Simpsons Oneshots

Graggle

*Plot: Homer realizes Graggle wasn't real. If you don't who graggle is, he was in the Simpsons but people don't remember him. Watch the yt video above since they can explain it better! As you can tell I'm running out of ideas 💀. *

The air crackled with a tension thicker than a vat of expired Duff. Homer Simpson sat slumped on the worn recliner, eyes glued to the flickering TV screen. It was another re-run of Krusty the Clown, but Homer couldn't focus on the antics. His mind was a swirling vortex of confusion and a peculiar emptiness.

For weeks, Homer had been the confidante of a peculiar alien-like creature named Graggle. Graggle had become Homer's closest friend. They'd shared secrets, burped in unison, and even bonded over their mutual love of stale donuts. But lately, a nagging doubt had wormed its way into Homer's usually beer-addled brain.

It started subtly. Graggle would vanish mid-conversation, leaving behind only a faint whiff of burnt toast. Homer chalked it up to Graggle's "alien ways" at first. Then, there were the times when nobody else ever seemed to see Graggle, dismissing Homer's animated discussions with empty air as drunken ramblings.

Tonight, the truth slammed into Homer with the force of a bowling ball. During a particularly dramatic monologue from Krusty, Homer swore he saw Graggle perched on the armrest, stuffing a wad of cash into his oversized pockets. But when Homer nudged him, his hand met only air. Graggle was gone.

"He was right there Marge! I swear!" Yelled Homer pointing at the couch.

"Homie? Who is Graggle? There is nobody there." Said Marge confused.

A cold dread seeped into Homer's gut. Graggle was real! Marge was playing a trick on him.

right?

He frantically scanned the room, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. There was nothing. No yellow alien figure, no mischievous glint in the corner. Just the usual Simpsons living room mess.

"You're joking, right?" Said Homer.

"No Homie there is nobody there." Said Marge.

"Then who was I talking to?!" Yelled Homer.

"It was probably an imaginary friend, Homie. It's normal." Said Marge

A choked sob escaped Homer's lips. He felt a wave of loneliness crash over him, deeper and more painful than any hangover. Graggle, his imaginary friend, his confidante, was... gone.

Slowly, a new realization dawned on Homer. Denial, a familiar friend, tried to resurface. Maybe Graggle was just invisible tonight? But the seed of doubt had sprouted. Homer replayed all their interactions in his mind, and a terrible truth became undeniable. Graggle wasn't real.

Homer slumped further into the recliner, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. He felt exposed, vulnerable. All those secrets he'd shared, all those moments of goofy camaraderie - figments of his overworked imagination. Shame burned in his throat hotter than a Flaming Moe.

But amidst the grief, a flicker of something else ignited within Homer. It was a strange mix of sadness and a newfound determination. He may have lost his imaginary friend, but he wouldn't lose himself.

Rising with newfound resolve, Homer grabbed a Duff from the fridge. It wouldn't solve anything, but it was a start. Maybe, just maybe, he could find solace in reality, even if it wasn't filled with mischievous gremlins and stolen hats. After all, he did have a real family, even if they were sometimes as crazy as a box of itching powder.

As Homer took a swig of his Duff, a single thought echoed in his mind: "Stupid imaginary aliens..." But a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Maybe reality wasn't so bad after all.

*************************************

The days that followed were a strange mix of melancholy and a forced normalcy for Homer. He missed Graggle's presence, the way his manic energy could turn the dullest Tuesday into a chaotic adventure. Yet, a part of him felt a strange liberation. No more hiding his conversations, no more wondering if everyone thought he'd finally lost it completely.

One particularly uneventful evening, Homer sat slumped on the couch, flipping through channels with the bored detachment of a sentient potato. Lisa was buried in a textbook, Bart was engrossed in a particularly violent video game, and Marge hummed softly as she prepared dinner. It was a peaceful domestic scene, the kind Homer usually found suffocating, but tonight, it felt strangely comforting.

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice, reeking of burnt toast, pierced the silence. "Psst, Homer! Over here!"

Homer froze, his hand hovering inches from the remote. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. Had he imagined it? No. There, perched precariously on the armrest, was Graggle, a mischievous grin plastered on his yellow face.

Homer blinked, his mind reeling. This couldn't be real. Graggle was... a product of his overworked imagination, right? Yet, there he was, as solid and real as the worn leather of the couch.

Before Homer could utter a word, Graggle hopped off the armrest and landed with a plop right in Homer's lap. A jolt shot through Homer. Graggle felt real. Solid. Warm. Panic threatened to engulf him, but then, a strange sense of calm washed over him.

"Alright, Graggle," Homer began, his voice surprisingly steady. "How about you cut to the chase? This whole imaginary friend thing is getting old."

Graggle's grin faltered for a second, replaced by a flicker of sadness. He scuffed his tiny feet against Homer's pants. "But Homer... I am imaginary. That's the whole point!"

"But how are you sitting on my lap?" Asked Homer.

Homer frowned. This was getting weirder by the second. "Then how come I can feel you?" he asked, hesitantly reaching out a finger to poke Graggle's chest.

"You're drinking too much beer!" Graggle replied.

"Oh yeah!" Said Homer while looking at his beer while taking another sip.

He touched Graggle to make sure he wasn't real just in case.

The moment Homer's fingertip grazed Graggle, a wave of energy surged through him. It was like a jolt of electricity mixed with a rush of pure, unadulterated joy. Graggle, who moments ago seemed almost transparent, solidified. The yellow of his skin became more vibrant, his eyes sparkled with mischief, and the faint scent of burnt toast intensified.

Homer gaped, his finger still hovering over Graggle's chest. This defied all logic, all reason. Yet, here he was, with his imaginary friend undeniably real, a tiny gremlin perched on his lap, radiating a warmth that spread through Homer like a long-forgotten comfort.

Graggle, his confidence restored, hopped off Homer's lap and did a pirouette on the coffee table. "See? Real as rain, big guy! Though, maybe lay off the greasy food for a bit, the electricity bill is getting out of hand!"

Homer stared at Graggle, a wide, goofy grin splitting his face. Maybe reality wasn't so bad after all. In fact, with a mischievous imaginary friend back in the picture, things were about to get a whole lot more interesting.