Breakfast with Bart and Millhouse
By
Tim Stillman
(based on a tantalizing moment in a recent "The Simpsons" episode in which Bart makes a sexual observation of Snap Crackle and Pop on the "Rice Krispies" box, then a girl gets pregnant and she lies and says Bart's the father, none of which involved the box of cereal--but me? I'm really still back there with Bart at the breakfast table. Not one to let such a thing escape me, I have nailed it to my brain, beaten it into submission and expanded it in my own way.)
"Woo hoo hoo," Bart Simpson said into the invisible microphone at the Simpson family breakfast table that creamy yellow room with its creamy yellow furniture and the creamy yellow sunlight splashing in the windows, to go with the yellow of Bart's skin (a common color here in Springfield; a plague of jaundice or a gift from the nuke plant? and hair that blended with head and was at the top, like the top of a grocery sack, the Simpson family being away at George Lucas' Short Man Camp, at his personal invitation, along with five thousand other persons, personally invited, to learn also how to be short and spread the miracle, because George was tired of his eyes being on the level of other people's kneecaps.
Bart, that irrepressible scamp, seemed to relish being naked as the day he was born. Which was like 18 years ago, but Bart hung tight to the age of nine. He had his left hand on the box of Rice Krispies on which his favorite turn ons were pictured--Snap, Crackle and Pop. He was imagining with that pernicious imagination of the Bartman just what those little cut ups were up to. He had the windows of the kitchen, all of this had an almost cartoon look, not the look however of Itchy and Scratchy however; they were sacred; they were true art, dude; anyways^Åthe kitchen windows were undraped, so Flanders and the little butthole Flanders might see the Bartman there naked with his little two incher stuck out, not pale from not being exposed along with crotch and balls to the sunlight, but yellow like the rest of him, his butt included, because being a kind of cartoon looking kid has its advantages, especially at staying nine years old FOR FREAKIN' FOREVER^Å
Bart was playing with his prod. It was kinda still under development but looked mighty good to him, as he said sexual things into the invisible mike as he lowered the box of cereal to his penis, and said, "Eat my sho--no, eat my penis, cowboys." And imagined they did, as he put the mike down on the table, and began to jack off, his legs extended, his feet almost touching the floor. His body just ogled itself, especially imagining that the Flanders twins, such goody goodies they, were at their windows, peeping into Bart's kitchen--hey it's mine now, go suck a lemon, Homer, this is my world forever now--and Bart tossed his head back and lolled his tongue out his mouth as his eyes got really big, not the kind of expression and tongue lolling he did when Homer strangled him--what a way to run a family--and god could Mom use a haircut or what?; and why is it blue?, and why can't Mr. Burns ever just freakin' die already with us his sole heirs?--and then Bart got his mind back on track, and felt his penis harden, it was not a well molded penis, couldn't really tell if even it was cut or not, it was kind of a stick of yellow, not much in the detail department, being a cartoon kind of kid had its disadvantages too, it seemed--
But it felt damn good and Bart tensed his cheek muscles and his ass muscles and he was just sawing away oh his Johnson, imagining the Flander twins jacking each other off, butt naked like he was, as they watched, and then he heard a great big:
HOLY COWABUNGA MAN. WOWLY HOHWLY BART SIMPSON DUDE.
And Bart lost his hard. He had come down stairs naked. His family wasn't due back for more hijinks here till Monday. Was it the HAHAH kid who stood there inside the kitchen, at the door he forgot to close? Was it Miss Crabapple (which made him excited again)? Was it Principal Skinner? No course not. Adults don't talk like that. Was it the Flanders boys? Who had become Snap and Crackle while Bart was Pop in his nascent sexual dreams? He imagined eyes still closed, hand working on his hard again, not looking at the door behind him to see who it was, after all Bart was cooler than a carton of Blatt Beer in Alaska January, man, and he was so proving it here, please let it be the Flanders boy. Oh come on God don't let this fall apart.
Then the voice. The voice of----
Cue the dramatic scary music---yellow summer day suddenly has black skies, lightning bolts, thunder, end of the world stuff, clips of horror from the House of Horror Halloween specials-- then focusing on the spectral shadow of the tall dark stranger there in the suddenly nightmarish looking Simpson kitchen--he carrying a butcher knife and laughing maniacally, then we are back to what we laughingly call reality and it turns out to be only--good old goofy--
"Whoa there, Bart."
MILLHOUSE. Millhouse of blue hair and big glasses. Millhouse of buddy and pal and friend and sometimes pest. Millhouse who got the crap kicked out of him on a regular basis as Springfield Elementary and everywhere else he happened to be. Millhouse, about whom Bart had has his suspicions, and now Millhouse of knobby knees, of less hue than Bart, came a walking clanky like he walked over to Bart and looked down at his naked friend who was jacking up against the art work of the Rice Krispy kids who looked in detail and structure more real than Bart and his world, but that made `em sexy, they were of that world out there that was bordering on reality, and that was as close as Bart chose to go on that subject. Bart looked up at his friend and said to him, "Divest your clothing, yon sire." And Millhouse who was not the crazy laugh a minute super stud that Bart was, said, his penis poking tent stob in his shorts, "What, Bart?"
To which Bart replied, "Get naked, man."
And Millhouse hastily did just that. And soon as you would say this can't be happening on Fox TV, Millhouse was naked as a cootie bird (I don't know; they give me the outline, I write the story) and under the kitchen table in the kitchen bathed in yellow and the sun and sucking Bart's Bottled in Bond Penis, super penis of the Western world, as Bart went "snap crackle pop" and exactly as he said pop, he did, and Millhouse held Bart's penis as it clicked dryly for about ten times. As then, Bart, who was not even exerted, said, "Hey, Millhouse, let's play Rice Krispies."
Millhouse grudgingly released Bart's still hard penis. He looked up lovingly at his friend, his blue glasses half off his nose, his eyes partially crossed, his mouth a little line of exhausted xxxxx's, his hair a now disarrayed blue, as Bart giggled that patented Bart Simpson giggle and wiggled his penis and laughed deep in his tummy, as Millhouse said lazily and indolently, though his hand was stroking his own penis--not to be forgotten--his penis was one inch longer than Bart's, so there!--call Millhouse a girly boy again and see how he's a horned tiger down there, dude, "how do we play that one, Bart?" And Bart was thinking of he and Millhouse going starkers over to the Flanders pool, man, Bart can't keep those kids out of his head, and jumping in, like it's a big bowl of milk and they're the Rice Krispies kids and can fuck and stuff under water and if the Flanders' twins--oh knock it off, Bart-but first Bart said to Millhouse, "lie down dude, we can do each other."
"I heard tell what that is. It's called 69."
Bart giggled, "It sure is, dude."
So the dudes did do it and it was finely done and they lay side by side, their arms round each other and feeling each other up. As the doorbell rang and rang. They lay there safe and sound and sleepy and not caring. Then after a time, the kitchen door opened. Bart and Millhouse's eyes were closed. Millhouse was asleep now, but Bart was just dozing, and knew exactly who had come in the kitchen. He snapped his fingers and smiled and sighed as one twin said, "Dad's out of town today. We saw you a little while ago and ah well, we know the story of Lot peeping back and what happened and ah^ÅPastor Lovejoy said^Å." But their penises were hard and the train of thought was lost.
"Drop `em at the door, my cahoonas and later we'll take a dip in the Rice Krispies bowl." The twins got out of their clothes, their red hair mussed and hopped over to Bart and Millhouse who was now awake as one twin jumped on Bart, while the other jumped on Millhouse--yellow meets blue and blue meets red and it was the best breakfast any boy in Springfield or anywhere else in this good old world had ever had, for they ate of each other---
"Snap crackle pop Rice Krispies."
(Neither "The Simpsons" producers nor Kellogg's endorse this story. Neither does George Lucas. I, on the other, hand, do.)