Peggy Hill Dies

Summary: Peggy Hill is the most annoying creature on the planet. The universe needs to regain its balance, so it must eliminate her. Or: What happens when a character angers me.

Warning: Violence. Death. Sarcasm.

Peggy Hill, wife of Hank Hill and mother of Bobby Hill, was going to die. No amount of broken, condescending Spanish or giant-sized shoes would save her.

See, the world has an innate balance. There are different aspects of it, and most people already recognize the big ones – good vs. evil, parents vs. teenagers, etc. But there's a lesser-known aspect that is kept just as ruthlessly by the powers that be.

It has to do with annoying people.

That is, people who are so incredibly annoying that it makes you shiver to be in the same room as them. There are only so many of these people that the world can handle before it starts to fracture under the stress. When that number is exceeded, balance must be restored.

So Peggy Hill had to die.

It started on her way home from work. She was driving home from substitute teaching, and looking forward to eating her husband's delicious grilled steaks, when the car in front of her lurched and stopped suddenly. Peggy, distracted as she was by the thought of tender juicy meat, only just managed to swerve off to the side of the road. She avoided crashing and dying, but did not avoid some accidental off-roading.

Peggy came to a stop twenty feet from the road, breathing hard and hands fixed to the wheel. It occurred briefly to her that station wagons really aren't meant for impromptu off-roading, then she took a deep breath and continued home.

"Hank, the oddest thing happened to me on the way home today," Peggy said, setting plates on the picnic table.

"Oh?" Hank asked, tongs in hand and eyes on the grill.

"I was run off the road by this crazy person. And by the time I got back to the road, they were gone!"


"Hank, are you even listening to me?" Peggy asked, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at her husband.

"Of course, honey, it's just… ah!" Hank sprang into motion, flipping steaks with practiced and efficient ease. Peggy sighed loudly, but Hank was distracted by sizzling meat products and didn't respond.

The next day wasn't any better. Peggy, Bobby, and Hank were walking out of Megalomart when Bobby noticed a brilliant white bird perched on a nearby car.

"Wow, what a pretty pigeon," he said, pointing.

"That's a dove, Bobby," said Peggy.

"No, mom, I think that's a pigeon."

"That's a dove, Bobby. It's white," said Peggy. Bobby stopped next to the car with the pigeon/dove on its roof. Hank and Peggy continued walking, but Bobby stayed behind to stare at the bird. They got halfway to the truck before Peggy noticed that he wasn't with them anymore.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Bobby," Peggy snapped and stomped back to him. As she neared, the bird swiveled its head to stare at her with its beady little eyes. A seagull landed next to it, also staring at Peggy. Then a hawk. An owl joined them, which is when Peggy started thinking that things were definitely off. She stopped next to her son, staring at the birds.

The birds stared back.

"Bobby, you're going to start walking away now. Slowly," she said, as calmly as she could manage. Bobby started backing away, which is when a flock of starlings attacked his mother from behind. The birds on the car joined in, flying and pecking at her face and arms. It was the first time they came away with a clump of hair that Peggy started screaming.

"Hank! Get these crazy birds off me!"

Hank, who had until that point been happily oblivious, looked up from putting the groceries away. Bobby was running toward him, which in itself was rather odd since Bobby didn't run for anything. His eyes widened at that, and he looked around to see how Peggy was taking this sudden spurt of athleticism from their son. His mouth dropped open at what he saw.

"Peggy!" he yelled, and started running toward her. Peggy screamed inarticulately and flailed about, trying to keep the crazy birds from attacking her. It wasn't working. Hank neared and started knocking birds away, trying to get to his wife. He was largely ineffective, and finally shouted, "Run!"

Peggy obliged her husband and tore away through the parking lot. She kept going even after she left the lot, running like, well, like a bunch of crazy-ass birds were trying to tear her apart. The birds chased her, one darting down from the flock every so often to peck or nip. Peggy dashed through streets, dodging confused pedestrians and trying to stay ahead of the birds.

Peggy wasn't sure how long she ran, butting through alleyways and avoiding the open air, but she did know that the birds eventually gave up chasing her, at which point she collapsed. She lay on the ground, breathing hard and blinking up at the blessedly empty sky. When she finally managed to catch her breath, Peggy sat up, muscles aching, to see where she was. She was in an empty lot between buildings, and it consisted mostly of broken concrete, weeds, and various pieces of rusting metal. She didn't recognize any buildings or helpful street names, and the sky was tinged orange from the setting sun. Peggy took stock and realized that she had no idea where she was, had no way to get home, and it was getting dark out. She was tired and sore and ready to lie back down and never get up.

Which is when the dogs attacked.

At first it was just some growls and snarls from the shadows, which Peggy ignored. Then there was rustling in the grass, coming nearer and nearer and from many different directions. Peggy drew her knees to her chest and looked around. She was surrounded. Eyes glinted close to the ground. And sharp teeth gleamed.

She searched frantically for something to defend herself with, finally coming up with a rusted crowbar. She stood, knees shaking, metal clamped tight between her hands. She waited. Her breath was hard in the cool air.

The first attack came from behind. She almost missed it, but managed to swing around just in time to nail the dog in the head. It fell to the ground, unmoving. The world seemed to pause for a moment, then the dogs were converging on her, snarling and lunging.

Peggy swung wildly, connecting with furred bodies with every swing. Her heart beat faster and faster. She swung. And swung. The sickening sound of muscle shifting and bone crunching filled her, and she descended into a sort of savage calm. Her arms burned from the strain and her hands cramped. Then she was done.

She stood, panting, adrenaline still pumping. All her foes lay at her feet, defeated. She grinned.

The anvil hit the back of her head swift and hard. She fell to her knees, then to the ground.

Peggy Hill lay still as her brain trickled out around her ears.

Three thousand feet in the air above Texas, a cargo plane pilot checked his readings. He'd felt a slight bump, and wanted to make sure everything was all right. Finding that everything was fine, he relaxed and went on with his flight.

The world breathed a sigh of relief.