fandomtownies | George Michael Bluth

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George Michael Bluth

Christmas had gone fairly well, George Michael thought as he prepared the stand for business. There was only that one tiny episode where Uncle Buster tried to open a soda can for Mary. He did this using his hook. Soda went everywhere. But, other than that, it went great. George Michael couldn't really complain at all.

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Yes?

Tim was hungry. There was a banana stand. Match made in ~~Heaven~~Fandom? Possibly.

"Hi," George Michael said to the pleasant looking fellow.

"Hello. I am interested in your..." He peers at the menu. "Double dipped banana."

"Good choice," George Michael replied. "Can't go wrong with extra chocolate. Small, medium, or large? And do you want nuts?"

"Large, of course. Love that chocolate. Gotta have nuts." Tim was not aware this could be taken dirty.

George Michael wasn't either. The banana stand was his business; had to take it seriously. Right? "Nut's are ten cents extra. So that will be two-sixty." He set about fixing his banana. "Haven't seen you before I don't think. I'm George Michael Bluth. Mr. Manager."

"Tim Taylor, Shop teacher. Taking a break from my hit TV show, Tool Time. Maybe you've heard of it?"

Everyone's heard of the Toolman.

"Tool Time..." he repeated, looking as though he didn't know it. "Yeah, I don't know it. Sorry. Must be an older show, uh?" George Michael really didn't watch much TV.

He reached out with Mr. Taylor's banana and lost of napkins. "Here you go."

"Well, it is syndicated now," he said with a grin. Ah, syndication! Money made without making new shows! "About home improvement, self improvement, and being manly," he said as he grasped his banana, cradled in George Michael's hands. It certainly was a large banana, requiring both hands.

"Ah, maybe I should try and see about catching it sometime," he said, finished with handling Mr. Taylor's banana. It was a rather large banana. "So you're famous?"

Messy banana, too. Might wanna wash all that goop off before it get everywhere.

"It's a good show," Tim said with a smile, holding his banana, licking one hand clean. "Sorta famous. Everyone knows The Toolman," he chuckled.

George Michael gave Mr. Taylor plenty of napkins for said goop.

"I... I'm sorry. I don't know the Toolman. I mean, uh, I guess that's you," he chuckled. "So you're a laborer then? Like a construction worker?"

Tim was just happy it wasn't in his hair. Such a pain to get out once banana goop gets in there. Great conditioner, though. Adds body. "Thanks," he said, grabbing the napkins.

"Contractor, builder, handyman. Built houses, built hotrods, do a bit of everything like that," Tim said, grinning. Hot rods were cool.

George Michael was really glad it wasn't in his hair. He might've laughed at that.

"Oh, hotrods. That sounds cool. Do you have one here, on the island?"

It's never a laughing matter when it's all in your hair and dripping. Okay, sometimes. But still.

"No, not here. Too small. Wouldn't let me bring anything with me that large, something about regulations." He sighed. "Stupid red tape," he muttered.

It's only funny when it's not you. Yes.

"Huh, yeah, stupid red tape. Can't you build one?" Hey, you never know.

And if it gets in your eyes? Oh, no. Oh, noooo.

"I could... have have a chassis first. Maybe I could make a frame..." Tim scratched his chin, giving himself a brown beard.

That's just... ew. Sticky lashes and everything. Ew.

George Michael really wasn't paying attention to the chocolate on his face. "I don't know anything about mechanics. But I know I wouldn't mind trying out a hotrod."

SO burns when it gets in your eyes.

"There's nothing like it. The purr of the engine, roar of the pipes, real kick in the pants when you let 'er loose, pushes ya right back in the seat kinda ride." Dreamylook Tim.

It burns! It burns! Aaaaaa! That just so sucks.

George Michael blinked. "Kind of sounds like Mary."

SO bad!

"Mary's your hotrod?" Tim asked, wondering what's under the hood.

George Michael shouldn't be talking about Mary like this but this is manly talk, right? It was okay in his mind. Guys talked about girls.

"She's my hotrod," blink. "No, wait, I'm her's."

"Oh, yeah, I bet she owns you. What kind of chassis? Hard top? Ragtop? Nothing like a drive with the top down, middle of the country," Tim said, loving convertibles.

George Michael scratched his head. "Well, she's kind of got a heavy top and I love it when I ride with the top down..." George Michael went to a happy place.

"Yeah, gotta love that. Sometimes you just wanna ride hard and throw 'er into the curves, right? All that twisty stuff, hair pulled back, ooh ooh ooh!" he grunted.

The grunting must be a manly sort of thing so George Michael grunted back and said, "Yeah, riding her hard and pulling the hair back. She loves it. I love it!"

"Oh, yeah! Not that just driving in a straight line isn't bad. I mean, zero to sixty is important, and you gotta have a good hook up off the line, but it's all about handling the curves!" Tim grunted more.

"The curves. Yeah. Can't forget about the curves. I can handle the curves, Tim, I can handle the curves very well."

"Gotta get the right kind of rubber. Don't wanna slip off or lose it when you're going fast. Gotta keep safe."

[*dies*]

"...and I'm all about safety. But you get it good and lubricated and you're going fast, sometimes safety isn't as easy to remember. You get caught up in it, you know?"

"Oh, yeah," he nodded. "Proper lubrication is important, gotta make sure things don't get overheated, too much friction is baaaad. Just gotta find that part before everything breaks loose and ride it as long as you can, keep it on the safe side.

Do it!

Mike Wazowski was doing his best to look around town without being seen. Unfortunately, it was a small town and he was green and round and had one big eye. Still, he took a quick look at the area near the banana stand, then ran off into a nearby alley as fast as his little legs could carry him.

George Michael was sure he didn't see a round, green-eyed thing with one eye. He was certain of it. He didn't see it run off either. Nope.

...must be all the chocolate he's ate today. Gone straight to his brain. Making him see things.

Around-ish.

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George Michael Bluth

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Enjoy your banana

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OOC