The Griffin household was calm that morning—well, as calm as it could be in a house where chaos was practically furniture. A faint hum from the TV blended with the smell of Lois's coffee and the gentle thump of Peter's footsteps as he shuffled into the living room, yawning like a bear that had just remembered work existed.
Brian, perched elegantly on the couch with his usual cup of coffee, flipped through a newspaper. "Morning, Peter," he said, not looking up.
Peter groaned. "Ugh, why is morning always so… *early*?"
Lois appeared from the kitchen, holding a plate of eggs. "Peter, you promised you'd take Meg out for her driving practice today."
Peter blinked. "What? Since when?"
"Since last week," she replied patiently. "You said you'd teach her before her test."
Peter scratched his chin. "Oh right… yeah. That was before I remembered how much I value being alive."
From the hallway, **Meg** appeared—nervous but hopeful. Her pink hat sat slightly crooked on her head, and her eyes lit up as she held the car keys like they were a sacred relic. "Ready, Dad?"
Peter forced a smile. "Of course I am, sweetie! Driving's easy. You just gotta relax and—uh—remember which one's the brake before you panic."
Lois shot him a look sharp enough to slice toast. "Peter, *be careful.*"
He waved her off. "Relax, Lois. I'll teach her everything I know about the road."
Brian muttered, "That's what worries me."
---
The Griffin family car—a tired-looking red sedan—waited at the curb. Its paint had faded, and the bumper bore a sticker that read *'Honk if you love beer'*.
Peter sat in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, arms crossed like a confident coach. Meg climbed into the driver's seat, clutching the steering wheel as if it might bite her.
"Alright, Meg," Peter began. "Rule number one of driving: always look both ways before turning."
She nodded nervously. "Got it."
"And rule number two: if you see a yellow light, speed up. That's the universe saying, 'Come on, live a little!'"
Meg frowned. "I don't think that's what it means, Dad."
Peter leaned back smugly. "Meg, I've been driving for twenty years. I think I know how lights work."
The car jerked forward as she pressed the accelerator too hard. Peter's sunglasses flew off his face.
"Okay, okay—maybe don't treat it like a rollercoaster," he said, gripping the seat.
They drove slowly through Quahog's streets, passing friendly houses and a few pedestrians who didn't look friendly anymore after Meg's near misses. Peter pointed out random things that had nothing to do with driving.
"See that guy over there? He's mowing his lawn wrong. Always go diagonal—that's how professionals do it."
"Dad, I'm trying to focus!" Meg said, swerving slightly.
"Good! Focus is key. Hey look—a chicken!"
"Where?!"
Meg glanced sideways. Peter gasped as the car swerved across the lane, narrowly missing a mailbox.
They both screamed. Then silence.
Peter cleared his throat. "Okay, maybe… maybe don't look when I point things out."
Meg nodded, face pale. "Can I… go home now?"
Peter smiled awkwardly. "Sure, sweetheart. I think we've both learned something today: I'm a great teacher."
"Buh, urgh urgh, we are not going yet"
"Alright, Meg," he began in his usual overconfident tone. "Driving is easy. You just gotta trust your instincts."
"Okay…" Meg nodded nervously.
"Alright, Meg," Peter said, his gut pressed slightly against the steering wheel as he pointed ahead like a general at war. "Driving's all about confidence. You gotta show the road who's boss."
Meg nodded nervously. "Okay, Dad… so, like, signal before I—"
"No, no, no, forget all that boring junk they teach at driving school," Peter interrupted, waving dismissively. "Let me tell you what real drivers do. You see someone pull up next to you at a streetlight? You rev the engine twice. That's the universal sign of respect. You're telling them, 'Hey buddy, I acknowledge your car… but mine's better.'"
Meg blinked. "Uh… is that really a thing?"
"Of course it is!" Peter said confidently. "You rev twice, and when the light turns green—you shoot off like a rocket! It's tradition! It's how you bond with other drivers. It's practically community service!"
Meg hesitated. She wasn't sure if her dad was being serious or setting her up, but she wanted to impress him—badly. After all, it wasn't often Peter looked proud of her.
So, when they rolled up to the next red light, she glanced nervously to her right. Another car idled beside them—a sleek black muscle car with tinted windows. The engine purred low, like a beast waiting for prey.
Peter smirked. "Alright, Meg. Time to show 'em what you're made of."
Meg gulped. "Okay… two revs, then go when it's green…"
She revved the engine twice. The car sputtered and coughed, sounding more like an asthmatic lawnmower than a challenger. But the driver in the next lane took it seriously. His car suddenly roared to life, the engine growling deep and hungry.
"Oh my God, he's—he's revving back!" Meg panicked.
"That's it! That's it! He respects you now," Peter said proudly. "You got yourself a rival! Don't let him win, sweetie!"
The light turned green.
And before Meg could even think, Peter shouted, "GO, MEG, GO!"
She slammed the gas pedal.
She slammed the gas pedal.
The car screamed forward, tires screeching as it lurched down the road. Her hair whipped around her face, her heart pounding as adrenaline flooded her veins. For a moment, Meg felt unstoppable. She was doing it—actually driving, actually winning!
"YEAH, BABY! That's my girl!" Peter whooped, hanging halfway out the window, waving his arms like a maniac.
"Oh no…"
The car roared forward—straight through the intersection—where an elderly woman was crossing the street with a grocery bag.
Meg screamed. The old lady screamed. Peter screamed too—but mostly because his drink spilled.
The car skidded to a stop a few feet away, leaving the poor woman frozen in terror, her groceries scattered across the asphalt. A loaf of bread slowly rolled into the gutter like a casualty of war.
Peter looked around awkwardly, then leaned toward Meg and whispered, "Okay, so maybe yellow means kinda slow down. My bad."
Meg was shaking, her face pale as paper. "Dad, you almost made me kill someone!"
---
As they drove back, Peter's attention began to wander. A large billboard ahead showed a man holding a frosty mug of beer with the slogan: *"Drink responsibly—because beer loves you too."*
Peter's eyes glazed over in reverence. "Oh sweet mother of hops… look at that beauty."
"Dad, keep your eyes on the road!" Meg pleaded.
"Meg, it's fine. I can multitask—"
He turned his head just long enough to miss the **television transmission tower** looming on the side of the road.
The car crashed straight into it with a thunderous *clang!* The entire structure shuddered, sparks flying like fireworks. Birds scattered into the sky, screeching in outrage.
Silence.
Meg's hands trembled on the steering wheel. "Oh my God. Dad, what did we hit?"
Peter stared out at the fallen tower, which now lay in a twisted heap of metal. "Uh… I think we just killed television."
---
The next morning, the disaster made headlines.
> **BREAKING NEWS:** Quahog Suffers Massive Television Outage After Local Man Destroys Broadcast Tower.
Peter sat in the living room, face pale as the anchor read his name out loud. "Local resident Peter Griffin is currently under investigation—"
Lois turned slowly toward him, arms folded. "Peter… what did you do?"
He laughed nervously. "Technically, Meg was driving!"
"*Under your supervision!*"
Stewie cackled from his playpen. "Excellent! The fall of television—one more step toward the mental decay of humankind. Well done, fat man."
Peter frowned. "I don't like your tone, mister."
---
That evening, Peter tried to turn on the TV. Static. Nothing. He flipped through every channel. All he got was snow and the occasional ghostly voice saying "No signal."
He stared at the blank screen like a caveman discovering extinction. "No TV? What the hell are we supposed to do now?"
Brian set down his book. "You could read."
Peter scoffed. "Read? Brian, please. I'm not trying to hurt myself."
Over the next few days, Peter began to unravel. He wandered the house aimlessly, desperate for entertainment. He watched a fly on the wall for twenty minutes. He tried to narrate his own life out loud. He even attempted to reenact *Star Trek* using kitchen utensils.
Lois found him one afternoon, standing on the coffee table with a spatula in one hand and a colander on his head.
"Peter… what are you doing?"
He shouted, "Captain's log! Day five without TV! Crew morale: low. Wife's patience: critical!"
---
Meanwhile, Meg was having her own crisis. Everyone at school was mocking her for the accident. A rumor had spread that she'd destroyed TV on purpose.
She slammed her locker shut, gritting her teeth. "I hate this town."
At home, Peter tried to console her by being the worst therapist imaginable. "Look on the bright side, Meg. You'll always be known as the girl who made history!"
"By wrecking television for the entire state?" she snapped.
Peter thought for a moment. "Exactly!"
Meg groaned and stormed off.
---
Brian, ever the voice of reason, pulled Peter aside that evening. "You know, maybe this isn't such a bad thing. You could use the time to reconnect with your family."
Peter frowned. "Reconnect? I see them every day!"
"Yeah," Brian replied dryly, "but usually through a screen."
That thought hit Peter harder than he expected. For once, he sat quietly, staring at his family laughing together in the kitchen—Lois cooking, Meg texting, Chris drawing something incomprehensible, and Stewie plotting whatever villainy filled his baby brain.
He smiled faintly. "Maybe you're right, Brian."
Brian sipped his coffee. "I usually am."
---
### **The Return of Television**
Weeks later, the new tower was repaired. The first broadcast came back on: *the news, the sitcoms, the laughter.*
Peter sat in front of the screen, eyes wide and sparkling. "It's back… it's really back."
Lois smiled. "You missed it, huh?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah… but I also learned something."
"Oh?" she asked.
"I learned that when TV's gone, you realize what really matters."
Lois's face softened. "That's sweet, Peter."
"Yeah," he continued seriously, "what really matters… is not losing TV again."
Brian sighed. "Almost had it."
---
And just like that, peace returned to Quahog—if you could call the Griffin household peaceful. Peter got his shows back, Meg forgave him (sort of), and Stewie began planning his next evil scheme—something about world domination through children's programming.
Because in Quahog, even normal days had a way of ending with disaster—and laughter.