A/N: I don't own South Park. :3 this fic is rated T because language, and honestly if you can't handle swearing, why do you watch South Park? Thank you~

I woke up that morning like I woke up every morning: as a smoking image of godly beauty. Well, I had some dry drool on the side of my mouth and my hair was standing up every which way, which is close to god-like. I am classy, god damn it. I was out of bed for school on a Friday morning, and that was okay. It was boring, it was simple, it was routine. Mostly, it was how I liked it. I am Craig Tucker: classy motherfucker. This morning in particular, I decided to, well, not change anything about how I dressed. I put on my usual: black skinny jeans, obscure band t-shirt, jacket, suspenders that hang around my ass, as if they say, "Hey! Look at Craig's ass! Pretend you're looking at us! It's totally okay!"

I laced up my worn red converse, fed Stripe V, and head out the door to my car. At the start of senior year, I had finally been granted a car from the mystical forces that are my parents, and I thanked them thoroughly. It's pretty nice, despite being used. It's no clunker. It's nothing to lust after, either. It's a nice car, and it gets me places. Except it's kind of an awful mess, but damn, I'm an eighteen-year-old boy, is that not expected of me?

Once in the car, I plug in my iPod to listen to some music on my way to the hellhole known as "Park High". Yeah. Not South Park High. Just Park. Meaning all the South, North, and Middle Park kids went to the same school, right in the center of all of them. The whole situation was just fucking frustrating, and I hated thinking about it, but it's been the norm for four years now, and I'm pretty much almost done. It's March, and soon the year will end. High school will end for me.

Oh, most teens carpool on the way to school. I don't. I don't think it counts if you only pick up one person sometimes. I pick up Kenny McCormick on days that Stan and Kyle don't want to, or they just want to fuck before class or something, I don't know. Today is one of those days. I mean, I'm pretty close to the guy, since I'm kinda poor, and he is the town's ghetto. I'm probably supposed to drive Ruby, my sister, to school, but I don't really wanna, and she doesn't wanna ride with me, either. I think she rides the bus with Kenny's sister, Karen. I don't know. I cross the rickety train tracks, pulling into the McCormick driveway, and take notice of the eerie quiet in the air. This place was usually pretty loud because of "domestic disturbances" about every day. Stewart and Carol must be passed out or something. Kenny sat outside on the porch, smoking a cigarette with his orange parka tied around his waist. I leaned out the window and called, "Come on, asshole, I don't have all day."

Kenny got up without saying anything witty, and got in my car. Shit. Something was wrong and now I had to ask. "Something bad go down?" I pull back out of the driveway, heading now toward the school.

"Yeah."

"Mind sharing?"

Kenny sighed. I wasn't sure if he'd tell me or not. Must be really shitty. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he quickly closed it again. Finally, the blond said, "I don't really feel like talking about it, dude." I nodded in response, turning up the music. Sometimes guys just don't want to talk, and that's okay. I, for one, prefer silence to small talk. If people could only shut the fuck up for a second and enjoy silence, the world could be a little bit better.

We got to the school about twenty minutes later, and parted ways without a word. I went straight to my group, just like Kenny went to his. Technically, we weren't really separate groups anymore, we kind of blended together, but in the same way, we're still closer to our original friends. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny merged with us around the time that everyone finally ditched Cartman for real. Everyone got tired of that asshole in freshman year, and so we all decided to dump him on his fat ass.

Except he still goes here, and we all still tolerate him. He just happened to get into football in wrestling, mainly because he likes being allowed to hurt things for sport. So that crazy anger got put into an outlet, and now Eric Cartman is a little more tolerable, but no less of a douchebag. He's a little less fat, and a little more solid, but nobody cares except maybe Wendy. Those two have a fucked up secret relationship going on, one that nobody wants to think about too long. Stan and Kyle are out. Yeah, you'd think they would be secret, but everyone has known forever that they were gay for each other with that Super Best Friend shit.

So I was best friends with Token, Tweek, and Clyde, and just friends with Stan, Kyle, and Kenny. We were an unlikely bunch, but I sure as hell stuck out like a sore thumb. I had pitch-black hair that touched my shoulders and swished across my forehead, pale skin, a septum piercing, gauges, and tattoos. Oh, did I mention my tats? I got two last year, illegally, and one this year, legally. On my left arm, I've got one sleeve done, and connecting to the sleeve, I have a black rose on my hand cause hand tattoos are cool. On my right wrist, I have an anchor. Pretty stereotypical, but it gets worse. On my right shoulder blade, I have the quote from Hamlet, "To thine own self be true" because ya know, in a world full of fake bitches and whores, that's important. Oh, my mom cried when she saw my sleeve. I mean she straight up cried and starting praying, and my dad was like "Hey at least he's not a huge pussy!" Anyway, the anchor and quote were illegal, done by Kenny, and they look good. If you have a tattoo in South Park and you're a minor, a McCormick probably did it. They act like they have no art skill, but they're pretty talented.

I took a moment to appreciate my sleeve by taking off my jacket, half because I'm vain, and half because it's not that cold today. Unfortunately Tweek didn't want me to appreciate my own spectacularly beautiful body, because he got freaked the hell out for whatever Tweek reason that was and dropped his thermos. Well, he almost dropped his thermos, but I caught it midair. It was a ninja move, and it won't happen again for another twenty years. I hand it back to Tweek carefully, adding, "Jesus, Tweek, be careful, okay?" The spastic blonde nodded, clutching at his silver thermos like it was essential to life. For Tweek, it probably was.

I was kind of ignoring all the conversation today. I dunno I just didn't feel like talking. Neither did Kenny. But nothing bad happened so far. I decided to watch everyone. People-watching is fun, because you can turn into a fly on the wall if you really wanna. We were all outside in the parking lot, by a half-wall and our respective cars. I moved over to the half-wall and pushed myself up onto it, sitting there, looking bored like always.

In actuality, I watched everyone. I started with Stan and Kyle, because they were the easiest and most predictable. They'd been together all through high school, and they've always been so close. Right now, Stan was looking at Kyle, but Kyle was talking to Kenny. It was friendly, and Stan was just kind of giving Kyle that look like, 'you-are-the-most-perfect-human-to-ever-be-born-an d-I-want-to-have-your-adopted-babies'. Soon enough, Kyle would look back. He did. Kyle smiled a little, most of his smile in his eyes. I noticed Kenny looking down at his shoes during this exchange. He felt like a third wheel, I could tell. It was kind of a pity, because Kenny was someone I related a lot to. He was a nice guy, and he was funny. A player, yeah, but I'm a straight up slut. He looked sorta like me, with tattoos and stuff, but that motherfucker looked like a goddamn jcpenney model. I looked away from him, getting bored; instead I looked over to Clyde. Clyde was talking to Token about football. Clyde looked like a puppy, all innocence and loyalty. He was my best friend, so yeah, I liked the kid, and I definitely trusted him. He was just so damn innocent.

"Holy shit you guys, did you see me demolish that asshole at the wrestling match last night?" Cartman asked, speaking up for the first time that morning.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "None of us went to it, fat ass."

"Pretty much, yeah. We don't want to see you straddle some guy until he passes out." Stan shrugged, and the rest of the group agreed. Cartman turned scarlet red in the face and began to sputter.

"Well, y-you guys are just goddamn… goddamn dirty… dirty ASSHOLES. Fuck you," he yelled, stomping off to crush the dreams of eight-year-olds or whatever it is Eric did. I laughed, shaking my head slightly. The guy was fucked up, and he always had been.

I sat where I had been, on the wall, watching everything. I'd gotten pretty good at it over the years, and people forget you're there if you're quiet enough. Kenny got sick of standing beside Stan and Kyle eye-fucking each other, so he headed over next to me on the wall. "Goddamn they can get obnoxious," Kenny muttered. He was on his third cigarette of the morning, I noticed.

I smirked, "Jealous, McCormick?" I joked. Kenny laughed out loud. It was a charming sound, you know. I mean, I'm hot and all, but Kenny had that all-American look to him: blond hair, blue eyes, nice jaw. Not to mention the tan that seemed pretty much impossible for Colorado.

"Speak for yourself, Tucker," Kenny retorted, eyes still on the couple we were talking so blatantly about. It's funny how oblivious they are all the time. We were talking about them, full voice, and they were still giving each other the eyes. Oh wait. Kyle noticed. I received the glare from Hell (even though his people didn't believe in hell), followed by, "Fuck you guys," from the redhead himself. This time, both Kenny and I laughed at him, and I flipped them off. "You first, Kyle," I said to him.

All of a sudden, I felt the warmth of my blue chullo hat abruptly leave my head. I whipped around to see who the culprit was. Behind me I saw a tall, way-too-skinny blond with my hat in his hands. "Give it back, Tweek," I warned, swinging my legs around the wall to face him. Tweek grinned. He'd gotten ballsy over the years, and this wasn't anything new.

"No," the twitchy little asshole smirked. I got angry, and moved to push him down onto the gravel, but he made a clumsy grab at my hair, and I ended up going down with him.

"Don't pull my goddamn hair!" I yelled, throwing a punch at the side of his face.

We went through this bullshit at least once a month. We're really close, yeah, but it's like we were genetically coded to punch each other on a regular basis, because I don't fucking know. At this point we were rolling around on the ground, and oh fuck. Tweek managed to get on top of me and now he had leverage. Fuck that. I grabbed the skinny bitch by his jacket, and pushed him over onto his back. I yelled, "Give up, you little shit!"

He fought back diligently, I'll give him that. We ended up rolling around on the ground throwing cheap shots until some sweaty middle-aged teachers had to pry us off of each other, which was kind of awkward, because both of us were taller than the teachers. Significantly.

We pretty much ended up where we always ended up—the counselor's office. There we sat, in little wooden chairs in front of Mackey's desk. Mr. Mackey had his head on his desk, and I swear I heard him say, "I am getting too old for this poo," before he raised his head and looked wearily at the two of us, sitting there, noses bleeding, lips cut. "So, Mr. Tucker. Mr. Tweak. What happened?"

I shrug, "Nothing," I started flatly, "he just stole my hat and I got pissed off." I finished off my sentence by playing with the strings of my hat. Tweek nodded in agreement. Mr. Mackey put his head in his hands, sighing heavily.

"You know what? M'kay. I don't give a poo. Leave. I don't care. I quit, m'kay," he told us, pointing weakly to his door, his tone full of exasperation. I got up to leave, and once we were out, Tweek grinned at me.

"Damn, that was f-fucking awesome," said Tweek, grinning at me.

I nod at him, and we high five. "Do you wanna go outside to smoke." I ask, although it sounds like a statement. It comes with the nasal voice, which was so much worse with my re-broken nose. My nose is kinda big, and therefore kinda easy to break. I mean, Tweek fucking Tweak can break my nose. We walked out the back door of the school, heading around the corner until we saw the Goth kids. That's how you know you're in a safe spot. The Goth kids basically gravitate towards the best spot to sit and go unnoticed by adults as the chainsmoke all day, and do whatever Goth kids do.

Tweek pulls out his pack of fancy, snob cigarettes and holds it out toward me, to offer me one. I take it and put the cancer stick between my teeth, light it with my cheap BIC lighter, and take a long drag. This was sort of a habit between us. We fight, we smoke. It's a cycle. Most people wouldn't take Tweek for a smoker, but those people were dumbasses. Basically our whole group did drugs to an extent, except maybe Token and Kyle, because they were smart and they had "potential". Most of us smoked weed or something, right? No, Tweek did pills. Probably because he was already on so many to begin with, but he liked the weird medicine high and I didn't really get it. Sure, I mean, it was okay. Not for me.

"Sorry about your nose," said Tweek, rubbing at a cut on his lip.

"It'll heal," I replied, sounding nasal as ever. "But hey, watch the piercing next time, man. That shit hurts. Plus, I don't really want my septum ripped out." He nods, taking a drag. We ended up doing this, carrying on conversation, until the Goth kids made us leave. I didn't know why they were such assholes. Maybe if they weren't such cunts, they wouldn't hate life so much.

I left before Tweek, heading to one of my classes and deciding to skip it. I sure as hell didn't feel like school. I really should have been sent home anyway. So I walked out to my car, got in, and fucking left. Nobody would be home anyway. I could actually enjoy myself. This is my life. Nice and boring.