Disclaimer: We don't own Peanut Butter Jelly Time by DJ Chipman of the Buckwheat Boyz. We also don't own South Park. Just thought you'd like to know.

Kyle Goes Bananas
by Southern Sunshine

"Peanut butter jelly time! Peanut butter jelly time!"

A crowd started to gather around me as I gyrated around the school hallway in front of the lockers, dressed in a giant banana suit. Yeah, that's really me; the rational, conservative Kyle Broflovski is really dancing around in a banana costume, singing that stupid song with a maraca in each hand. You can go ahead and say it. I look like an idiot, and this whole thing is way out of character for me. I won't argue with you on that. However, I would like a chance to explain myself, if you'd let me. I don't really think it's fair for you to just walk in here, laugh at me and my stupid banana suit, and walk out.

Come on, you know you want to hear it. Besides, if you turn around and leave now, you'll never know the real reason I'm doing this. Ever. All you'll be able to tell your friends is that you saw the Jew dressed up like a banana. When they ask you why, what are you going to tell them? Unless you've got a really good story, like mine, to back it up, nobody is going to believe you. They'll think you're putting them on, and then nobody will ever believe anything you say ever again. You could go out tomorrow and be abducted by aliens and they could implant a Buick in your ass, and there isn't one person who will take you seriously. The only thing they'll say is "Oh, yeah right. Remember that time you told us you saw Kyle dressed up like a banana?" You don't want to be that guy, do you? Didn't think so.

Well, let's see. I guess the best place to start is at the beginning. It all started with a conversation with Eric Cartman. Yeah, that's right. The Eric Cartman. That self-centered, greedy, manipulative, overbearing, spoiled, anti-semitic fat asshole that nobody can stand. Know him? Yeah, unfortunately I do, too. I swear that guy could eat twice his own body weight in Cheesy Poofs and "Powdered Donut Pancake Surprise" and still ask for more food. His mother must have been really high with a bad case of the munchies when she got pregnant with him. Hell, that's the only way I can explain him. He has an appetite like a stoner or a grizzly bear.....or a stoned grizzly bear.

The day all of this started going down, the two of us were sitting having lunch together. Stan was still in our Biology class cleaning dissection kits after he put frog guts on Kenny's face to wake our poor friend up. Instead, he had a heart attack and died, so neither of them would be around. Cartman was shoveling a Caesar salad of fatty foods into his face, not even bothering to chew or wipe off the ring of chocolate sauce, ketchup, and salad dressing that was accumulating around his mouth, and I was staring at my beef burrito so that I wouldn't gag by looking at Cartman.

"You gonna eat that, Jew?" Cartman asked, shoving his hand into my eyesight to point at my burrito.

"Yes," I grumbled, picking it up and taking a bite, shuddering at the bitter taste of the bean paste that squirted into my mouth when I bit down. "Finish your...meal."

"I HAVE finished my double-deep-fried Burrito French Fry, M and M, pepperoni pizza, ranch dressing, and birthday cake casserole surprise," Cartman announced proudly. "Can I at least have your cake?"

"NO YOU CAN'T HAVE MY CAKE!" I shouted just as Stan sat down next to me.

"Hi Kyle."

"Hi Stan. Tell Cartman to stop being so fat."

"Cartman, stop being so goddamn fat."

"Fuck you," Cartman said, stealing some food from the freshman girl down the table, who squealed in fear and fled as Cartman's pudgy hand touched her tray.

"So, um, Kyle," Stan said as I took another bite of the burrito, causing more paste to squirt into my mouth. Stan trails off, and by the time I look over at him, he's turned red.

"UmIjustrememberedI'mnotdonewiththeGeometryhomeworkyetgottagobye!" he announced, jumping up and running out of the cafeteria. Cartman just laughed while shoving another piece of cake in his mouth.

"That pussy is such a raging fag for you," he said with a snigger.

"SHUT UP, CARTMAN, HE IS NOT!" I exclaimed, flushing in anger as I defended Stan.

"Oh come on, Jew, he turned bright red and ran like a Rabbi at Auschwitz just because he got jealous of that penis-shaped burrito squirting bean paste in your mouth!" Cartman replied, chortling. "How much faggier can you get?"

I'd just like to stop here for a minute and state for the record that I don't think that Cartman really understood fully the can of worms he was opening by starting this conversation. If he had known right then what the end result of all of this would be, he wouldn't have said a word. He loved to insult me and humiliate people, sure, and can't get enough of manipulating things to his own advange, but only when it results in the target being completely wrecked. Nothing good can come of it, or he's not interested in it. Take for example, Mr. and Mrs. Tenorman. When their son Scott decided to screw Cartman over, Cartman reached the conclusion (after being jerked around for several days) that the only way to really make him sorry for what he did was to have them murdered. He then hacked them up into chili meat and fed it to him, then proceeded to lick the tears off of his face.

Yes, he is a twisted individual. He's not the kind of guy who'd go on and put down things like "Loves to cuddle puppies". That's why I can say with absolute certainty that the events that took place from this point on were not what he intended. He most likely expected something degrading, something he could capture on video and play back over and over again, maybe even masturbate to it. Sometimes I really do think he's that far gone, folks.

"Stan is not gay for me, Cartman," I told him, giving him my angriest glare. "He's just a little bit...awkward at times."

"Awkward?" the talking glob of assfat sitting across from me responded. "Is that the PC way to say it now? I thought it was 'heterosexually challenged' last week."

At this point, I really wanted to hit him. I wanted to take my tray, food and all, and just bash him in the face with it. I'll take a lot of nonsense, and around Cartman I've had to learn to be especially patient, because he knows how short my temper is, and after so many years of hanging out together, he knows the combination to the anger safe. Twelve to the left, six to the right, eight to the left....Jew-wrath.

"Just drop it," I said through my teeth. "Stop talking about my best friend like that."

"A little insecure about it, Jewfag?"

"No," I defended, finding it harder and harder to keep myself in control. My grip on the tabletop seemed to be getting tighter with every passing second. "I just don't think I should have to defend his sexuality to you, fat boy!"

"Don't call me fat, buttfucker!" he shot back, angry now himself.

"Then don't belittle my Stan that way!" I shouted.

I knew these words were a mistake the minute they slipped out of my mouth. I closed my eyes tightly and sent up prayers to everyone I could think of that he wouldn't notice. Jesus, Moses, Vishnu, Xenu, Buddha, Zeus, Ra; they were all on the list. Unfortunately, they all chose to ignore me, or they were all listening but having a really good laugh at my expense, because Cartman's eyes lit up with sadistic glee immediately.

"Your Stan?" he said with a raised eyebrow and a nasty smirk.

"I...I meant my best friend Stan," I stammered.

"Ha, ha, sure," he retorted, needling me now. "Sure you did."

"Damn it! What'll it take to get you to believe that Stan isn't gay for me, Cartman?"

"Get me a video of him jacking off to heterosexual porn and actually enjoying it."

"WHAT!?!"

"You heard me, Jew. And if you prove that he IS a fag for you, you have to dance around the school in a banana costume singing 'It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time.'"

"And if I prove he's NOT, YOUR fat ass can only eat tofu for two weeks!"

"Deal," Cartman says, with no hesitation and a confident smirk on his face. That's a bad sign. He wouldn't have agreed that quickly if he wasn't 100 million percent sure that Stan was gay for me.

It was that bet that brought me to Stan's doorstep that evening with a duffel bag in hand containing a tripod, a video camera, and a copy of Backdoor Sluts 9. We went up to Stan's room automatically, and he only began to question my motives when I locked his bedroom door.

"Kyle? What are you doing?"

"We're going to watch porn," I told him, pulling the case out of the bag and tossing it over to him. He turned it over and got white when he saw the title.

"O...Kay."

"And you're going to jack off to it."

"Why aren't you?" he asked, even more suspicious.

"Because I'm going to be videotaping you. Now get naked."

"Videotaping me!? The hell for?"

"To make Cartman eat tofu for two weeks by proving that you're not a homo."

"But - "

"No buts, Stan, just get naked, start watching, and start jacking it without moaning my name."

"I can't do that."

"Why the hell not, damnit?"

"Because I AM a homo," he said with a glare, quite angry that Cartman had put me up to this. I just stared at him silently. Partly because this changed everything, and partly because I was going to have to go to school the next morning and do that retarded dance in that retarded outfit while singing that retarded song.

"How long, Stan?" I finally asked him.

"Since seventh grade at least," he said without hesitation.

"Shit," I said.

"You're...not mad about it, are you?" he asked me. "I mean, I figured you'd be the one person in the world I could tell this little secret to."

"It's cool, Stan," I said, flashing him a smile. "The whole thing was stupid anyway. Even though he was right about you being gay, that doesn't mean you're gay for me, which was the basis of the entire bet."

"I beg your pardon?" Stan asked, obviously unable to believe his ears.

So I sat him down and explained the situation in great detail. I told him all about Cartman's suspicions, about the challenge to get the videotape, and about how I'd defended his honor the best I could. He listened patiently, never interrupting or jumping to conclusions. When I was finished, he sat looking at the floor for several seconds, as if thinking over all of it very hard. Finally, when I was about to open up and ask him if he was okay, he looked up at me and I saw a look in his eyes that I'd never seen there before. It was a lot like what one might see in the eyes of a cornered animal: fear, frustration, and anger all mixed into one.

"Why did you do that, Kyle?" he asked me. "Why'd you go and do something so reckless?"

"I..." I stuttered. "I was trying to defend you!"

"Yeah, that may be true," he said, "but you've done more harm than good."

"How?"

"Because, not only will everyone find out that I'm gay, but now they're gonna find out I'm gay for YOU and YOU'RE gonna have to dress in that stupid banana suit."

If someone had picked up Barack Obama by the ankle and swung him at my head like a club, I wouldn't have been more surprised than I was at that moment.

"Gay for ME?"

"Oh, come on!" Stan cried. "You honestly didn't pick up on it?"

I honestly hadn't, and I told him so. It just wasn't something you went looking for. I mean, who goes around randomly looking for signs that their best friend wants to get into their pants? Are there people who just randomly ask their buddies "Hey, you don't want to fuck me in the ass, do you?" How the hell does that work?

"Jesus, could you be any more blind?" Stan asked. "Or impetuous? Or do you secretly just have a fetish for wearing outlandish costumes?"

I sputtered. "N-no!"

"Aww, that's a shame, you'd look quite good in assless chaps and a cowboy hat," Stan said with a wink.

"You jackass," I replied, my face turning as red as my hair. "Now I'm out five bucks for the porn movie rental, twelve bucks for the three-pack of videotapes, AND I'm going to have to dance around the school in a banana outfit."

"Well...maybe it's not ALL bad," Stan suggested, pulling me over to stand closer to him.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna have to tell him that I'm gay for you anyway...why not do something with that tape that can traumatize him?"

"L-like what?" I stuttered, kind of nervous. Stan leaned in and whispered his plan in my ear. And despite the fact that I'm still not fully sold with the whole gay thing, his plan is too genius to pass up.

The next morning, I went up to Cartman and tossed him the tape with a smug look on my face. His expression didn't change, but he ran to the AV room. I followed close behind so I could see the look on his face when saw the tape.

"Hi Cartman. It's Stan. Guess what? You win. I'm gay for Kyle. And Kyle's gay for me too. Just look and see." The camera panned to show me, naked on Stan's bed, beckoning for him to come over and join me.

"So we figured, since you care so much about how gay we are, we'd skip the pleasantries and SHOW you." At this point, he stepped into the camera's view -already naked as well- and jumped on to me on his bed and began making out with me.

The only remaining audio comes from after Stan pulled the covers over the both of us and we began to pretend like we were having hot gay sex. In reality, I just had him do fifty push-ups while I moaned his name. It worked anyway, the covers moved up and down like I was getting my ass pounded by my best friend, and I can be a VERY convincing actor.

"Oh, Stan!" I moaned on the tape. "Do that harder!"

"FAGS!" Cartman screamed, jerking the tape out and flinging it across the room as though it were on fire.

"Guess you were right," I said, alerting him to my presence behind him for the first time. I was trying--and failing--to hide my grin when I saw the repulsed look on his face.

"This WASN'T the deal, you homo shitbag!"

"I changed my mind," I replied, chuckling. "Pray I don't change it further."

"You sick son of a bitch," Cartman hissed. "I'm gonna enjoy watching you dance."

And that's how I ended up here, in front of the entire school, dancing like my life depended on it. In retrospect, I could have sidestepped all of this by simply going home that night, studying for my math final, and telling Cartman the next day that I'd tried but Stan was too reserved to jack off on tape. I have no regrets, though. I'm having the time of my life, and the best part is Stan is in a banana suit, too. He's dancing next to me, the smile on his face bigger than I've ever seen it.

"Goddam fags," Cartman mutters, glaring at us from the head of the crowd. If there's one thing he can't stand, it's being beaten at his own game.

"Peanut Butter Jelly! Peanut Butter Jelly!" we sang louder. "PEANUT BUTTER JELLY WITH A BASEBALL BAT!"