DISCLAIMER: I, uncmeister, do solemnly swear that I do not own South Park and that despite the uncanny resemblances, I am neither Matt Stone nor Trey Parker. Surprise, surprise.
WARNINGS IN PLACE FOR: misguided attempts at humor, an unsettling amount of Underpants Gnomes, hippies and British theatrical troupes, a disturbing lack of underpants, terrible grammar and a general misuse of the English language, and guess what folks? It's slashy.
PAIRINGS: Craig/Tweek; Others may or may not appear and if they do, expect the unexpected.
SUMMARY: No one ever believed poor Tweek Tweak about the underpants gnomes and their thefty ways, not even his 'sorta' best friend Craig. They called him crazy, coo-coo kachoo, and fruitier than fruity pebbles which by the way is very fruity. But the fact was that he had just known he was right, and now at this time of global crisis everyone will soon see that there just may be more to underpants gnomes than a silly boy's over-caffeinated imagination and few missing undergarments. Will contain: two angry and confused little boys, one gnome invasion, a mediocre traveling Theatre Troupe, Hell, outer space, third world countries, a ridiculous number of caffeinated products, and the golden briefs of God himself. Oh joy.
AN: So, this is my first South Park fic ever. I believe this is a Kodak moment, can someone give me a camera or something? No? Damn. Oh well I'll just commit this to memory. Moving on, I just wanted to use this time to thank my good friend KC, or commonly known as Kenny's Space Cadet, for motivating me to go through with this as well as for the magnificent job of beta-ing said story and to say that she is still indeed magically delicious. Trust me, if Lucky ever gets the boot, she's your girl to go to. If there's any other vocab problems they're probably my fault. There then, read and tell me what you think. Please and thank you :D
-uncmeister
Phase 0: The Mother of All Prologues
He never believed me. Hell, no one did but then again, who would believe some caffeine jacked fruit loop like me? Even I barely believe me, but the fact was that I knew it this time; I just knew I was right. That creaking by my bedside at night when the lamp was turned off? The thousands of standard white briefs missing from my dresser drawer? The pitter pattering of one too many hoofed feet and the horrible stench of musk and sulfur?
Oh yes. Just like how I had known that those creepy Muppet things were actually evil and run by a group of Russian communists sent to brainwash unsuspecting Americans with bad humor and ridiculous and highly unnecessary theatrics, I knew that those gnomes, those god damn gnomes, were real and not one of my many questionable and reasonably deranged hallucinations.
I also knew that soon--soon they would turn their beady, soulless black pits upon the rest of our sleeping town and begin to unleash their diabolical and pint sized rage on underpants drawers everywhere until they had all of their needed arsenal to declare war against humanity and it's delicates.
They had called me crazy. In fact, they also called me nuts, delusional, fruiter than fruity pebbles (which is very fruity by the way) and a menace to the concept of sanity, but you see, I, Tweek Tweak, was aware of the startling truth about the underground world, or simply underworld, of the gnomes and their heathen ways. I knew that it was just a matter of time before the gnomes came up with something horrible and directed their pointed hats and smiling bearded faces at the rest of the world and it's underpants. I had even been nice enough to warn them of it, to tell them that yes, gnomes do exist and yes, they do steal your undergarments while you snore peacefully in your beds.
But did they ever listen to me? Of course not. And now? Now they'll see; they'll all see that all of those cold, dark and incredibly painful years of shrieking and carrying on about gnomes and missing underpants had something more to them besides caffeine induced paranoia. But hey, they can't say I didn't warn them.
Phase 1: The Almost Perfect Day
God, I'm so excited I think I could wet myself! Wait, never mind that sounds weird. That'd be gross and I'm in the midst of another 'wonderful' day at the local scholastic institute for mediocre learning, South Park Elementary. Today is a good day, a very good day indeed. Why you may ask? Because today just happens to be my birthday! I'm turning 'nifty' nine (Butters taught me that word a couple days ago) and Jesus, I can't wait!
No, really; I can't. I get too fidgety and twitchy and have a sharp tendency to hyperventilate, but anyways, just the thought of the coffee, the coffee cake, the COFFEE, and all of my friends crowded around my dinner table singing 'Happy Birthday' to me is enough to send me into a violent but none the less cheerful panic attack. Not only that, but it's just that type of afternoon where you can practically feel the good vibes strumming through the air like caffeine hitting the blood stream. Everyone's just happy and content without a worry in sight.
I just wish that whole spiel about good days pertained to me.
Oh no, I'm not being negative, I'm just being realistic. For I, Tweek Tweak, am possibly the unluckiest person in the world. Craig once told me I'm like this giant, unsightly, blond haired magnet when it comes to attracting chaos and destruction and even told me that my residence here was most likely the reason why this town was so fucked up. I still believe him to this day.
But even if you're the most unlucky person in the world, you can still hope right? Surely I at least have THAT if not luck. Actually don't answer that, I'll just go with it and enjoy my day because no matter what, it's going to be PERFECT. Even if it kills me.
Then again, when I put it like that…
I look up from doodling coffee beans in the margin of my paper and look around the poorly decorated classroom. The walls are covered with finger paint montages of Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and Adolf Hitler from President's day and crudely drawn depictions of family's and concentration camps. Stan and Kyle are whispering to each other and Clyde and Token are playing paper football, snickering when the paper ball goes AWOL and hit's Pip in the back of his blond French head. Craig's busy flipping Bebe off, Wendy's glaring at Cartman, and Kenny's reading this month's edition of Hustler: XXX-mas Edition underneath his desk. All the while, the teacher drones on and on about how to love your childhood years because "once you get to college no one gives a flying fuck about you and you're either on your own or dead in a gutter with 50 STD's of unknown origin because of that sleazy Puerto Rican gigolo you met clubbing Saturday night instead of studying." What does jello have to do with anything anyways?
I don't like Mr. Garrison; never have, never will. I'm dead sure that Mr. Garrison, along with all the other male teachers are a part of a cult that performs cannibalistic rituals every Tuesday evening at 9 pm. I've never bothered to stick around for too long because not only am I unlucky and hyperactive in the worst way, I'm also a chicken but I've heard enough in the hallways to piece together the real identity of their 'plans.'
Seriously, I was just standing there by my locker one fateful afternoon and I saw my cannibal teacher actually conspiring with the other male staff! They were talking in hushed voices about various members (men AND women) of the staff and tasting their 'sweet, sweet meats' while they licked their lips and rubbed their hands together. I don't know what a 'snatch' is or what sweet, sweet meats they're getting at but the fact that they were drooling all over themselves andintermingling eating processes with other teachers (and Mrs. Cartman) in the same sentence MUST mean cannibalism right? Right!
Aside from the whole cannibalism thing, Mr. Garrison also has this creepy hand puppet named Mr. Hat who reappeared not so long ago as well. No one knows how he got back, but then again, no one really cares. I personally don't like Mr. Hat either; in fact, I've never trusted a puppet and I never, ever will. Especially with that creepy striped hat…and those wide unblinking eyes. It's like they can see into my soul…like they're plotting something...watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike…
GAH! He's looking right at me! Mr. Garrison that is. Maybe he's psychic…Oh god, what if he heard me thinking those things?! SHIT! Why didn't I consider that beforehand?! What if he holds me after school and knocks me out with chloroform to whisk me away to his cult?? They'd probably dress me up in degrading costumes and make me re-enact Broadway musicals! Or even worse: sacrifice me to their pagan Gods in some freaky teacher ritual!! Or even more worse: make me sing Broadway for them, then sacrifice me, and THEN harvest my bodily organs to sell on the black market! Oh Jesus! What if they cut out my liver and sell it to a children's hospital?! I'll die if they take it!! Oh god this is way too much pressure!
…Oh. He just wanted to ask me if I knew the answer to the question on the board. Phew, what a relief.
I quickly stutter out an "I don't know" and grip the edge of my desk with both hands, staring intently at the fake wood grain of my desk until he finally turns to his next victim. I keep my eyes downcast and rest my hand on me cheek, drumming my fingers lightly over the hard surface. Our school is so cheap that it's desks aren't even made of real wood. They're plastic and covered in wood printed linoleum. It doesn't matter though; the fact is that it still looks like wood so, it still calms me down. Kind of. Staring at things like that helps me relax for some reason. Sometimes when I get really nervous, I have this habit of counting the number of tiles on the ceiling or cracks in the sidewalk. Once I even kept a tally on how many holes I found in a slice of Swiss cheese, and I've come to know that there are a LOT of holes in Swiss cheese.
As I'm tapping away at my desk, I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck and I get that feeling like I'm being watched. Again.
It's been happening frequently at school, at the grocery store, at home, in the shower--I think I'm being stalked. I even told my parents but they wouldn't believe me. So far in my short life, I've made claims to roughly 564 cases of stalking, all proven to be either false or improperly backed up. Most people don't listen to me anymore and just go 'Mmhm right' or 'bull shit' whenever I'm talking about something like that. It's so frustrating because I know I'm right, I know it, but I'm usually too spazzed out to get angry or even remotely pissed off. Believe me; when your life is at stake and no one will help you and you also happen to be me, you don't get pissed off, you just piss your pants. Metaphorically speaking. That was mostly back in third grade when I had my problem but I've finally begun to grow out of it. I hope.
Minutes pass, and the eyes don't leave me. My nerves are screaming and my left eyelid starts to jump. I try to take a deep breath of air to calm me down but it's no use. Whoever's staring at me isn't relenting and my cool is completely blown. Oh God. What if it's one of those Mormons again? Or a the ocassional overly persistent Scientologist? I finally tear my eyes away from my desk and scan the entire classroom for the pair of eyes watching me, ready to scream "I AM PERFECTLY HAPPY WITH LIFE, NOTHING IS MISSING AND I AM NOT INTERESTED IN CONVERTING OR CHARADES".
But…no one's looking at me. They're all too involved with their various ways of not paying attention to notice a spazzy overcaffeinated psychopath going of his mind right next to them.
Crap, I can't even make it to lunch time without something terrifying or mortally dangerous happening! Dammit, Tweek quit panicking! Maybe it's just my imagination or rabid paranoia getting the best of me…again. I pick up my pencil and start doodling a particular Turkish roast that I like a lot and--GAH! They're back again! Christ, it is a Mormon isn't it? They're just too damn persistent! Wait…are Mormons even allowed in schools?! Those sneaky bastards!
I can still feel the eyes burning a hole right through my head but by the time I jerk my head around to look for them they're gone again.
I don't like this, not one bit. Something bad's gonna happen, I know it! And when it does, I'm gonna freak out and start screaming again and Craig's gonna get pissed off at me and everyone'll start laughing and then I'm gonna wind up looking like an idiot again and oh god it's just too much pressure!
I look up at the air vent placed above my desk because I know Mormon's are pretty crafty. As my eyes meet the grate my heart stops, sputters, than slams on the gas and I let out the most perfect Hollywood shriek ever heard as a pointed red hat and terrifyingly long white beard disappear into the darkness of the vent, a pair of blue plaid boxers takiing their place.
I-I knew it…
"Tweek, what the hell was that?" Craig asks me as I cower in fear underneath my desk. The lunch bell rang a few seconds after I screamed and everyone decided to leave Craig up to dealing with me as always. No one can really put up with me but I forgive them, sometimes I can't even put up with myself. I like to think of Craig as my best friend, but I'd never say it out loud. One, because I'd bust an ear drum and two, because he'd probably throw up at the thought. But I still like to think it even if he can be a total asshole sometimes. At least he still hangs out with me even though I'm a totally spaz.
"Th-the gnomes…they're…oh Jesus Craig! They're t-tracking me!" I squeak out, holding my binder above my head to shield myself from the unseen gazes.
I knew it. I so, totally knew it.
Craig smacks his palm against his forehead and mutters a couple obscenities to himself.
"The gnomes….are tracking you. That's a new one." Even though I can't see him, I know he's probably shaking his head in pity at me just because he always does that and I've hung out with him long enough to notice his tendencies. "How many?" He asks casually.
"I-I don't know…-ngh- maybe f-forty or a hundred or something!" I whisper loudly because I suck royally at being quiet.
"No dude, I meant how many cups of joe you on? The shaking you're doing would put a jack hammer to shame," Craig corrects me bluntly. I'd like to imagine he's leaning against the desk behind mine and staring down at me like I'm some quivering idiot, which I am.
"No man! Seriously! They're tracking me! I-I saw them in the vents! And look! Look there's underwear in the vent! UNDERWEAR!!" I yell and point a shaking finger from underneath my desk up at the air vent.
Craig is quiet for a second so I guess he must have looked up and isn't saying anything because he's in shock too. Or not.
"What underwear?" He asks and I stop shaking for a moment and poke my head out from my temporary bomb shelter. By god he's right…this is bad…this is really, really bad.
"B-but they were just there! They were plaid a-and blue and everything! Plaid is the pattern of EVIL, Craig! EVIL! Haven't you seen those -GAH- kilts before?! They're man skirts for cripe's sake! DUDES AREN'T SUPPOSED TO WEAR SKIRTS!!" Craig looks down at me skeptically and gives me one of his stupid 'Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids' smiles.
"Tweek you're such a total fruit cake." He shakes his head and shoves a hand in his jacket's pocket.
"Craig you g-gotta believe me!" I screech. I can already feel my teeth starting to chatter and my heart begin it's terrifying plummet from my chest cavity into my pelvis as the fear begins to eat away at me.
Oh god, if Craig doesn't believe me then no one will! That means I'll be left to fend for myself! I'll be like a delicious roast pig in a den of lions! Then the gnomes will get me and really steal ALL of my underwear--not just one pair at a time! OH GOD! What if they set me on fire or something? Oh man, my parents would get really mad at me! They'd probably think I set myself on fire because by the time they get up there those little bearded bastards would be long gone! They'd probably cart me off to Juvi or god, PRISON, and then I'd have to take public showers with horny convicts and then I'd probably spaz and drop the soap and end up butt raped by some huge ex-killer named Jerome who'd have to kill me off to keep me from squealing and hide my body in the chili!
"TWEEK, for the love of God calm down!" Craig interrupts my mental rant and I look up at him mortified, my hand covering my mouth. Dammit, I was thinking out loud again wasn't I? Oh, come ON!
"-ngh-Sorry Craig" I mutter and tug at the messy yellow chaos on the top of my head mindlessly. He watches me a minute, his gray-blue eyes lingering before he shrugs and hops off the desk.
"Come on dude, let's just go to lunch. I'm starving." He frowns when I don't loosen my grip on the steel legs of the desk and then adds "Besides, if there really were gnomes here, would you want to stay in an empty classroom with gnomes in the air vents?" When I dive out from under my bomb shelter, accidentally knocking over two innocent desks, he gives an accomplished nod. "Thought so. Now let's get goin'. Token owes me two things of Fruit Gushers plus a Snack Pack and I'd like to make it to lunch so I can rub it in the fatass' face."
"B-but Craig, doesn't anything that comes within a -ngh- yard of him get sucked into his vortex of a mouth?" I jump when Craig laughs. I don't know why he'd laugh; I'm being totally serious here. Eric Cartman's face has obviously been synchronized with a black hole or something. I would know, I've seen people walk up to him and disappear into thin air. At first I thought he swallowed him whole but…well actually I still think he does.
"True Tweek, very true" Craig heads for the door as I fumble for my back pack that landed on the floor. I cast a wary gaze up at the vent and pray to St. Peter Rabbit that the gnome hasn't returned. It hasn't, so I turn to leave, Craig locking the classroom door for the teacher as we head out the door towards the second worst place in the world; the cafeteria.
The cafeteria is a cold, cruel place for people like me.
There are the stares, the glares, the sneers, and the leers, but I don't pay that much attention to those anymore. It's the clinking and clattering of plastic cutlery and lunch trays that bothers me nowadays. Sometimes I can't stand it because it's just so loud and I swear if the devil were to have a musical preference that would be it (or the sound track for Sex and the City knowing Satan…). It's okay though because hanging out with Craig, Clyde, and Token makes up for it. They make school a lot easier I think.
I settle down into my seat next between Craig and Token and pull out my trusty green thermos filled to the brim with nice hot coffee, specially brewed for my birthday. Green is a calming color for me as long as it's not too bright or too dark (dark green is too ominous and bright green is just a risky color). It makes me think of leaves and nature and that sometimes calms me down too. Oh god, that sounds so gay doesn't it?! I'm gonna end up turning into some hippie tree hugger and have to go ultra vegan and wear tie-dye shirts and sandals! I hate tie-dye shirts and sandals!
Token and Clyde are talking excitedly about something and Craig's staying true to his word and waggling a pack of fruit snacks underneath Cartman's piggy nose. I have half a mind to warn him not to get too close because the portal could open and send him to another dimension, but I choose not to say anything because Craig would probably get really angry at me. I shrug it off and tune into Clyde and Token's conversation.
"What'd they look like?" Token is asking a very smug looking Clyde over his chocolate milk carton.
Clyde grins and says, "Kinda…squishy I guess, like water balloons or sumthin."
"Dude, water balloons?"
"Yeah! I wonder if you poked them if they would pop."
"Haha, or deflate."
"No man, EXPLODE!"
"GAH! WHAT'S EXPLODING?!"
"Dude relax," Token says to me. "Clyde you wanna tell him?" He gives a sly grin towards Clyde and Clyde returns it, his brown eyes glinting mischievously. Oh boy, this is gonna be something big, I can already tell.
"Okay Tweek I'm going to tell you something but first you've gotta pinky promise me you won't start screaming it to the world," Clyde tells me while and extending a pinky in my direction. I can't tell whether he's being sarcastic or not…
"S-sure guys. What is it?" I ask taking up his pinky in mine and giving it a little shake, but its more like a jerk. I wanna know what's going on; it must be really awesome, considering Token and Clyde's expressions.
"Good. So you know how I hurt my knee in P.E.?" Clyde begins and I nod showing him that I'm following along. He'd tripped over his own two feet laughing his ass off when we jogged by a chalk depiction of a penis with a top hat doing the horizontal tango with a busty stick figure. Of course, I had been convinced that he'd broken his leg and that it was my fault because I had pointed it out in the first place. Of course, Craig told me it wasn't, my fault that is, and that the real culprit was the picture itself. He even gave the picture the finger for good measure.
"Yeah what -ngh- a-about it? Oh god! You're knee isn't gonna explode is it? Is it?! Oh my god that'd be horrible!" I'm shaking so bad I almost drop my open thermos on me but Clyde quickly puts a hand on my arm to qwell the shaking.
"No Tweek, but if it did it'd be your fault" Clyde pats my head with a little smile. Oh okay that's good to know--wait…
"W-what?!"
"Just kidding" Bastard! I open my mouth to say something, anything, but decide to let it drop and he continues. "Anyways I didn't go to the clinic, I went somewhere better. You see, Coach told me I had to change out and I did, but instead of going off to the nurse's, I checked to see if the girls locker room door was open or not…" He grins off into the distance and then looks back at me.
"I thought that they a-always -ngh- locked the doors?" I ask in awe.
"Yeah that's what I thought. But I guess I got lucky – this time, the door was unlocked." His grin gets even wider. He and Token exchange a high five. "So you know what I did? You know the showers?"
"Yeah. N-no one ever uses them," I confirm cocking my head to the side. A piece of hair is stabbing into my eye but I just blow it out of the way.
"I hid in them….and I didn't get caught."
"OH MY GOD! CLYDE?! D-DOES THAT MEAN YOU -GAH- GOT TO SEE THE G-GIRL'S CHANGI--?!"
"Tweek be quiet!" Clyde whispers exasperatedly quickly covering my mouth with his bare hand. He usually takes off his gloves inside because he doesn't like touching his food with them. He says he doesn't like the food sticking to them or something.
"Thowwy," I apologize even though my mouth is muffled by his sweaty hand. He grimaces and quickly takes his hand off my mouth and wipes my drool on his jeans. "So you saw the girls -ngh- change?" I ask.
"Oh yeah" Clyde brags and leans back and casually stretches all cool like. "And I saw 'em naked too." Token and I both gasp in awe at this wondrous feat. Naked girls? Whoa….
"Dude," we breathe, simultaneously glancing at one another, then back at Clyde.
"What did they l-look like?" I ask. I'm probably looking at him like he's the second coming of Christ. Maybe that's wrongly put; make that 322nd coming of Christ, but either way, he's definitely enjoying the limelight, judging by that smug smirk.
"Awesome," was all Clyde managed to say before bursting out into gleeful giggles and kicking his feet underneath the tables.
"What're you guys giggling about?" Craig walks up to the table looking amused. I look over his shoulder and sure enough there's an angry Cartman mouthing off about Jews and Craig. Craig must have had his fun but I'm just relieved he wasn't sucked into a vortex and sent to another dimension or eaten alive. OH GOD! If he did then it'd be my fault for letting him go wouldn't it?! I'd never be able to live with the guilt!
"Clyde snuck into the g-girls locker room and saw -ngh- n-naked girls!" I blurt out and Token nods in agreement while Clyde just claps to himself in glee.
"Dude no way!!" Craig slams his hands on the table from behind me and stares wide eyed at Clyde. He's probably thinking that Clyde looks a bit like Jesus too.
"Yes, way." Clyde reaches over to his back pack and pulls out a pair of hello kitty panties.
"Dude." All three of us gasp, staring mesmerized at the frilly pink polka dotted garment.
"Dude…If I could see real live naked chicks, I would be so happy," Craig declares, while nodding his head sagely. I watch the yellow poof ball at the top of his hat bob up and down with every nod. I wonder if it'll ever fall off.
"Likewise," Token agrees and nods as well.
"Got that right." Clyde gives another cheeky smile but it quickly turns into a confused frown as does the other dreamy smiles while they wait for me to say something. When I still don't say anything they all turn to stare at me. I fidget a little under their confused gazes and finally break the awkward silence.
"W-what're you guys staring at? I didn't forget my pants again did I?!" I ask looking down and double checking my clothes and let out a huge sigh of relief. My pants are indeed intact and are even in their correct place.
"Wouldn't you like to see naked chicks?" Craig asks me curiously completely bypassing my other pants related questions and I twitch awkwardly as the other kids at the table turns towards me.
Hmm….when I think about it, I'm not really that interested in it at all. I'm more interested in the mysteries of the female body. Like this one time, I saw this movie and this dude's wife had like guns in her boobs and she got really pissed at him and started shooting at him trying to assassinate him and shit! There were also fat Scottish dudes in kilts and a lot of tie-dye and stuff, and ever since then I've always wanted to see if other girls had machine guns in their boobs too. In my own opinion, I think it'd be pretty important to know because I wouldn't want my first girlfriend to accidentally shoot me in the eye or something, if I ever got a girlfriend that is. But other than that not really…but do I say that? I don't know…Do I, or do I not? To be or not to be? Yes? NO? YES? Gah! Too…much…PRESSURE!
"I -ngh- guess so" I shrug my shoulders but it's more of a sharp jerk. Craig frowns and raises a brow at me. It disappears under his messy black bangs and blue snow hat that he insists on keeping firmly on his head at all times. The only way I know that he has black hair is because of his bangs that poke out from beneath the hat from time to time.
"What do you mean, 'you guess so'?" He asks me settling down in his chair. He pulls out an opened package of the aforementioned Fruit Gushers from his pocket. He reaches into the yellow packet and pops one of the fruit snacks in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"Well…" I explain to the rest of them the concept of safety first and he and everyone else at the table explode into laughter. "What're you -ngh- l-laughing at?!" I can't keep the shrill out of my voice. I hate it when they laugh at me. It isn't funny!
"Machine guns in their boobs? Oh my God Tweek!" Craig snickers and I can see the bright red fruit snacks stuck between his teeth. "Hey Clyde, did you see any weaponry hidden in their racks?" He turns and nudges the brunette with an elbow and another obnoxious grin.
Clyde shakes his head and makes a very good point. "You can't hide anything in there man, most of them didn't even have a rack to speak of."
"No shit Sherlock. We're nine!" Token rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of his fancy looking club sandwich.
"True, true but at least I can still say I saw a naked chick before any of you!" Clyde points at us with a stubby finger.
"Touche."
I watch them talk about girls and boobs and stuff and as I happily sip away at my coffee, I can't help but be relieved they aren't talking about me anymore. I forgive them and all, but it still stings a little when they pick on me, even if it is in good nature. (I think)
No one says anything about my silence since I usually just stay quiet and watch them and their conversations unfold. If you haven't noticed, I have a tendency to ruin everything with all of my twitching and naturally ridiculously screechy voice. I think it's best for all of us if I just keep my mouth shut every now and then. Besides, it's nice to just listen to them talk.
I take another swig of coffee and smack my lips together in appreciation. I can already feel the caffeine making its way through my veins and hitting that spot in my chest perfectly, instantly heating it up. Yes, everything is perfect. No problems, no worries, and no gnomes.
"AY! TWEEK!"
"GAH! C-C-CARTMAN?!"
Or not.
I turn in my seat to see Cartman waddling over to our table looking completely freaked out. His eyes are bugged out of his pudgy head and his chestnut hair brings an entirely new meaning to 'helter-skelter.' He keeps looking over his shoulders at something I don't see and is even babbling to himself. I can't help but wonder if that's how I look all the time….nah.
"Tweek…Tweek I need to talk to you," he demands of me, wringing his hands together anxiously, his eyes everywhere.
"Oh Jesus, what happened?! Was it bad?! Oh god, oh god, it was bad wasn't it?!" I throw my hands over my mouth as I watch him nod wordlessly and my horror slowly grows until it's this merciless beast destroying my insides.
"What crawled up your ass and died fat ass? King Kong? Godzilla? Any other giant mutated animals that come to mind?" Craig sniggers, turning around in his seat to look at fatass--I mean Cartman.
"Screw you Craig!" Cartman glares little Neo-Nazi daggers at Craig, but Craig just casually gives him the finger before turning back to his lunch. He makes a big deal moaning about how good those gushers were just to annoy him and it seems to be working.
"Ergh, Cartman? You -ngh- wanted something?" I ask breaking Cartman's two minute glare and at first it looks like he forgot why he was here but he quickly recovers his fearful gaze and looks like he's gonna wet himself. That'd be a twist.
"Tweek…Tweek, it's my underpants." Eric's words hit my ears like a doctor's do when they tell a patient they have terminal cancer and that they've been having an affair with his or her spouse, "They're…… they're gone."
I don't say anything for a while. I just stare, and stare some more at Cartman's pudgy frame barely processing this information overload. And then I scream as all of my hopes for a perfect day are spilt across the cheap cafeteria floor along with the steaming remains of my coffee.
To Be Continued...
End Note:
Oh? You read it? Well then, what an interesting turn of events! Now you get to see me rant on about how this is my first south park fic ever and how fruity it is! NO. No, you don't if you didn't catch the hinted sarcasm. Now you get to listen to me say this: Tweek is awesome and yet so under appreciated. Therefore, I, the great uncmeister hath decided that Tweek deserves his spot light and that I am ready to give it to him. Ye who objecteth shall receiveth the almighty finger...eth. Lol, just kidding, just kidding. But just so you know, I have pretty good hopes for this story and I can't wait to see how it flys with you guys. With that said, I'd appreciate it A LOT if you would review and let me know whether to pitch it or ditch it. It's your call. Well not really, but you know what I mean :D Oh and by the way, I'm well aware that elementary schools don't have locker rooms or showers but I don't really care. Those panties are damn important.