Married with Children - Bundy's Do the Fourth

(July 4th-Bundy Style)

shaggy77

(fictional story about fictional characters)

It was July 4th and when Al Bundy descended the stairs into his living room, he declared to his family: "good morning leeches and Queen Leech; now this is what America is all about...hot, sweaty, sunny day; spending all my money on a backyard barbeque; and surrounded by the last people on earth I want to be near. At least the shoe-store is closed so I won't have to put up with fat, smelly women who insist on fitting their size 10 hooves into a size 5."

"We love you too, Daddy," his beautiful blond teenage daughter, Kelly, sarcastically answered.

He continued with his rant: "ah yes...the Fourth of July...a true American holiday. Not one of those fake "Monday" holidays...the Fourth is observed on...well...the Fourth, just like our forefathers intended. We honor them by celebrating just the way they did: with a backyard cookout and fireworks." His redheaded wife Peggy, Kelly, and his acne-faced son Bud all rolled their eyes as they sat around the kitchen table. "Now Bud, I want you to run down to the store. Get the freshest chopped meat they have...no skimping on Al's famous Fourth of July burgers; and all the fixin's. Get the good buns...nothing pre-cut and nothing with seeds."

"Jeez Dad," Bud protested, "it's a holiday, the store will be jammed. Why didn't you get the stuff yesterday?"

"Not fresh enough, oh mistake-of-my-loins," Al responded. Turning to Kelly: "and you Pumpkin...since all the neighbors are away spending their vacations at amusement parks and tropical beaches; you know they all stash their spare keys under the mat or in the mailbox. Plunder the neighborhood for soda, beer, and chips...and none of that un-American imported beer."

Peggy spoke up: "oh Kelly, when you get to the McPherson's, get me some Ranch Doritos...they always have 'em."

"OK Mom," Kelly said and took off out the door; empty grocery bags under her arms.

Grabbing a cold beer, Al gave Peggy her instructions: "go down to the basement, get the lawn chairs out and scrub 'em down. I'm going to get some coals going so they're just right for grillin'." He was the epitome of a suburban holiday reveler with his long Hawaiian board shorts, his tropical print button-up shirt and his leather sandals (with black socks, of course). Wandering out to the back yard, the first thing Al did was flip over the turtle-shaped kiddie pool, which had been draining bottom side up since Memorial Day, and turn on the garden hose so that the pool would fill. This was Al's fiefdom and he was the king of this domain. He poured nearly a whole bag of charcoal into his rusting-out old grill, poured a more-than-generous amount of lighter fluid on them and when he lit a match, the fire ignited with a loud "foof."

He sat on the bench of the picnic table, sipping on his beer, and watched as Peggy dragged the dirty lawn chairs up from the basement and proceeded to hose them down and scrub them. Normally, the last thing Al thought of was sex with his wife; but watching her ass undulate in her tight Capri pants as she worked on the chairs was having an arousing effect on him. Of course, the beer on an empty stomach may have been a factor. As she was bent over washing down a chair, Al sidled up behind her and pressed his groin against her cheeks; so tight that she could feel his growing erection. On almost any other occasion Peggy would have welcomed the attention, but it was a humid 90 degrees in Chicago and the perspiration was pouring off her face. The last thing she wanted was Al climbing on top of her. "Oh Al, not now," she complained.

"But Peg, it's a holiday...an all-American holiday," Al told her, grinding against her butt.

She was saved when Kelly came busting through the open sliding door, her arms full of grocery bags. "I'm back," she declared as she dropped the bags on the picnic table. "Boy, the neighbors sure leave their fridges packed when they go away."

"Ahhh, the rich...you see," Al pontificated, "we're doing them a favor. All this would expire by the time they got back. Let's see what you got." "Oooo, Fritos," he exclaimed as he unpacked the bags, "wow, Michelob in bottles. That must be from the Nelson's...they're classy." Kelly nodded her head as she threw a bag of Ranch Doritos to Peggy. "Name brand soda," Al was excited as he pulled a six-pack of Coke from a bag.

"Jeez it's hot," Kelly declared as she wiped her brow with the back of her arm, "I couldn't wait to get back and have a cold one." She was already twisting the cap off a bottle of Bud when she realized what she was doing, and that Al was staring at her. She tried hard to keep the illusion that she was a "good girl," and quickly recovered: "well, I've always wanted to try a beer...on the commercials that's what all Americans do on hot summer days."

"Well, since it's a holiday; and you are eighteen; go ahead Pumpkin," Al told her, "just be careful...problem drinking starts with one." He grabbed his beer and they "clinked" bottles.

"The Lopez' have a new big screen TV," Kelly informed them, "it's huge...covers a whole wall."

"Yeah, she probably earned that on her back," Al laughed and Peggy joined in. Kelly just looked puzzled and gulped her beer before reaching for another. As they were draining their bottles, Bud walked out into the backyard, also dropping grocery bags on the picnic table. "How did you make out, son," Al asked.

"I had the dullard behind the meat counter grind it fresh, Dad, and he wasn't happy," Bud proudly stated.

"Well, he probably isn't an American anyway," Al stated, "you know...working on the holiday." He began pawing through the bags and came across a couple tomatoes. "What the heck are these for," he demanded.

"Well you said get all the fixin's," Bud answered.

"Bundy's don't eat vegetables," Al exclaimed and threw the red orb over the fence into his neighbor's back yard.

They heard their neighbor, Jefferson Darcy's voice yell "owww," and then, "thanks Al...be a little more careful. Hey we'll be over in a few minutes...Marcy's getting the potato salad together."

"Sorry buddy," Al yelled back, all the while snickering, "help yourself to the tomato. Don't forget the beer."

"What a weenie," Bud chuckled and all the Bundy's laughed.

"When I said fixin's, I meant cheese," Al addressed his son, "you know, good old American cheese...slices or can. None of that foreign stuff like Swiss, or what ever else they have."

"Got it, Dad," Bud told him while rummaging through the bags and producing a giant package of slices, and a couple cans of aerosol cheese.

"That's my boy," Al pretended to tear up, "now this is a holiday. This is what America is all about: burgers, beer, and big 'uns."

"Oh, by the way, Dad," Kelly spoke up, "when I was coming out of the Reilly's house, Officer Dan saw me and was giving me the stink-eye; so I invited him to the barbeque. He grinned; gave me a thumbs-up, and just kept crusin'. Did I do good?"

"Yes you did, Pumpkin," Al smiled, "it'll give Griff someone to talk to." Now there was nothing racist about Al; he was just insensitive. Griff, a large Black man, worked with him at the shoe store and they were best friends who both joked about the others' stereotyped tendencies. Officer Dan was the beat-cop in their neighborhood, who also happened to be Black. They all agreed that one of the things wrong in America was that everyone was too sensitive and had lost their sense of humor. Case in point was Al's neighbor, Marcy Darcy, who at that moment popped through the gap in the back fence of their adjoining yards carrying a large ceramic bowl of potato salad. Al had accidently caused the hole when he was trying to terminate the rabbit that had been feasting on his garden.

Marcy had admonished Al on several occasions, but her husband Jefferson, who was right behind her carrying a case of beer, always laughed about the hole and this was no exception: "hey Al, if it wasn't for that "wascally wabbit" we would have to walk all the way around." Marcy turned and gave him a hard stare, but Jefferson just laughed.

"Hey neighbors," Al greeted them, "a whole case Jefferson...you're always welcome. Don't worry about any cannibalism Marcy, only good old American burgers are served here...no chicken." Al always kidded her about her resemblance to birds as a whole, most specifically chickens. She was very skinny and had short cropped hair, and did actually bear a striking similarity to a bird.

As if proving his point, she set the bowl on the picnic table, placed her hands on her hips and when she talked her head bobbed like a pigeon, as she berated the laughing men: "oh you think that's funny Jefferson...well just you wait 'till later and no sugar for you. Now take that beer inside and put it in the refrigerator." When she turned her back to pick up the bowl, Jefferson started to bob his head in a mocking gesture, and Al laughed again.

Peggy interrupted: "I'll take that, Jefferson and you two morons can stay out here and count your toes. If you are going to be swilling beer all day, I'm going in to make a pitcher of daiquiris for us girls...come on Marcy, I can feel my IQ decreasing just by being around those two." All three of the women went into the kitchen.

"Thanks for inviting us Al," Jefferson acknowledged, "it would have been a long day at home; she's on me to get a job again." Jefferson was just a pretty-boy, trophy husband who had never had to work a day in his life. Marcy had married him while drunk and missing her former husband, Steve.

Al had long ago given up resenting Jefferson for not having to work, and asked: "jeez Jefferson, you're a good looking guy...why Marcy."

"Well Al, it's like this," Jefferson confessed, "she makes six figures at the bank...and she actually is a tiger in the sack."

"Oh crap Jefferson, why did you have to do that," Al exclaimed, "now I have a picture in my head...I'm going to have to wash my eyes out with beer." Laughing again, they both chugged a sudsy cold one and sent Bud inside for more.

The girls were sitting around the kitchen table while Peggy filled their glasses with the strawberry concoction...heavy on the rum. She couldn't resist commenting: "men are such pigs...they're only good for one thing."

"Yeah, and most of them aren't very good at that," Marcy added, and they all chuckled.

"I'll say," Kelly chimed in, and her mother and Marcy looked at her like she had three eyeballs. "Well, so my girlfriends tell me," she added, not wanting to seem like a slut. Kelly thought she was protecting her fake reputation of being a "good girl" but even her father and mother (and everyone in town) knew the truth...Kelly WAS a slut.

Al came into the kitchen to make the patties for his burgers just as Marcy was complaining about the heat: "Peggy, don't you have air-conditioning?"

"Oh, Al Rockefeller over there doesn't believe in air-conditioning...right Al," she answered.

Slapping the chopped meat between his hands to make generous patties, Al told Marcy: "it's just not the American way. Did George Washington have air-conditioning at Gettysburg? Did Custer have air-conditioning at the Little Big Horn? Did Patton have air-conditioning in his tank? I don't think so...end of discussion." As he was carrying his tray of patties out to the backyard, Griff and Officer Dan came rushing through the front door.

Dan exclaimed, "damn it's hot out there. We couldn't wait to get inside to the air-conditioning...holy crap...it's even hotter in here."

Noticing that they were both carrying two six packs, Al remarked: "didn't you bring any beer for you. Quit your complaining, put that in the fridge, grab a cold one and come out to the backyard...I'm grillin'." As he was wedging all the patties onto the grill, he noticed that Dan was in uniform and asked him about it.

"Oh yeah, I'm on duty," Dan admitted, "you don't think us hard working public servants can get holidays off like you civilians, do you?" As he swigged a tall one, he added: "by the way, I noticed Kelly doing some shopping around the neighborhood. I hope she locked up behind her; there's been some burglaries recently."

As the four, rapidly becoming intoxicated, men sat at the picnic table watching Al grill, the subject naturally turned to women and sex. Trying to fit in, Bud mentioned to Jefferson: "Mrs. Darcy is looking mighty fine today." Bud had always had a crush on his next door neighbor, and liked to imagine himself as a "ladies man." Marcy had worn a one-piece skort outfit that showed off her skinny legs. Al would call them "chicken legs."

"Yeah, if you like teenage boys," Griff commented and they all laughed.

"Joke all you want," Jefferson told them, "she's a good provider."

At the kitchen table, the rum was flowing and the girls were also discussing the opposite sex. Peggy asked Marcy point-blank: "so how is Jefferson in the sack?"

"Oh he's a pretty-boy all right, but just average between the sheets...he's always checking his hair in the ceiling mirror," she responded.

"Yeah, I bet he is," Peggy dreamily agreed, trying to picture her handsome neighbor in bed. Just then they heard Al call out that the burgers were ready and to bring everything out to the picnic table.

As the hungry, horny friends sat around gorging themselves on burgers, booze, salad and chips; Jefferson complimented Al: "I was skeptical Al, but I think these ARE the best burgers I've ever had."

Griff and Dan agreed as Al pumped his chest out and told them: "the secret is in the ashes...I've never emptied the ashes from that grill.

Jefferson knew he should be reviled, but just shook his head and commented: "well, it works." As they ate, all the men, obviously drunk, openly leered at the women and the women stared right back with equal lust in their eyes. When the meal was over, the girls dutifully put the leftovers in the kitchen and the men tipped back in the chairs Peggy had scrubbed that morning.

Al declared: "well, I'm going for a dip in the pool...anyone want to join me."

They all glanced at the kiddie-pool, rolled their eyes, and Griff answered for everyone: "yeah...right Al. Thanks but no thanks."

Stumbling over to the tiny pool, Al threw off his Hawaiian shirt and plopped down into the water. Of course he was too big and his legs and shoulders weren't submerged, but the water did cool him off. Kelly came out to get the last of the paper plates and heard Al mutter the dreaded words: "hey Pumpkin...a little jacuzzi action, if you please."

She knew just what he wanted and trudged over to the turtle-pool. Kelly had dressed for the occasion in her summer finest: cut-off jean shorts, so short that the bottoms of her shapely cheeks showed, and a tube top so small that the tops of her breasts were clearly visible. Stepping into the pool beside his body, she began to run in place, splashing and making tiny waves. As she ran, her wonderful breasts flopped up and down inside the worn fabric and threatened to pop out. Barely able to keep her balance after consuming too many daiquiris, Kelly spread her legs for a more stable base and straddled her father's torso.

This action was not lost on Griff, Jefferson and Officer Dan, who glanced slyly at each other and began to rub their crotches. It wasn't lost on Al either, who stared at his daughter's chest and legs with un-fatherly thoughts. They were interrupted by Marcy passing through the yard carrying her bowl of salad and calling over her shoulder, her words slurred: "since there's no room in your fridge, with all that beer, I'll go pop this in ours before it goes bad. I'll be right back, Peggy."

Quick to take advantage of the situation, Bud leaped up and took the bowl from her: "please let me help you with that, Mrs. Darcy, you've done enough work today."

"Why aren't you the little gentleman," she told him, giggling from her intoxication, "others around here could take a lesson from you...and you can call me Marcy." With Kelly's tits defying gravity, no one else even heard her.

Peggy appeared at the door and called out: "OK Marse, don't be too long." Seeing the men in the backyard, she got an idea of her own and waved at Marcy's husband: "oh Jefferson, could you help me with something inside." Hearing his name called snapped him out of his trance, and Jefferson dutifully followed Peggy back inside.

Kelly was having severe equilibrium problems and finally her feet slipped out from under her and she came tumbling down into Al's lap with a "plop" and a splash. Jounced by the force, her tube top slipped down, exposing her nubile breasts. They were a perfect 34 C and just as round as teenage breasts should be. They looked so soft and inviting that Al calmly stared and told her: "jeez Pumpkin, you kinda' spilled out there...would you like me to help you with those."

Looking down, Kelly noticed her condition and her first thought was: "oh yeah...what do you think of them Daddy...do you like them?"

"Well they're just fine Pumpkin," he answered, and turned to Griff and Dan, "what do you guys think?"

Her areola were a rosy pink and they were capped by darker pink nipples the size of gumdrops, and they appeared to be as hard as pencil erasers. "Magnificent," Officer Dan complimented her, "of course I really need to inspect them closer."

"Hold your horses there Paul Revere," Al told him, keeping with his July Fourth theme, "she's sitting on MY lap now."

"Yeah, your tits; I mean breasts; are amazing Kelly," Griff added, "Al is always telling me how well you've developed."

"Oh really," Kelly commented, turning her attention back to her father, "oooo you really DO like them don't you Daddy," as she felt his erection under her and began to grind her ass into his groin. "You don't feel like Mr. Empty-pants to me." Awhile ago, Peggy had doodled a cartoon character of Al while she was drying her hair at the beauty salon, and had nicknamed him Mr. Empty-pants. The cartoon had caught on and actually been published in the local "Weekly Shopper" tabloid at the Mall. It was just another in a series of embarrassments and disappointments in his dreary life.

"I'm very proud of the way you've developed," Al assured her as he reached forward and surrounded one of her breasts in each hand. They were even more soft and warm than he had anticipated, and he fondled and squeezed them for several minutes, trapping and squeezing her nipples between his fingers. "I hope you don't mind," he told her as he leaned in and sucked her left nipple into his mouth, flicking the tender bud with his tongue.

"Oh, I don't mind, Daddy," she encouraged him, "I would do anything to make you happy. I know Mom doesn't treat you very well." Still squirming on his lap, she suggested: "these wet shorts are really uncomfortable...I'm just going to slip them off." She raised up just enough so that she could slip one leg at a time out through the holes. A circus contortionist couldn't have done it more smoothly, as she barely moved on his lap. Looking down, Al could see her prominent mound in all it's glory. Her labia were very thick and fleshy, almost like flaps covering her promised land. Kelly's closely trimmed blond bush was shaped like a triangle, just above her visible slit.

"Pumpkin, you are so cute down there. Your Mom's is like a red jungle waiting to swallow me," he complimented her.

"Daddy, aren't your shorts getting uncomfortable," she pleaded, "I think they're suddenly too tight for you...let me help you out of them." Raising up again, Kelly grasped his waistband and yanked. His hard-on got caught under the elastic and when she yanked again, it sprang back and slapped him in the belly. "Oh my God, Daddy...you're not Mr. Empty-pants at all...your dick is huge." It was the largest prick Kelly had ever seen; at least ten thick inches; and she grasped it with both hands as it stood straight up against her belly. She was mesmerized at it's size...she was used to high school boys and this was a man's penis.