You should wright a story were Stanford or Stanley or both find out you work at a strip club that opened less then a year ago just because I need to see how they would react 😝💅
"I can't believe you'd do this, kid..." Stan growls. "At a place like this, that only opened a year ago..."
"Okay, well, again, sir – this place did not open a year ago, and I'm still going to have to ask you to leave."
Stump is standing near the entrance to the Highway 7 local strip club, the deep bass pulsing in the background while they try to body block a bizarrely intoxicated elderly man trying to warble his way back into the main body of the business. They'd only been working this bouncer gig for a few months (the impact of AI on the tech industry really has been devastating for finding another programming job) and it'd been relatively non-eventful.
"Why's'it I gotta leave, huh?" Stan shouts, drunkenly. "Because I'm an American? Because I got dreams? I got rights, damn it! I got feelings, and you're trampling on them, you damn, goat, person..." he slurs and stumbles a little to the left, "fuckin'... whatever t'fuck you are..."
"Sir," Stump sighs, "You need to leave because you have been stealing other patrons drinks–"
"–and have only been paying our dancers with... I don't even know what this is, some partially used gum?" They hold up a scrap of bizarre objects, chunks of rusted metal, an amulet? It's got an inscription on the back that Stump reads, "'Genuinely Possessed/Cursed Amulet of Elvis?'"
"That's a collectors item," Stan says. "S'collectors item."
"Right, well, we've got more than enough cursed objects and ghouls in this establishment."
"Adds character. Y've gotta get character, y've barely been open a damn year..."
"Sir, I don't think you realize how difficult it would be for a new establishment to open after the 80's. Can you imagine even attempting to get the appropriate local permits these days? Trust me, I can't even get my local city council to approve my physical existence, don't even get me started on starting a new strip club."
Stump has to body block Stan and put him in a full-nelson with their massive muscles as Stan tries to juke past them.
"To be honest, I'm not even sure how this building is here in the first place – pretty sure it was built before this highway was – but that's a mystery way out of my pay grade as a computer programmer." Stump sniffs. "I'm a computer programmer, by the way. In case you didn't know that."
"I don't care if you're the damn... the damn, fucking..."
"Regardless–" Stump full body slams Stan into the wall because he's kind of a little bitch, honestly "–you've been here for hours and Stan Bucks are not, in fact, 'technically legal currency,' so I'm going to ask you once again to–"
"They are legal currency," a loud voice booms. "Technically. In the country of Stan'bec."
It's a tall guy with the voice of J.K. Simmons. You would know him as Stanford, but Stump wouldn't, because they just work as a bouncer at a Strip Club.
Ford continues, "Like Quebec, but less French. Or more, considering we're talking about Quebec."
Everyone in the strip club laughs at that.
Stump sighs. "Well, that's a really good joke, sir, but if that's a legal currency could you tell me the exchange rate?"
"Certainly! One Stan Buck equals Three Stan Coins which are equivalent to... hmm..." Ford holds up one of the crumpled up, stained, nasty-ass dollars to the dim club lighting. He clicks his tongue. "I don't know, a buck fifty? Something like that. Listen, I'm going to take my brother and leave now, alright?"
"Yeah, that's fine, sir." Stump releases Stan from their powerful grip. "Kind of what I was trying to do in the first place. I'm keeping the Elvis amulet, though."
"Damn," Ford curses. "That's a collectors item, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you for that."
Ford pulls out a gun and shoots Stump, turning them into some kind of gross, nasty dirt on the ground. This'd be a problem if anyone noticed, but no one did, because the music is honestly way too loud and the entire place is really stupidly dark. Kind of a shame, but honestly? Beats having to keep doing software engineering interviews.
Ford picks up the amulet, which faintly moans 'u-hu-hu,' before he shoves it in his pocket. "Stanley, would you please stop trading your collection of cursed objects every time you get a little drunk?"
"Bitches love my cursed amulet," Stan mumbles under his breath as he staggers out the building.
"That they do," Ford says as he follows his brother. "That they most certainly do."
The two of them walk into the beautiful night sky together, as the open door lets Stumps ashes blow away in the wind, mixing into the twinkling starlight whispering on the Earth below...
