#because you'll end up mauled by supernatural creatures

[askthestans]

Dear Stanford Pines.

As Stanley has Stanleymobile as his own personal transportation, do you have any plans for vehicles of you own? Or, prefer using public transport? Rather come up with a completely different solution like portable portal?

Stanford: Well, my real Earth driving license - before Stanley started getting ones made in my name - expired over thirty years ago, and my licenses to operate hoverboards, starships, mass relays, and teleporters are useless for obvious reasons.

Normally, I'd be fine just walking everywhere to keep in peak shape, but sometimes the occasional trip outside of town is necessary. I'd ask Stanley to drive me around, but ever since the Ireland incident...

Stanley: Ford, that was almost a year ago! 'Sides, I was gonna rob 'em eventually anyway. Hittin' that stumpy drunken jerk with our car was just makin' my job easier. It's not my fault he looked like a traffic cone with all that carrot hair.

Stanford: We went to Ireland to study leprechauns, Stan. Not steal from and turn them into roadkill.

Stanley: Maybe you went for nerd studies, but I followed along for the whiskey. And the pretty green hills to stare at during hangover recovery.

Stanford: Really? Because I seem to remember that somebody had the chutzpah to not only steal the dead leprechaun’s wallet, but drop it in front of his family while I was trying to apologize to them for your first thievery attempt at their pot of gold, and because somebody dropped my pistol into the ocean while drunk the night before, we had to desecrate a historical castle by stealing old bricks from it to fight said leprechauns off with. 

And then, when we ran out of those, you tripped me so that they could maul me instead because, as you so eloquently put it, “Sorry, Sixer, but you’ll be thankin’ me later!” as you hurried towards the ship with the gold and not me.

Even better, we then spent the night in jail when the authorities realized who’d disturbed a castle wall, the cell of which just so happened to have a resident banshee who screeched for hours.

Stanley: Oh, Mebh! Minus the creepy wailing, that gal sure knew how to spin an entertainin' story! Too bad she didn't get to marry that medieval Lord McCrane or whatever his name was. But I liked her gumption. Best prison buddy I've ever had, and that's includin' Rico. Was the first time I realized maybe not all your supernatural creep buddies are so bad.

Stanford: She murdered that lord’s wife in cold blood, Stan.

Stanley: Yeah, reminds me of when I drove that hippy's van - y'know, the one who swiped Carla from me - into a ravine. She agreed that I was perfectly in the right for that. Asked me if I wanted her to find him and finish the job, even. I had a hard time sayin' no, but I did the right thing and said-

Stanford: You merely shrugged. Merely.

Stanley: Hey, if that jerk gets his soul sucked out, serves 'im right.

Stanford: Also, would you like to tell our internet friends what you sacrificed me to the leprechauns for? Why I got covered in bite marks, and why my sweater was ripped away in tatters and I had to run back to the ship shirtless with a leprechaun hanging off my rear with his teeth that left a rainbow imprint there for a week afterwards?

Stanley: It was for the gold, we already covered that.

Stanford: What did you spend the gold on, Stanley?

Stanley: *shrugs* I promised Mabel I’d get her some fancy yarn made of real wool. What’s wrong with that?

Stanford: Yes, two coins of the gold went towards that. The other hundreds of pieces went towards you buying rounds for a whole tavern the next night. You got drunk again. You puked. On my... trench coat.

Stanley: Pfft, you had tons more anyway-

Stanford: Nobody defiles my trench coat!

Stanley: Yeesh, I did you a favor, Ford. You’re lucky nobody barfed on it before that just lookin’ at it.

Stanford: *sighs* Anyways, I’m never trusting Stan behind a wheel ever again. I’ve been working on a mini-portal device based on some blueprints I sto- I mean, borrowed from my good friend Rick Sanchez. Once that’s up and running, I’ll have to test it. 

What do you say, Stan? Want to help your old brother out by testing a teleportation device? I’ll make sure it goes right to Ireland, to a very specific spot where a very angry family of leprechauns are still waiting, and have already gotten a taste for Pines gluteal meat.

Stanley: Oh, come on, you wouldn’t actually do that to me, would you? I apologized, like, a million times!

Stanford: Of course not, Stan. I am a man of science, and I understand that petty, precisely planned and enacted at the most inconvenient of times revenge is a silly human folly that one should strive to surpass.

Stanley: Oh. Well, good. Oddly, specific, but good.

--- ONE WEEK LATER ---

*Stan is walking down the Shack hallway towards the kitchen. Dipper, Mabel, and Ford are already there, Ford having made them breakfast.*

Stanley: Tell me you made some for me, too? 

Stanford: *turns around from the stove* I’m afraid not, Stan. You’ve got a big day ahead of you. You won’t have time to eat, remember?

Dipper: Is it shoplift-for-Summerween day already?

Mabel: Wait, I know! It’s National Grunkles Day, isn’t it!?

Stanford: No to both. Stanley, care to take a guess? It involves a certain show of yours.

Stanley: *face scrunches in fear* Wait, I thought The Duchess Approves’ reboot wasn’t ‘til next week?

Stanford: No, it’s today. Which is why I made sure to finish this last night.

*Ford pulls out a small device and, with a pistol-quick draw, causes a swirling teal portal to open up in the floor. Through it, rolling green hills and a group of red-haired, gnome-like creatures can be seen a little ways off.

Ford trips Stan as Stan looks to peer inside. Stan’s yelling can be heard as he falls in and hits ground.*

Stanford: Wait, Stanley! Look back up! Take my hand and I’ll get you out.

*Stan reaches up back to the portal, but just as he almost reaches Ford’s hand, Ford pulls it away.*

Stanford: My trench coat is beautiful.

*Stan screeches as a horde of leprechauns catch sight of him and take chase. Ford stands back up with a cat-like smile as he looks down upon sweet, sweet revenge, then takes his current trench coat by the collar and pops it out smugly.*

Hey, kids?

Dipper and Mabel: *look on in stunned silence*

Stanford: Now that I know this portal gun works and we have a few hours until Stan’s favorite show is done airing, care to help me find the Mothman? I have a particular dimension full of acid-vomiting, murderous bear-scorpions I’d like to send him to.