Most of my friends know I’m a fan of Hank ‘Rutherford’ Hill and his beer-guzzling, mower-riding, alley-loitering buddies. Yep, Yep, Mmm-hmmm; The Rainy Street crew makes Sunday nights just a bit brighter.

Recently, Fox pulled the plug on the series (King of the Hill) after a 13-year run. On the outside, I say with great sorrow: Propane man, you will be missed but not forgotten. On the inside, I scream “Got dang it. Now that just tears it! (Hankism – era 2001).”

After all, the cartoon characters of “Arlen, Texas” brought more personality to the screen than many of today’s real-life TV celebs. No, I’m not delusional – I fully understand they’re animated fiction. I don’t spend my days writing letters to Hank (even though he does have a Facebook page).

But hear me out. The show possessed something that’s hard to find in primetime land these days: Heart. There was something wonderfully sincere about a character who found joy in pulling weeds and lacquering wood of all types. Maybe it’s the simplicity of it all. Hank’s a family man who steers clear of public affection – “Bobby, if you weren’t my son I’d hug you.” Holding your wife’s hand falls under lewd or lascivious behavior in Hank Hill’s book of law. He’s the block captain of his street and a regular employee of the month at Strickland Propane, where he honorably serves as assistant manger.

When he’s not teaching customers about the benefits of propane over charcoal and Butane “the bastard gas,” he’s usually working in the yard or garage.

Each evening, Hank stands in the back alley with his best friends – Dale Gribble: a paranoid exterminator who fears the government from the confines of his basement bunker; Bill Dauterive: an overweight army barber who spends his nights alone eating junk food and grieving about his decades-old divorce with former wife Lanore; and Boomhauer (first name Jeff): a leathery-tan, slim ladies man who goes through girlfriends like leopard-print Speedos.

The boys sling back beers (responsibly, of course) and talk about things like the year they went to State in high school football, former woodshop teachers and so forth. All the while, the ever-traditional Hank (makes Charles Ingles look like a hopped-up raver) must cope with his eccentric son Bobby. The boy likes to wear wigs, capes and one day plans to be a prop comic with a vacation house in Wichita Falls.

Thankfully, Hank’s wife Peggy helps keep everything in order. Her Frito pie, affinity for Boggle and natural gift for musings (freelances for the Arlen Bystander) make her the complete package. She’s a self-proclaimed genius and always knows the word in the Hallway – she’s a substitute teacher at Tom Landry Middle School.

There’s much more behind the plot of King of the Hill, but there’s just not enough page to cover it all. The fact is, when a show runs for more than 12 seasons, it kind of develops a soul – at least in this case. I’ve tried to watch other programs on television, but they just can’t match the King’s humor or charm.

At the end of the weekend, something definitely will be missing. It will be tough to flip on the TV and not see the Arlen water tower perched above that small, Texas town in our minds.

Yes, I’m a nostalgic dork. But, I’d like to think somewhere Hank still stands grill-side while Peggy, Bobby and neighbors chat it up on the Hill’s back patio. Bill mumbles something about wanting to be loved. Dale’s preaching about the latest Big Brother conspiracy. And I take it all in, simply saying, “Gang, This Alamo’s for you!”

By Steve