Enjoy all the unnecessary angst. Clyde Frog is still alive.
November 28th Update: Edited for stupid typos.
Thanksgiving at the Marsh household is filled with the roar of the football game, punctuated by the fire alarm going off every few minutes as Stan's mother pulls something new out of the oven.
"Touchdown!" Randy Marsh screams, jumping to his feet and pumping his fists. "Did you see that, Stan? Staaaan?"
"Yeah, I saw it," Stan lies, currently engrossed in his DS.
"For god's sake, Randy, turn it down!" his mother yells from the kitchen. "I can hardly hear myself think!"
"But Shaaaaaron! It's a tradition!"
Stan sighs and returns to his Charmander, which is taking forever to evolve.
"Kyle, Bubbaleh, go wash up. It's almost time for dinner."
Kyle yanks the plastic train back from Ike. "One sec, mom! Ike's being a di- Ike's trying to take my toys!"
Ike immediately starts to bawl. Kyle grabs his little brother's arm, whispering, "shh, shh, shh!" but it doesn't work in time. His mother storms into living room, clenching her spatula.
"Kyle! What do you think you're doing!"
She grabs his arm and hauls him into the kitchen. Ike continues to bawl, but she takes no notice of it.
"I was just- I was-"
She drops her spatula, hoists him up to the kitchen sink, and holds him as she turns the water to scalding. He winces as she forces his hands under the water, scrubbing him with soap. Her other hand digs into his back, fingernails piercing flesh.
"You were being irresponsible, that's what you were being. I spend all day cooking this lovely meal for you, and you repay me by abusing your brother. You're older than him, you're supposed to be the protective one. What's gotten into you, Kyle, hmm?"
Cartman's mouth waters. He tugs on his mom's apron as she pulls the turkey from the oven.
"Meeewwwm!" he says. "Can we eat it now? Meeeeewm!"
"You'll have to wait for me to cut it, sweetums."
"But meeeeeeeewwwwwm!"
He storms off to the kitchen and flops down on the couch.
"Can Clyde Frog eat with us?" he calls.
"Why, of course, sweetums!"
"Meeewwwwwm! Stop calling me that!"
He hugs his stuffed animal. "Are you hungry, Clyde Frog?" he whispers.
Clyde Frog doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to.
"Good, because mewm's the best cook in the whole world."
"Oh, by the way, Eric!" Mrs. Cartman calls. "I'm going to be having a friend over after dinner. So you'll be able to play with yourself, won't you!"
"But meeeewm! You said we'd go down to main street and watch the parade!"
"I never said that, Eric."
"But meeewwwwm!"
"Sweetie, do you want turkey or not?"
Mr. and Mrs. McCormick have forgotten Thanksgiving again. Kenny opens the fridge, surveys the contents, and shuts it. He leans his head against the door.
"Kenny?" His little sister pads into the kitchen. She sees his expression and tries for a weak smile.
"Is –"
"Yeah."
Mr. and Mrs. McCormick are arguing in what passes for the living room.
"Dumb bitch!"
"Fucking asshole!"
Slap. Slap. Slap. Karen winces.
Kenny wants to hug her, but he's frozen in place.
"Hey," Karen says. "Don't worry. Mysterion will bring us a whole turkey again, just like last year."
Yeah, Kenny thinks in frustration, but last year there was a gang of wild turkeys outside the house and all Mysterion had to do was catch one and break its neck.
"I'll be right back," he says. He goes up to his bedroom, digs under his mattress, and pulls out the jar full of quarters he's been saving up about two months. He has about ten dollars.
Stan, his parents, his older sister, and his grandpa all sit down to dinner when Stan's mom has set the last plate of stuffing on the table.
"Hold on!" Randy Marsh says when Stan reaches for the plate of mashed potatoes. "We have to go around saying what we're grateful for. I'll go first! I'm thankful for cable and satellite TV."
Sharon coughs.
"Okay, Sharon, your turn!"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm thankful that we have all this food on the table."
"Oh, that's right, the food!"
"It's good to know you appreciate me."
"Hey, food is great and all, but when it comes to college football . . . I'm sorry, Sharon, but you're just not as important."
"Randy!"
They argue for five minutes straight. Then they go outside to scream some more.
"I'm grateful for my music CDs," Shelley says quickly. She glares at her food.
"I'm grateful for arsenic," Stan's grandpa says. "Good to stick in a grandfather's food . . . just a small little pill . . . "
"Stop it, Grandpa, I'm not going to kill you." Stan digs into his lukewarm mashed potatoes.
He's almost finished eating when his parents return. His mom brushes off her blouse, then sits. "So, Stan, what are you thankful for?"
Everyone stares at him expectantly. He stares back is his parents. Their cheeks are still flushed. Are you seriously fucking kidding me?
"Mmpph," he mumbles around his fork.
"What, Stan?" Randy asks.
"I said, 'I don't know.'"
"Well, come on! You gotta think of something!"
"Shut up! I said I don't know!" He pushes his plate back.
"Stanley Marsh, you are not leaving this table until you're thankful for something!" His father crosses his arms.
"Kyle, okay! I'm thankful I have Kyle!"
He jumps to his feet and runs from the room. Sharon and Randy glance at each other.
"Told you he was gay," Shelley mutters.
"Uhm, I'm thankful for . . . this food . . . mashed potatoes . . . Moses . . . education . . . democracy . . . "
His mother's expression stays frozen into the false smile. He stalls, looking for something to turn that smile real.
"Um . . . family . . . home . . . my amazing mom for cooking all this food!"
The smile is almost genuine. He relaxes, slumping his shoulders.
"That's lovely, Bubbaleh! Ike?"
"Oh, and Stan," he adds. "I'm grateful I have my best friend."
His mother aws.
After all the 'thankful-fors' are done, he digs into his food, despairing over the hackneyed gravy.
"I hate Kosher food," he mutters.
"What's that, Kyle?"
"Nothing, mom!"
"Turkey!" Ike chirps.
His mother's oohing keeps the conversation pleasant for a little bit. His father talks about his job for a while. His mother laughs over one of the stories, which isn't really that funny.
"You know, law is a great job. Really respected." Lies, damnable lies. "Good income, too. Bubbaleh, don't you think it's time you took a law class after school? Just to brush up on your skills?"
He summons all his courage. "I don't want to."
She pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Why not?"
"I'm ten, mom. I wanna play basketball." He cuts into his green beans, sawing away with his fork and knife. "Besides, I think I'm too young to be making decisions about my future."
His mother puts his fork down and sighs. His father, sensing the upcoming chaos, excuses himself to get a glass of water.
"Haven't we talked about keeping your options open, Kyle? You don't want to limit yourself at an early age. We've talked about this before."
He clenches his fists around the silverware. "I'm not limiting myself. I'm being reasonable." He can't meet her gaze anymore, so he looks down at his food. "And I hate kosher."
His father returns and gives Shelia a glass of water.
"Well," she says, and sips. "Well, then."
There are only three places set at Thanksgiving dinner in the Cartman Household, and Clyde Frog can't even eat anything. That's okay, though, because Cartman eats enough for two.
His mother sips her wine as he shoves as much food into his mouth as possible. It's warm and it fills him. He keeps eating.
"Clyde Frog, you want some?" He offers a forkful of stuffing.
No reply.
"More for me!"
"Careful, hon, you don't want to eat too much."
"But meewwwm! It's Thanskgiiiiiving! Besides, it's not like there's anyone else here to eat it! So more for me! We don't have to share!"
"That's right." She smiles. "It's a good thing."
"Yeah. It's good. Are you suuure you don't want any, Clyde Frog?"
It takes Kenny three hours to get through the line at the soup kitchen. He almost dies but some homeless guy gives him a jacket, so he manages to stay alive, shivering in the blinding snow.
When he gets to the front of the line, the man handing out servings of food just stares at him. They usually don't give out a family's worth of food to kids, and you have to register to get more than one serving, usually. Kenny begs with his eyes and his mouth. The man finally relents and hands him a bag.
He scrambles for a safe oasis (the library; they lock it, but there's always a window open in the back and it's always warm). The bag contains a loaf of bread, a can of green beans, a box of instant stuffing, and a can of gravy.
His shoulders fall. No mashed potatoes. No rolls. No turkey. This is an utter failure of a Thanksgiving.
He still has ten dollars. He hoists the bag into his arms, and heads over to the supermarket that's always open, even on Christmas.
"Sorry, kid," the clerk says after Kenny explains what he wants. "Turkeys are fifteen bucks. No discount."
Kenny rubs his temples in frustration. He stashes his paper bag back in the library. Then he spends four hours digging through trashcans and recycling bins, until he's found hundred of cans. His fingers are frostbitten by the time he's finished, even though his gloves. He recycles all the cans, coming up with six dollars.
The clerk relents and give him three potatoes as well as a turkey.
Wendy shows up at around eight that night, and even though it's freaking freezing the two of them still go down to the playground to play basketball. Even though Wendy plays basketball.
So he shoots hoops and rants while Wendy sits on a rock and listens.
"And they never think about anyone but themselves, and they've done this over and over and it never gets any better, they keep making the same mistakes, god!" He throws his basketball to the ground and watches it bounce away. Then he turns back to her. She's watching him with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in a smirk.
"Promise me we won't turn out like that. When we grow old and get married, we won't argue that way. We'll stay together for our kids, even when times get tough. And we'll always love each other. Promise?"
She blinks. "Uh, who said we were getting married?"
He flushes bright red. His gorge starts to rise.
"Uh . . . it just kinda . . . kinda slipped out . . . " he stammers.
She giggles. "Okay. As long as you and Kyle aren't really gay for each other."
"Wendy!"
"Hey! Just wanted to make sure!"
He tackles back into the drift and shoves snow down her shirt.
It's late at night, and Kyle's in his room, pretending to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling for a little while.
He's grounded. His mother says he was being 'rude' at dinner.
He rolls over, reaches under his bed, and pulls out the book. Its pages are crinkled and worn. He got it when he was six and he's read it a million times since then.
The cover of the book reads, 'First steps!' And shows a man in a spacesuit stepping onto the moon.
"Hey, mom," he whispers. "I . . . I know it sounds stupid . . . but I . . . I really want to be an astronaut. And I know it's not what you want for me. And I know it's just a dream . . . and a freaking stupid dream. But please don't get too mad at me, okay? I know I'm messing up by wanting to do this . . . I'm sorry . . ."
Eric Cartman is also alone. Well, not completely. He has Clyde Frog. And he has a bowl of leftovers.
He pretends to feed Clyde Frog. Clyde Frog still refuses to eat. Bastard. Cartman eats for him, still. He watches Terrance and Phillip on the TV in his bedroom and laughs at all of the crass humor.
"Isn't this fun, Clyde Frog? No one to tell us what to do."
Terrance laughs at Phillip on screen. Downstairs, his mother screams as the stranger she invited over fucks her into the kitchen table.
"Yeah. Th-th-this is just great."
When Kenny drags his ass through the front door, it's almost eleven at night, his fingers are turning blue, and the house smells amazing.
At first he thinks he's high on something. Then he thinks he's died and gone to heaven. Not unlikely in his case.
His mother is in the kitchen, baking rolls.
His father is at the TV with his brother and sister, shouting and cheering as they watch a rerun.
Kenny goes over to Karen and whispers into her ear, "Hey, what happened?"
"I started crying," she whispers back. "Kevin freaked and told mom and dad to stop it. And they did."
His parents don't look totally sober, but they're smiling. Mr. McCormick grins at him, and holds up his hand. Kenny, in a daze, fist-bumps him back.
"Why don't you take your groceries to your mother, son?"
He stumbles into the kitchen and places the bag on the counter. His mother, who's pulling rolls out of their rusty oven, oohs when she sees the contents.
"Kenny! My dear Kenny! This is great! I only had a little bit of flour and milk left, but with this we can have a whole Thanksgiving!"
"Yeah," he says, still kind of in a daze.
She stoops and plants a kiss on his cheek, even though he must smell horrible from dumpster diving.
"I'm sorry about everything," she tells him as she heats up the cans over the stove. The smell of cooking meat as she defrosts the Turkey on high makes his mouth water. He can't remember the last time he's eaten something that smelled so good.
"Your father and I . . . well, we have our differences."
"No duh," he mumbles into the hood of his parka.
"And we'll probably always fight, and I'm sorry. But – we want to be there for you kids. No matter what."
It's almost one in the morning when she pulls the turkey out of the oven.
"Dinner's ready!"