Date: Sun, 18 Feb 2007 22:12:31 +0000
From: Timothy Stillman <menovember@hotmail.com>
Subject: Breakfast with Bart and Millhouse

		     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.)