Eric Cartman sat at the small desk in his dingy office. He sighed heavily, breathing back deeply taking in a nose full of the strong scent of mildew which lingered in the small, dank office space. He'd wanted to be good at something for as long as he could remember, always trying hard to discover a purpose in life and he thought he had, going into publishing and all.
The man had known all along and kept telling himself. "I'll never make it out of South Park." Therefore, submitting to eternity in the Podunk, piss ant mountain town. Eric accepted defeat and opened a small business by his twentieth birthday. Yes, Mr Eric Cartman was the owner and editor of the small, rarely well circulated magazine Park Life.
Being a little, start-up company Cartman could only afford four employees, yet it was beyond him why he'd hired friends. They were far from talented writers and incompetent. Sometimes Cartman found himself thinking that the only reason his so called friends took the jobs when offered was to draw a pay check for doing nothing or as close to nothing as they possibly could.
Recently the gravy train had ran dry. It was time to work or drive their boss to bankruptcy. With two mortgages on the small office building Eric had borrowed the money off his mom to purchase, his car repossessed and his life slowly falling to shambles as he sat idly by watching the leeches suck him dry. Cartman knew it was now make or break.
Cartman slowly reached into his desk drawer pulling out the last of a bottle of cheap bourbon and five grimy glasses. The light above him flickered as he lined up the glasses and slowly half-filled them with the last of the amber liquid. The near broken man questioned himself as he looked toward the pulsing globe suspended above him. "Have I paid the electricity bill this month?" He quizzed as he heard his office door wildly flung open and the sounds of feet begin piling in.
Dull chattering amongst the four other men could be heard as they slumped into their individual seats.
Forcing a smile through gritted teeth Cartman softly cleared his throat for silence. Eyes turned toward him, the feeling of holes being bored through the man caused him to begin to sweat.
"Thank you for coming to todays meeting guys….." Cartman began politely.
"Whatever, lardwad. Why are we here and why did my last cheque bounce?" Stan Marsh spoke up.
Clenching his eyes shut Cartman threw himself back dramatically in his chair. He raised his arms up and began tugging at strands of his chestnut hair.
"Ok you fucking asswipes wanna know why your pay didn't go in?" Eric grunted losing his earlier calm. "It's because we haven't sold a copy of our magazine in almost three months. My car go repo'd, I've mortgages the building and all my dreams just to pay you fucking wankstains and what for… what the fuck do you people do. Have you read this fucking garbage you fill my magazine with, what was meant to be my legacy is not just your personal piggy bag but it's also somewhere you assholes think you can rant about any old drivel and people will lap it up and come crawling back for a second helping. Well guess what fellas the milk's gone sour and no one will drink it. Not even Kenny's family. So listen and listen up good." Cartman vented.
The brunette leapt from his chair and thrust a chubby digit in the direction of Kyle Broflovski.
"Kahl….. no one wants to read about finance. It's stale and boring pluss these days everyone has an accountant. I know I do and every time he see's me he's all like, the fuck man? So no more finance section."
Cartmans hazel gazed turned in the direction of the blonde goofball Leopold 'Butters' Stotch.
"Now Buttplug, I think you are the only one here with any actual talent. But I told you many times only little fag boys read the funnies. Don't get me wrong dude, you can draw and you're good at your craft but I was right. No one wants for read comic strips in magazines anymore. Why would they when there's sex, violence and any other sordid little tidbit they desire on the idiot box? I mean, all the fat lazy fucks have to do is reach out and flick on the tv and all they need it there. Therefore comics and funnies are no longer part of this publishing….. As for you Marsh. If the sports event is epic enough everyone watches it. They don't want to read what some nobody thinks about it the next day after they've seen it. Let's face it, once you know, you know. Then you don't care and you move on and don't even get me started on you Tucker. What do you even write here? Does anybody know what Tuckers job actually is….. no, didn't think so. For fuck sake people we're called Park Life, we claim to be a family unit and we're boring as fuck."
The other four men perched around the table their gazes firmly fixed upon their boss. Their features, stern and furious, far from pleased as they'd all just been assaulted by their going for broke boss.
"So fatass you're broke and it's our fault?" Kyle growled, finally breaking the silence.
Glares were exchanged between the pair before something was said, something that made Cartman think.
"I'm a columnist." Craig answered, flipping Eric a double barrel finger flip.
"Huh sorry Craig?" Cartman said, breaking his stare show down with Kyle to give the noirettes words attention, in hopes someone could come up with a suggestion to save his dwindling business.
"I write saucy, smut stories or in the early days we'd receive letters about sex and life that I'd answer but you put a stop to that happening and now the magazine is dead." Craig explained.
Standing up and placing his hands on the desk before him Cartman smiled widely, although this time the grin wasn't faked or forced.
"That's so crazy it may just work. We write columns about our lives or things we've seen or heard in town and we accept questions. We revamp Park Life with the inhabitancy of the town in mind. If someone needs help with sex, love, life any of that shit. Vibrators, buttplugs, beastiality, someone they love died. Any fucking thing we will answer it happily and publish it in our magazine. Then with an influx of letters asking questions and requesting stories the brainless assholes will buy our magazine to see if we replied to them. It's perfect, Craig I could kiss you." Cartman chirped.
Craigs feature remained the same, not happy nor sad. He didn't blink or move a muscle.
"You could but I don't think Tweek would like that." Craig replied in his usual monotone.
"God fucking dammit dude, gross. I don't wanna write about vibrators or any of that sick sex shit." Stan scoffed.
Kyles lips curled up in a smirk and he coughed out the word prude. Mocking his super bests unwillingness for the change.
Butters leaned over toward Stan a crude grin spread across his usually angelic features.
"Stan…..um well. I suggest before you knock it….. oh darn what do I say. Ok I'll just say what I'm thinking. Before you bag it and say gross, I suggest you fucking try it. That shit is fun."
AUTHORS NOTE -
A big warm welcome to our avid readers. Once again thank you for the continuing support and words of encouragement. It really gives us the drive we need to keep pumping out the good shit we know you all thoroughly enjoy. As you guessed this is another team effort between my pal Sarcasm (XxDarkSarcasm1010xX) and I. We're partners and honestly what's better than one gifted writer; yes two.
I'll cut it short for you my dears. This is an interactive fic. Meaning, we want you to get involved in the fun.
In the reviews section we'd love to see some questions for the Park Life columns, please don't forget the name of which character you would like to answer your question and don't fret, everyone will have their questions answered eventually.
So get cracking deary's, fire off those questions so we can get working on future chapters for this fic.
E... xo.