The Simpsons Blues: The Ex-Husband's Revenge

BY : Wendell Urth
Category: +S through Z > Simpsons
Dragon prints: 3922
Disclaimer: The Simpsons and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story. Please don’t sue me, I got nothing!

Chapter 2: Springfield, Same Day

He stepped into the bright sunshine and stopped to put his sunglasses on. Hands suddenly grabbed him from behind, he pivoted, an elbow in a belly that was more flab than muscle. He brought his foot around to deliver a kick that might have killed his assailant and stopped.

“Hello, Nelson. Long time.”

Nelson Munz was on the ground vomiting; Millhouse could smell the cheap wine. “Four eyes,” he groaned. Lisa ran over to the fallen ex-bully and shot a look of pure hatred at her ex. She helped Nelson stumble back into the church. Maggie was leaning against the railing, laughing. “Well, Millhouse returns and beats up another member of the Simpson clan.”

“They back together again? I hadn’t heard.”

“You mean, you don’t really care, right? It’s on and off again. On when she’s drinking too much, off when she’s drinking… slightly less than too much.” She shrugged.

“And you?” Looking at her.

“So far the curse of the Simpson’s seems to have passed me by. Or at least, most of the worst ones. You look good, Milly. Really good. And before you say ‘You look good too’, you can spare me the lies. I’m a cow!”

He laughed, “How far along?”

“Six months. This little critter will be along mid-May.” Patting her belly.

“Well, I won’t invite you out for a drink. You and Craig good?”

“We get by…kinda’… when he’s around.” She shrugged, pushing back a lock of her curly blonde hair.

He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek. “Say hello for me, Mag. And do yourself a favor, get the fuck out of this shit hole town. Fast as you can. These people will only pull you down.”

Maggie nodded and went back into the shabby church.

Millhouse sighed.

Four flat tires. Typical Springfield visit. One could be an accident, but four? Munz was probably prohibited from carrying knives. He considered a moment. “No, too small a target. Let it go… for now.” He dialed his office; they’d send a tow truck and someone to pick him up.

He decided to walk around a little. See the changes in the town and people he hated.

Kwik-E-Mart was a burned-out shell. He wished Apu and his brood no ill will. He had never been more than a mild annoyance.

The Police Station was still there, a few shiny new Police Cruisers, extensions built onto both sides thanks to a civic and law enforcement improvement project. Wiggum had retired in disgrace, the entire department replaced. Many lost their pensions. All very satisfying to the man who made it all happen from behind the scenes.

Things were proceeding slowly. It was always better to proceed slowly.

Moe’s Tavern hadn’t changed much on the outside, mostly a crooked sign that said “Ralphies” He smiled and shook his head. “This I have to see.”

“Hi, welcome to… Ralphies? Yeah. I’m Ralphies… Ralphie” said the smiling 300-pound man-boy with the broom, endlessly sweeping up the same small patch of floor.

“No way he runs this joint” the man thought. Looking past the smoky bar was an even fatter fat man in dirty t-shirt and blue slacks with a satin stripe running up the legs. “Of course, Daddy Clancy must be the owner now.”

“Hi, welcome to Ralphies, I’m Raphie. Do I know you?” He thought deeply for a moment, then turned back to sweeping. He had forgotten the newcomer.

Clancy Wiggum stepped out from behind the bar, his voice was deeper now, more a dog’s gravel bark than a voice. Too many cigars. “Well, if it isn’t little Millhouse. Howyadoin’ kiddo? Ralphie, say hello to your ol’ pal!”

They had never been ol’ pals, just losers at the bottom rung at the same time. But that was long ago.

“Hi, I’m Ralphies”

The ex-chief laughed. “He does that a lot”.

“Ralph Wiggum had fallen so far off the spectrum that there should have been rainbows in his eyes.” thought Millhouse. He could have gotten the help he needed in a Special School, but no one dared suggest that the Chief of Police’s son was anything less than a normal, happy boy.

Half of the fires in Springfield could probably be laid at his door. The Chief, using his influence, got his idiot son appointed as an Assistant Fire Marshall. Took months back then for anyone to wonder how the new Marshall was always on the scene of a fire before the department was even called. During the inquiry, which resulted in them both losing their jobs, Chief Wiggum claimed it just proved Ralphie was good at his job.

Yeah, tell that to the residents of Springfield’s old age home… those that survived.

“He can smell out fires before they happen!” the Chief insisted. But he couldn’t smell the gasoline on his own clothes.

 

“How’s business chief?”

“Oh, very sad, very sad. Lost my best customer today. Don’t know what I’m going to do now that he’s snuffed it.”

“The Chief is all heart” thought Millhouse. Then said, “I thought Homer’s parole confined him to home. Ankle bracelet and all that?

“Ah well, I still have the key to unlock those.” The piggy bartender snorted another laugh. “Can’t let my best trade rot at home, can I?”

Millhouse ordered a beer, got a dusty can, not Duff or any of the other horse piss the Wiggum usually sold. Paid up and as he left heard, “Hi, welcome to Ralphies, I’m Raphies. Do I know you, Millhouse?”

“Jeez, chief” Millhouse muttered. “Give the kid a pack of matches and let him play near the propane tank. Do yourself a favor.”

 

He passed the local strip club.  A faded poster in the window featuring the ‘The Amazing Mackleberry Twins, Sherri & Terri, silver paper stars covering nipples and pussies so the right-thinking church going people of Springfield wouldn’t guess what they might be up to.

“Hello Milly,” said a voice. She was standing in a door way, smoking a small cigar “Buy a girl a drink?”

“Hello Terri, between shows?”

“I got some time. And I’m Sherri.”

He laughed. “You still pulling that act, Terri? What are you, still eight?”

She shrugged, gestured to the open door in the back. Millhouse checked his watch; he still had time to kill.

Old dressing room. Millhouse had seen better. Two hungry twin whores, he’d had worse. Sherri was sitting on his lap, his face buried between her breasts. Not too shabby, she had little bell nipple piercings and was in the middle of shaking them. If it was a song, he didn’t recognize it. Millhouse didn’t much care for music anyway. Not after being married to a saxophone player.

Terri was between his legs, feasting on his cock. She was always the better cock sucker of the two. Had them trade off for a while. Yep, Terri was better, still… Sherri was now tonguing his pee hole, so he’d give her points for trying. Both were talented ball lickers. Identical twins in that respect.

They had a few laughs, he dumped both on the floor and lined their asses up across the side of the single bed. Sherri on the left, Terri on the right. Just like old times! He began fucking Sherri from behind while fingering Terri. Sisters kissing. Making out like they always did. Probably a typical Tuesday for them. He switched off, fingers in Sherri’s twat till he brought her off, pulled out of Terri and came on her back.

“Just like the Senior Prom, eh Milly?” asked Terri. Sherri was licking his cum off her sister’s back.

He delivered a slap to her ass, made her yelp. “Except I didn’t have to get in line and wait three quarters of an hour this time” he laughed and flicked the little bell on Sherri’s left titty. That was ‘his kind of music’!”

OK way to spend an hour. They were eating each other out now, paused long enough to smile at him. So far this was the only pleasant part of his Springfield visit. Worth the few hundred bucks he dropped on their makeup table, plus the tip.

“Was a lot cheaper at the Prom,” her reminded them. Terri laughed, “Well, maybe we’ll give you a discount… next time.” Sherri shot her a dirty look, “Don’t count on it.”

He paused at the door to watch the girls begin to scissor. They were always their own best company. Terri shaved, Sherri didn’t, so they weren’t so identical anymore.

 

Three black SUV’s were pulling up outside the strip joint. Mr. Phillips opened the door of the middle one. “Your car’s been picked up, Mr. Van Houten.”

“Local mechanic?” Millhouse could sense Mr. Phillips’ eyes rolling behind the sunglasses. “As if,” he said stiffly. Millhouse laughed. “Let’s drive past the cemetery. Make sure my father-in-law gets put in the ground. Chances are, around here, they might forget.”

The service at the graveside was not well attended. Homer had died with too many enemies, owing too much money to too many people. Being an ex-con didn’t improve his popularity. He lowered the tinted window, just to see how it angered his ex, Lisa.

“What is she doing? Asked Miss Mannerly, his business manager.

“Now, now Miss Mannerly, my dear ex-wife is a professional saxophonist.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Truth was, Lisa might have been playing Amazing Grace or Jingle Bells for all anyone knew. Her professional career had been cut short in a bar fight. EMT’s had botched the emergency repairs to her lips, left her with permanent nerve damage. Took her over a year just to learn to eat soup without drooling on her lap or sounding like a cartoon duck when she spoke. She tried to sue, but somehow couldn’t locate the ambulance company or the man who hit her in the face with the broken beer bottle. Didn’t even seem to be any witnesses.

It was a shame really; she had just finished recording the first of five albums she was contracted for with a start up Jazz label. The company regretfully then sued for the return of her advance, which had already been spent on Homer & Bart’s legal fees. She countered sued that the label hadn’t lived up to their end of the international release. The label countered by showing sales in Burundi, The Solomon Islands, Yemen, Moldova and even Antarctica. Of the 150,000 copies of the initial release, less than 100 copies were sold (presumedly, some to penguins).

The record company then went out of business, it’s last official act was to send Lisa a bill for storage of 149,938 unsold copies.

No one could prove at this late date that the owner of the label was Millhouse Van Houten. Or that the fight that permanently ended Lisa’s career had been arranged by him. All Lisa knew is that she was deeper in debt, without a career and was getting a reputation for frivolous law suits.

“Well, she says she can hear the music in her head… and that’s all that matters.”

“Not to me”, Miss Mannerly replied. “Hope there are no romantically inclined moose in the area.”

 

The service was breaking up, people hugging, people leaving (as fast as possible). The saxophonist turned angrily and began to approach the SUV’s.

“Shall I roll up the window back up?” Mr. Phillips suggested.

“That would be rude. Let’s see what she does?”

“As long as she doesn’t play the saxophone at us!” Miss Mannerly said.

 

“Why are you here?” Lisa demanded.

“To offer my condolences?”

Lisa spat on the ground.

“I see you sent the old jail-bird off with a song. Very familiar, what was it again?”

She paused for a moment. Talking about her music always distracted her. “St. James Infirmary Blues”.

“See, I told you so, Miss Mannerly… definitely wasn’t the sound of two dogs fucking.”

“He’s joking, dear.” Miss Mannerly apologized. “I thought it was a moose dying.” She signaled the driver to pull away. The SUV’s circled the angry woman a couple of times, then drove off at speed.

“Well, that certainly set her off,” said Miss Mannerly. “Shall we begin the next phase?”

“I believe so. Mr. Phillips, let’s proceed with your friend on the Parole board contacting Marge. Let’s wait till we’re back in Capital City. Give us the home court advantage.” Mr. Phillips did something unusual. He smiled.

“Oh, before I forget. There are a couple of strippers here who might be useful. Sherri & Terri Mackleberry. Have them checked out, quietly. And there’s a bar called ‘Ralphie’s’ run by a fat turd called ‘Clancy Wiggum’, let’s see if we can buy up his loans or the lease. Something like that.”

“Quietly” the big man rumbled.

Miss Mannerly then said, “Soooo, unpleasant divorce much?”

Millhouse laughed. “Unpleasant divorce, preceded by unpleasant marriage, preceded by unpleasant courtship, etc. Yes, you could say ‘unpleasant’ has been the hallmark of our relationship.” Then, “Oh, some of it was my fault. All of it if you listen to her.”

“I think the last straw for her was the prenup.” Millhouse smiled an ugly smile. “You see, she outsmarted herself. She always knew she would be the big earner.” Miss Mannerly’s eyes went wide in surprise. She knew approximately Millhouse’s real worth, not just the one the government knew about. “Oh yes, you didn’t know me back then. Or my dear little Lisa, world class Jazz saxophonist, potential Supreme Court Justice, Environmental Activist, Feminist Warrior. She had dreams. Wrote the perfect prenup, unbreakable, unchangeable, unchallengeable. Designed so when we broke up (not if), I wouldn’t be left with a single thing of hers, not even a single good memory.”

Millhouse laughed again. “Girl sued herself and her family right into the poorhouse. First, she found out she couldn’t touch anything I made after the marriage dissolved. Then, and what was worse, her prenup meant she couldn’t touch anything I made during the marriage. And I kept her in court long enough to ensure she never gets out of debt.”

“Then the only two men in her life she really cared about went to prison.”

Miss Mannerly smiled the smile of a self-satisfied red head, “Let me guess… you had a hand in their convictions?”

“Both hands, my dear. Both hands”

Mr. Phillips was watching for assorted terrorists, kidnappers and assassins in the passing traffic. Disappointed that all he saw were assorted slack-jawed Springfield morons and products of generations of incest. Living in a toxic waste dump didn’t do anything to improve their genetic disposition.

Miss Mannerly began working on her tablet. Her long shapely legs were crossed. A shoe was dangling from her toes as the foot bounced back and forth. She always did that when she crossed her legs. Millhouse found it very erotic. He put his hand on her knee, squeezed it, rubbed it. Miss Mannerly smiled and continued to work on the tablet.



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