Thump / Thump / Thump / Thump
The repetitive and rather obnoxious noise wasn't even muffled by the television or radio playing in the downstairs. Instead, it only seemed to amplify every change in pitch and timing, as if mocking him. Terrance and Phillip couldn't even coax a chuckle out of him, Cheezey Poofs all but forgotten sprawled on the couch. Instead, he ground his teeth tightly together, eyebrow raised in growing irritation.
Eric Cartman wasn't a stranger to his mother bringing home men at strange hours of the day and night. No, it was something that he had gotten use to in his seventeen years living under the same roof. When he was younger, he would claim his mother a saint and beat down anyone that said otherwise. Now that he was older and past his utter denial? Well, he didn't really care anymore. Except for right now, with his fist clenching around the remote and the other tapping the small coffee table. Some days, it just got to him. Some days, he just couldn't fucking stand it.
Flipping off the television, he grabbed a few Cokes out of the fridge and swept up his keys, slamming the door shut behind him. Not that the two of them would notice, the way they had been going at it. What had it been, six or seven hours? Christ. Sliding into the truck, he threw the sodas into the passenger seat before starting it up with a dull roar. He didn't care enough to put his seat belt on, he never wore it anyways. He had bought this pile of junk for two hundred dollars from some guy out of town. It was an old Ford Truck, rusted brown in color, with a few strange holes peppering the hood and sides. Past the horrid exterior, it ran like a dream and hadn't failed him yet. Hell, it even had working AC and heat, and a shitty radio to boot. What wasn't there to love? Heading out the driveway he flipped through the stations, finally settling on 93.X which happened to be playing Papa Roach's Getting Away With Murder. He liked it well enough.
Unsure of exactly where he was going or what he was even doing, he dug his cellphone out of his pocket, texting Stan. Hopefully, he wouldn't be with Wendy, the stuck up little bitch that she was. All about fashion and appearance and everything mass produced in the world. Stan and her spent every second together it seemed, lately, and it was getting on everyone's nerves. Poor boy was whipped beyond belief.
To Stan : U with ur bitch or u up for some fun?
Stan knew Cartman didn't like Wendy. Hell, Wendy knew it too, but she took it as more of a challenge then anything else. Sometimes, it was worth a good laugh. Other times, she needed to shut up and get in the god damn kitchen. Suddenly his phone vibrated, signaling a reply.
To Cartman : Not cool, dude. Game tonight so no dice.
Swearing under his breath, he took a sharp turn in the opposite direction of where he was going, already near Stan's house. Being the star quarterback on the football team meant he had to play in every single game, home and away. Not only that, but he had to go to things like pep rallies and other meaningless bullshit. When Stan wasn't with Wendy, he was with the jocks. Fucking weak.
Noticing where he was in the neighborhood, he figured Kenny might be free for the night. It was only six o' clock so there was plenty of time to kill. The poor bastard didn't have enough money for a phone, so he'd have to go there personally to see if he was around. If he remembered right, he didn't have a woman over tonight, since it was Monday, his usual free day. He had become a real womanizer and had slept with at least half of the school's girl population already, and a good amount of the neighboring college chicks.
Finally at his poor excuse for a house, he threw it into park and walked up to the front door, already smelling the cheap alcohol and lack of cleaning. It was like stepping into a third world country and there was no turning back. Knocking a few times, his mom finally answered, wearing her trademark "I'm with stupid" shirt. Apparently Rednecks never got over that joke. "Hey, is Kenny around?"
"Kenny!" His mom screamed back into the house, getting annoyed looks from her husband who was planted firmly on the couch, watching a game of football. He was the obvious source of the biting alcohol stench floating around, empty beer in hand. If they were so poor, how could he afford all that god damn alcohol? "Sorry Eric, I think Kenny might be at one of his little girlfriend's houses."
"It's alright." He climbed back into his truck, taking the time to slam his head against the steering wheel before pulling out of the dirt driveway. Letting out a sigh he sped off in yet another direction, mentally kicking himself the entire way. Craig was out of town for the week, Tweak was too easy to scare, and Butters parents had sent him to some kind of camp for the month. Tolkein was probably at KFC or wherever it was he went for dinner on a daily basis. That left only one option in this god forsaken small mountain town.
Sometimes he hated living in such a good for nothing town. Sure, gas wasn't a problem because you could visit every single person's house in one night and still have a half tank of gas. But that also meant that everyone knew one another, and that everyone was in your business. On top of that, it meant a very limited range of friends. Such as the one he was being forced to visit now in a last ditch effort to turn something bad into something decent. The one thing he might actually despise more then Wendy.
The Jew.
