Simpsons Porn Story: Pulling the Plug Chapter 1

Simpsons Porn Story: Pulling the Plug Chapter 1

Charles Montgomery Burns sat in his office, eyes closed, resting comfortably in a large chair. He figured his rest was well-deserved. After all, he had just come home from World War 2 less than a month ago, and being a war hero was tiring.

His calm was shattered when the phone rang. Burns merely glared at it as he waited for his assistant to pick it up.

The man, a short and round man by the name of Jacobs (or was it Jackson?) came rushing in and picked up the phone.

Hello? Burns’ assistant said, and went quiet as someone on the other line started talking. Mr. Burns closed his eyes again, but didn’t keep them closed for long.

Sir? It’s the hospital. Your mother has been hit by a car.

Mr. Burns opened only one eye, however, and used it to look at Jacobs curiously. Did the man really need to tell him this? Oh well, it was best to deal with it the only way he knew how.

Send her flowers. Burns said, closing his eye.

She’s in a coma. Jacobs said, holding the phone toward Mr. Burns, They don’t know if she’s going to make it. The man was surprised. He knew about C. Mongomery Burns before he took the job, and he had heard that Burns was, well, cold, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone would treat their own mother like this.

Mr. Burns opened his eyes and sighed. He snatched the phone from Jacob’s hand and put it to his ear.

This is Monty Burns.

The doctor then spent an entire ten minutes explaining what happened when his mother had arrived in the emergency room, her current treatment and how she was doing, and the story of her being hit, which was just assumptions from her injuries. He finished up with I think you should come down and see her.

Again, Mr. Burns sighed. Fine. I’ll be there tomorrow.

We aren’t sure if she’ll live through the night. We have her on some machines, keeping her alive, but…

This time, Mr. Burns let out an annoyed grunt. Okay, I’ll be right there. He dropped the phone back on it’s hook and stood up. Jacobs hovered awkwardly at the edge of Mr. Burns’ desk as Mr. Burns crossed the room, picked up his jacket from the coat rack, and opened the door.

Jacobs thought that Burns had forgotten him. He wasn’t that lucky.

Mr. Burns paused at the door, and turned around. Oh yes, and another thing. His eyes narrowed. You’re fired.

With that, Mr. Burns was gone.

Most people hate hospitals. Monty Burns wasn’t one of them. He loved them. Maybe it was the sterile environment, or the idea that the sick and injured resided there, but Mr. Burns loved hospitals. He felt comfortable in them. They were safe.

He didn’t much like being told to go to every ward in the hospital, though. Go here, go there, jump through all these hoops, then you can see your mother. By the time he got to his mother’s room, he was starting to dislike hospitals.

Mr. Burns opened the door and walked in. A young doctor, probably in his upper thirties or early forties, stood at the end of his mother’s bed, writing something on a clipboard. The doctor looked up when Burns entered, and immediately recognized him.

Mr. Burns, good to see you. He said, offering his hand. Burns looked at it with disgust instead of shaking it. The doctor paused, a bit taken aback, then turned back to his clipboard. Uh, your mother lapsed into a coma about five hours ago. There really hasn’t been much change since. Her heartbeat seems to be weak. We, we, uh… we need a decision from you. Uh, whether we keep her alive or not.

Burns didn’t reply. He walked over to the edge of the bed. Gripping the railing at the side, he looked down at her. She looked tiny and fragile. There were scrapes on the side of her face, and he could see a purple bruise on her neck, which extended under the hospital gown.

The doctor bit his lip uncomfortably, but stayed there.

Monty Burns hated to admit it, but he was scared. Scared of his mother. Although it was his father’s money, she was the one giving it to him for Yale. She was the one that got him into Yale. She had the influence to have him kicked out. That was the last thing that he wanted.

So, he did what his mother told him to do. When she called and asked him to run an errand for her, even if it would make him late for class, he did it. He rejected offers by his peers to go out, and instead, spent the weekends with his family.

He graduated Yale fine. He made a few friends, and had a girlfriend or two, but all he could remember was carefully trying to please his mother so he could stay in school.

It was the roaring twenties now, back when Mr. Burns was still afraid of his mother, back before there was a rift between them.

He had helped with prohibition, and he had taken the opportunity it created and made some money. His mother didn’t think like that, however. It was the morals she was interested in. It was almost as if he just wanted to spite her, but Burns regularly donned a zoot suit and went out to the speakeasy that he co-owned.

Burns also knew a young lady, a flapper. His mother hated flappers. Maybe that was what drew him to them. Certainly, Burns didn’t much support the idea of independent women. This girl wasn’t just a flapper though. She was a regular church-goer. She had to wear a wig to cover her traditional bobbed cut, but she went. Like Burns, the only reason she was was to satisfy her parents. Sure, she didn’t have the mind for business like he did, but he was fond of her none-the-less. Besides, it gave him someone to talk to in the many, many get-togethers the church held.

The night before, he and the girl had been talking. They were discussing the benefits of pretending they were in a relationship. Just an act for their parents, of course.

And they had fallen asleep listening to the radio. Burns cursed himself for letting it happen.

And of course, that was the day his parents came to his house, went inside with the key he had given them without knocking, and saw him on his couch, sleeping with a flapper.

They were outraged. Well, his mother was. His father acted outraged, but probably didn’t care.

The girl had run into the bathroom, and his mother had let loose.

Who was that hussy? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know that flappers are moral ingrates and are going straight to hell?

It didn’t stop there, of course, but Burns had stopped listening. He remembered how he had just stood there, staring past her, trying to ignore her. It was considerably harder when she started poking him.

It was a few months before Burns would be drafted. He got a phone call from his mother. He hadn’t spoken to her since that morning. Neither wanted to apologize, so neither did.

There was a reason for her calling. Burns’ father was missing, assumed dead. Had been for nearly a half a year, and the lawyer was finally getting around to reading the will. Monty was a little annoyed that he hadn’t been told that his father was missing back when it happened, but then, he couldn’t say he was surprised. He knew better than anyone that his father never really loved his mother. He was fond of her and hoped that love would grow from that. Instead, he found that she was overbearing and obnoxious. Burns was honestly surprised that it took him so long to leave, and was unpleasantly surprised by the fact that he had done it the cowardly way.

Burns went out and met his mother, brother, and his father’s lawyer. He heard the will read. He got half of what his father had, and his mother and brother got half of what remained. Burns’ brother left quickly. His own falling out with their mother had been more recent, more dramatic. Monty stuck around only because he felt like his mother might apologize.

Oh, how young and foolish he’d been.

Your father was foolish. Stupid, in fact. He made enemies and they came and got him. Now he’s dead. His mother had shrugged indifferently, and turned to stare out the window for a while. Monty just stood there, waiting for her to finish.

You know, Charles. Only idiots make enemies. That’s why I live my life purely and work with people. I don’t want to have enemies. You should take a page from my book, or you’ll be killed like your father was.

She lapsed into silence again, but this time, she was waiting for a reply. He could see it in the way she stared out the window.

Yes, mater. Burns replied plainly.

Get out of my sight, you wretched boy.

With that, Burns left.

The worst memory Burns had of his mother was when he was young. He was only about seven or eight at the time. The time surrounding the one events was a blur. His father sitting in a chair, reading the paper. Little Burns asking where his mother was. His mother getting home late. His father talking about Taft’s political talents. Or, well, the lack thereof.

Young Monty Burns woke up to yelling. He crawled out of bed, and down the stairs. His parents were in the living room.

I don’t even know what you see in Taft! He’s a lousy politician and a lousy person. His father yelled.

He’s a fine politician and twice the man you’ll ever be!

It went on and on. Burns watched for a long time. He can’t remember when he fell asleep, but he has a hazy memory of his father putting him back in bed.

The rest of the surrounding memories are of his father working more and more often, and moping when he thought no one was around. It was pathetic, and sort of disgusting. Seeing his father like that made him hate his mother.

All this came rushing back to Burns as he stared down at his mother. The way she stood in his way, crippled his social life, made him feel inadequate, the way she pointed out his faults so easily while ignoring his own.

His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the railing in anger.

It was her own fault she got hit by a car. Burns had been sure for some time that his father was still alive. It was a long time since his disappearance, but Burns had no doubt in his mind that it was his father’s work lying in the hospital bed before him.

His eyes narrowed, and he gritted his teeth.

The doctor was even more uncomfortable now. What he hoped would be a touching mother-son moment, perhaps involving tears being shed, turned into something else. The fifty-something man that came in stared down at the helpless old woman with much intense malice, with such sheer hatred, that he wondered what the old woman had done.

Mr. Burns? The doctor said finally, We need a decision.

Burns ignored him. He lowered his face, so his long nose was less than in inch away from hers.

Only idiots He snarled quietly, carefully pronouncing every syllable, make enemies.

With that, Burns whirled around and walked to the door. The doctor watched helplessly as Burns stalked over to the door.

Burns’ opened the door, and for the second time that day, stopped before he left. He didn’t bother to turn around.

Pull the plug. He said coldly.

The doctor watched as the door slammed shut. With a sigh, he turned to shut of the machinery that kept her alive.

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