Peter Griffin hobbled through the front door of his house with his foot wrapped up like a Thanksgiving turkey. "Lois! Bad news. Some idiot put a lady's foot where my foot was supposed to go during the soccer game."
Lois crossed her arms. "Peter, that was you. You stomped on a woman in the bleachers."
Peter frowned. "Yeah, well, her face shouldn't have been down there either."
The doctor's orders were clear: house arrest, ankle monitor, no leaving the property. Most people would take it easy. Peter wasn't most people. Within ten minutes, he had a "brilliant" plan.
"Lois, if I can't leave the house, then the party's comin' here! We're makin' a bar in the basement!"
Lois rubbed her temples. "Peter, that's ridiculous."
"Ridiculously awesome!"
A few hours later, EJ showed up after work at the gym. He walked into the Griffin basement to find Peter balancing a hammer in one hand and a beer in the other.
"EJ! Just the guy I need!" Peter shouted. "I'm buildin' the ultimate basement bar, and you've got muscles. Help me lift this jukebox, and maybe we'll get some hot chicks down here who don't charge by the hour."
EJ smirked. "Fine. But if this thing collapses, it's on you."
Between EJ's strength and Peter's constant "supervision," the bar came together surprisingly fast. EJ carried furniture like it weighed nothing, installed neon lights, and even fixed Peter's "crooked" dartboard with one push. Peter mostly drank and complained about the jukebox being stuck on Spice Girls.
Cutaway gag:
Peter and EJ staring at the jukebox blasting "Wannabe."
Peter: "Lois, tell me what you want, what you really really want!"
Lois: "For you to stop screaming Spice Girls lyrics in my basement."
When the bar was finished, it actually looked decent. Wood counters, shelves with bottles, a dartboard, and even bar stools. Peter beamed proudly.
"Lois, look at this! Our basement is now officially cooler than the kitchen."
Lois shook her head, but when she turned to EJ, she smiled. "Well… it actually doesn't look half bad. Thanks for helping, EJ. If Peter did this alone, we'd be serving drinks out of a mop bucket."
EJ grinned. "Happy to help."
The next night, the bar opened with the full Griffin friend group packed inside. Quagmire walked in, scanned the crowd, then froze when he spotted EJ leaning against the bar, already surrounded by women giggling at his stories.
Quagmire's jaw dropped. "Oh no… he's spreading into my territory."
Joe sipped his beer. "What, being charming?"
"No!" Quagmire hissed. "The ladies' man spot! That's mine! Giggity!"
But as the night rolled on, Quagmire struck out again and again. He made sleazy passes. He told awkward jokes. Meanwhile, EJ simply smiled, listened, and dropped casual lines that landed effortlessly. The women laughed. Quagmire sulked.
At one point, Lois carried a tray of drinks across the bar. She nearly tripped on Peter's discarded beer can, but EJ reached out, steadying the tray with one hand before she spilled. Their eyes met.
"Careful," EJ said with a grin.
Lois chuckled nervously, brushing a strand of hair back. "Thanks."
Peter wandered by, holding a beer. "Lois! Look! I'm drinkin' in my own house! It's like the American Dream, only with less freedom and more gout!"
Lois laughed and went back to the counter, but the moment lingered in her thoughts.
By the end of the night, the basement bar was officially Quahog's newest hangout. Peter declared it "The Drunken Basement." Cleveland shrugged and said, "Eh, I've seen worse."
EJ sat back in his chair, watching Quagmire mutter angrily in the corner while Lois busied herself cleaning glasses, occasionally glancing his way. He smirked to himself. Quahog was already starting to feel like home — a weird, dysfunctional, hilarious home