grabbed his wrist. "How about we put the knife down for the time being and focus on your other presents?"

"Okay!" Bart closed the knife and placed it in his pocket. "Thank you, Moe!"

"Ah, don't mention it." Moe replied. "Now if you'll excuse me, my role in the story is done." With this, Moe sank back into the crowd, seemingly vanishing altogether.

"I still can't believe I got my very own knife!" Bart exclaimed happily.

"Let's just continue with the presents," Marge said as she slid an orange box with purple ribbon to her son. "Hopefully, this one will be a little more child-friendly."

"To Bart. From Aunt Patty & Selma." Bart tore open the gift and pulled out a small box, not unlike a pack of cigarettes. "Kiddy's First Ciggy's was printed on the front.

"Dammit!" Marge cursed as she banged her fist against the table.

The rest of Bart's gift were opened without much fanfare. The Flanders had gotten him a Bible-themed video game which he immediately decided to pawn off to Milhouse, Lisa got him a book on history's bloodiest battles which he felt conflicted by and decided to decide the fate of later, and his mother gave him the Giant Soaker 9000 he had seen on TV not but a month ago. He was absolutely elated by that one.

"No way!" Bart shouted as he cradled the Soaker in his hands like a baby. "This is the best gift of all time!" Bart opened one of his arms to hug his mother. "Thanks Mom."

"Just promise me you won't bring it to school." Marge asked.

"I'll try but no promises," Bart planted a kiss on his mother's cheek. "This has been the best birthday ever!" He prepared to get up from his seat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I got a little mayhem and destruction to cause."

"Wait!" Marge exclaimed, shocking the poor boy. "I-I mean, present time isn't over yet! We still gotta wait for your father, remember?"

"Mom," Lisa spoke up. "While I love Dad just as much as any one of us, I think we need to face the facts in this situation. He hasn't been home in six hours and even when he does come..." Lisa trailed off as she spotted a familiar vehicle speed into the driveway. The sound of its screeching wheels stole everyone's attention as well and they all turned just in time to see Homer slam his car door shut, a crumpled mess of red wrapping paper beneath his arm pit. He rushed toward the house, slid inside, and stomped all the way toward the dining room. Once he had mad it, he needed a moment to catch his breath, panting like a race horse. Without fully recovering his wind, Homer shoved through the crowd and slammed his present on the table. There was no bow on it. Just a bunch of wrapping paper covering a oddly-shaped object.

"Here...you...go...Bart...daybirth...Happy!" Homer hit his head on the table as he fell down.

"Homer!" Marge rushed to her man's side as Bart gestured for Milhouse to slide him the present.

"Alright, let's see what we got." Bart said with slight disinterest as he ripped the paper off the object. This proved to be quite a difficult feat as Homer had taped and stapled the damn paper to all hell to compensate for the lack of a box. With one final grunt of effort, Bart was finally able to rip the paper completely away and found himself staring right into the smiling face of a doll.

"What the!?"

"Hi! I'm Chucky! Wanna play?" The doll asked.

Most of the kids seated at the table, including Lisa, began to giggle as a mortified Bart stared at the doll in abstract horror. "Homer, what the hell is this thing?"

Homer groaned with his hand on his head as Marge helped him back to his feet. "He's Chucky the Insult Doll! He says bad words and all that stuff."

"Really?" Bart calmed down a little. "Ok...well." He poked the doll in the tummy. "Prove it then. Say a bad word!"

The doll blinked. "Hi! I'm Chucky! And I'm your friend till the end! Hidey-Ho! Ha ha ha!"

"Come on! Swear up a storm, man!" Bart demanded.

The doll blinked again. "I like to be hugged."

This final statement caused an uproar of laughter from the kids and even a few of the adults. Bart grumbled as a furious blush crept across his face.

"Y-You heard him, Bart!" Lisa giggled. "Why don't you give him a hug?"

"Why don't you shut up!?" Bart snapped back.

"Now, now! There's no need for fighting!" Marge said as she walked up to her children. "I'm sure your father just made a honest mistake is all."

"Honest mistake nothing!" Homer rushed up to his family and grabbed the doll. "This little jerk called me a fat ass at the prank store!"

"Hey! I wasn't even in the prank store today!" Bart complained. "...Wait, there's a prank store?"

"I meant the doll, you stupid ungrateful brat!" Homer brought Chucky to his eye level. "Now you listen to me and you listen to me good! I paid a lot of good money for you, the wrapping paper, the tape, the staples and the curly fries I got afterward. So you better make with the insults, comprende?"

Chucky stayed absolutely still, just staring into Homer's eyes in the innocent way only a doll could. Then he blinked and said. "I love you."

"That does it!" Homer slammed Chucky against the table and started punching him in the face. The children's laughter turned to screaming at the horrific violence being committed on the doll. Ned Flanders covered both of his son's eyes and escorted them out of the room and several parents followed suit. Before long, the only people in the room aside from the Simpsons were Patty, Selma and a sleeping Grandpa sitting in the corner.

After Homer's outburst, things remained quiet and tense for the rest of the day with hardly any of the family speaking to each other. Bart tried to call Milhouse back so he could regift the doll to him but the blue-haired boy refused, stating that his mother had forbade him from taking in any more stray dolls. Next, he tried to donate it to either one of his sisters but that endeavor failed as well. Lisa saw right through Bart's "generous donation" and scolded him for trying to regift a present from their father and Maggie seemed outright freaked by the damned thing, whining and whimpering every time Bart made it speak.

And so the only son of Homer and Marge Simpson was forced to bring the doll back with him to his room that night, dragging it by the foot as he slammed the door open. "This bites!" He muttered as he made his way to the desk across from his bed. He held the doll up and before him, glaring at its smiling freckled face. "My birthday was going so well until you showed up!"

The doll blinked. "I like to be hugged."

"The only hug you're getting is the sweet embrace of death when I blow you up with fireworks tomorrow." Bart promised as he slammed the doll face first onto the desk. He yawned, changed into his green pajamas, and climbed into bed. "Oh man!" He grumbled. "11 years of street cred just thrown out the window! I'll be lucky if I can make it through Monday without getting beaten to a pulp!" Bart winced as he could already imagine the exact scenario that would play out at school on that day, Dolph, Jimbo and Kearney taking turns punching him in the stomach with all their might, all while Nelson pointed and laughed at his misfortune. Bart growled in anger. "And it's all thanks to Homer! Him and that stupid doll!"

Bart rose up from bed to glare at the doll as he shouted this, only to gasp in shock as soon as he was finished. Chucky, while still laying on his stomach, had somehow turned his head toward Bart, his icy-blue eyes locking with Bart's.

"Ok...that's...not creepy at all..." Bart told himself as he slid out of bed and slowly approached the doll. Hesitantly, he reached for the doll's head, clasped its side, and turned it back around. He remained standing before his desk for a few seconds, making sure the doll didn't move and reassuring himself all the while that he simply failed to notice the doll staring at him to begin with. Satisfied with his own rationalization, Bart sighed in relief and went back to bed. He nuzzled his head into his pillow, wormed deep into the blankets and passed one more glance at Chucky...

...who was now sitting upright on the desk, hands on his knees and eyes directly pointed at Bart.

The young boy let out a shriek of fear and covered his mouth. He was certain he had not left the doll sitting up by itself and started to question his sanity.

"Is...Is that doll moving on its own? No, that can't be right! Dolls only move in horror movies and Mixar films! I most be dreaming...or going crazy...or dreaming about going crazy..."

Bart shook his head and jumped out of bed again. He rushed to the doll, hesitated once again, and pushed the doll onto its back. He noticed a stack of text books to the left of the doll, all for homework he was have supposed to done this week, and placed it right on top of the doll's stomach. "Let's see you try and get up now!" Bart snickered as he returned to his bed for a third time.

"What am I getting so worked up about?" He said to himself as he slipped back beneath the covers. "It's just a stupid doll! Even if it came to life, what's the worst that can-AHHHHHH!"

As Bart happened to turn toward the desk for a final check on Chucky, he was met with the doll in question sitting right at the foot of his bed, merely two feet away from him. Even more disturbing was his facial features which were now twisted into a sadistic, almost mocking expression of pure amusement at the boy's fear. Quickly, the doll placed his finger before his mouth.

"Shhh! Quiet down, you little shit." He whispered darkly. "You don't wanna wake up the family now, do ya?"

At this moment of unrelenting fear and confusion, there was only one thing Bart could think to say.

"Aye Caramba!"

(We're going to go ahead and end it there for right now. I know, I know, I'm a giant jerk for cutting off right as Chucky finally gets talking. Rest assured I will try to get back to this story as soon as possible which really will be soon since two of my stories are going on hiatus soon. Until then, please review if you liked this story and follow for more updates as they come. See ya!)