I DON'T OWN SOUTH PARK
Don't you just love when the Internet is a douche and forces you to re-write something?
Anywhore, What's it been, a week? S'gotta be some sort of record. It's my first time writing as Clyde, and embarrassingly enough, the first time I think I really nailed Tweek's characterization. Anyways, this story was inspired by a beautiful characterization of Kevin Stoley. I feel a personal connection to that little Star Wars/Trek nerd, and I can see him as a huge sarcastic asshole.
Review, please!
Post-Note; My dad found my computer and decided to have fun looking through all my files. It's a miracle that he only said for me not to type 'Fuck' anymore. So, just to be a spiteful little brat;
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
Our gang- that being Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweak, Token Black, and I- was invincible.
Sure, we didn't hop on the train to trouble and excitement every week like Stan's group, but that doesn't mean we didn't have our own fun. Our fun was just a little more... normal. Instead of going out to save the world or discover the mysterious Crab People, we preferred to play video games and set off firecrackers under Mr. Mackey's chair. Nice and boring, as Craig would say.
Craig was sort of our group leader. Poster child for all tall, dark, and handsome teenagers. Handsomely chiseled, vibrant blue orbs that positively sparkle in the night, and black hair. In other words, sort of like a Disney prince with a bad attitude. He's got a lean physique with enough muscle to prove he's on the basketball team. He's also got the nicest hair I've ever seen, but that's away from the point. He's a no-nonsense kind of guy, and he rarely cracks a smile unless he's in the vicinity of our group. It's probably because he's still wearing his clunky metal braces, and he gets embarrassed by them.
Now Tweek? He's probably the exact opposite of Craig. Short, lanky, pale as a ghost, and his face could definitely use a little touching-up. He's got eyes that are too big, a nose that's too small, and lips that are too full. It's like his features never really belonged to his body or facial structure. He's kind of an airhead, too. I think it's got to do with years of being brainwashed by his parents' vague metaphors and being addicted to coffee. He's a brilliant guy, though. As paranoid and anxiety stricken as he is, he still manages to fill the status quo nicely.
Token is probably the peace maker of our group. He's black, bluntly put. And filthy rich. He's got nice brown eyes, and dark flat-cut hair. He's kind of thin like Craig, but he can bench 150 pounds. He's carried a kicking and screaming Craig from here to North Park once, so that's got to count for something. I like to call him our Sugar Daddy, but that makes him upset, so I stopped. He's not one of those snobby rich kids, though. He's a really nice guy, and actually super self-conscious about being so well-off.
"There are starving kids in Ethiopia and I'm watching the Avengers on a 112'' flat screen," he once said.
And me? I'm just the middle man in all of this. I'm a little taller than Tweek, but not taller than Craig, and a good forty pounds heavier than the both of them. I like Taco Bell and dinosaurs, and that's about as interesting as I get. I'm not handsome like Craig, or brilliant like Tweek, or strong like Token. I'm just me. Average.
The reason I'm saying all this is because we're all currently on top of the high school, laying on our bellies and waiting for the school bell to ring. The concrete beneath us is cold, and it's starting to seep through my sweater. The Spring Break prank. It's among my favorite pranks of the year, because it's warm enough that we can be flexible and still cold enough to dump water on kids and watch them shiver. We're the prank kings of South Park; even Stan's gang knows to bring proper safety equipment this time of year.
"Almost ready, man?! C'mon, it's going to ring any second!" Tweek says in a hushed scream, his wild eyes dart from us to the giant Home Depot bucket full of grade-A rotten eggs. The cold doesn't bother him one bit. He's not even wearing a shirt.
"Yeah, yeah. Calm your frozen nipples and help, would ya?" Craig snaps, hauling another tub of eggs up the roof entrance. It's a ladder, so Craig has to hang on to the bucket with one hand and climb with the other. Tweek nods vigorously before racing over to the hatch and hauling up the eggs.
"Before the bell rings, I just wanna say that this might be the best prank we've ever done," I say formally, grinning as I load my slingshot with a slightly oozing cracked egg. Token cracks the eggs, rolling them over to where our spots on the roof are. The cracked ones splatter better. Less chance of a concussion, bigger chance of a girly scream regardless of gender.
"You say that every time," Token rolls his eyes, cracking another egg and distributing it out to Tweek's spot.
"Because we keep getting better!" I yell back triumphantly.
"It's almost time," Craig says.
"How close?!" Tweek yelps.
"Ten."
"Ten what?!"
"Nine."
"GAH!"
Craig counts down to zero, his monotone voice ringing around us. We all load one egg into our slingshots and wait. Our shallow, excited breathing creates little puffs of mist. And as soon as Craig utters out 'zero', the bell rings and like a godsend, the forty girls on the juniour's cheerleading team flow out of the school.
We pull back our slingshots quietly, and Tweek's is the first one to zip through the air and collide with the back of a pretty blond girl's head. As soon as we hear the deafening crack of eggshell exploding and yolk splattering her head, it's our cue to hail down more eggs like arrows. I pull back and aim for a busty brunette, satisfied when it crashes against her middle and sends her flying from shock.
We each have our favorite parts of a good prank. Token's is the setup, Craig's is the execution, Tweek's is the chaos, and mine? Well, mine is the fame. I stand up so that the whole student body can see me in all my glory as I send egg after egg into the masses of rushing students.
"Yeah, that's right!" I yelled, so loud everyone stopped for a fraction of a second. "We're the big guys on campus!" Craig graces me with a roll of his eyes. I accept it heartily.
An angry jock growls at me, hurling a beat-up egg in my direction. I sidestep and dodge it easily, aiming for him with my slingshot.
"Oh man! I hear someone! Spies! Gah! Oh jeez," Tweek stands up and stumbles to the door, grabbing the knob with his hands to hold it fast.
"Help him, Token," Craig commands, firing down Stan Marsh with a volley of eggs. "Clyde and I got this." It warms my heart to hear him say that, it really does.
So we shoot down the poor student body until all that's left is the huge Home Depot bucket and four slingshots. We throw those over the side of the school, watching them fall into a pile of powdery snow. Craig looks over at Token and Tweek.
"What now?" he asks dully. The door is being positively rammed against now, and Token alone is holding it closed. Angry yells about how we better let them up here right now resonate through the building and shake the concrete.
"Ladders!" Tweek screams suddenly. "Um. Still have your slingshots? No? Gah!" he rambles on withought a nod or acknowledgement from any of us. He looks deep in thought for a moment before grabbing Craig by the hair and ripping off his coat.
"The fu-" Craig is cut off by Tweek.
"Do you have your name on this? No? Good. Hah, we're gonna make it, man!" I don't have a clue in hell as to what he was talking about, but I shed my coat along with Craig and toss it. You don't question a genuis. Tweek scoops it up and gently takes off Token's coat, too.
"Not long enough... Gah! Gimme your shirts." Craig and I do as instructed. Of course, Craig's shirt pulls off to reveal stunning chiseled abs and a lean body, and mine evinces my chubby belly. I toss my shirt over to Tweek and hope that he doesn't ask for our pants. Token looks like he's almost completely spent from holding the door fast, his whole body pressed up against it.
"Hurry up!" he snarls, grunting with effort as the door is nudged a crack open and slammed shut once again. Not sure what else to do, I run over and throw my body weight against the door as well. It's buying us time, but not enough.
"Pants!" Tweek orders. "Drop them!"
"Kinky," I mutter, earning a stifled giggle from Token. I pull down my sweats and throw them over to Tweek, who comments that they smelled like B.O.
After a short while, Tweek screams, "C'mon, c'mon! Hurry!"
Clad in only our boxer briefs and tighty-whites (Except for Tweek, who goes commando), we jump down the makeshift rope and race through the city streets. I can faintly hear the words, "You damn kids!" being howled in the distance. Once we have made it a safe distance, we run into the nearest alleyway and collapse on the ground, laughing.
"You hear them?" Craig asks, "'you damn kids!'"
"Oh yeah! I think Clyde was right; this WAS the best prank ever," Token cheers.
"It's gonna be hard to beat; that's for sure," I say, out of breath.
We lean against the brick building, the rough surface scratchy and gritty on our backs. Craig shakes his head and picks himself up. "C'mon, guys. Let's go to my house. I'm sick of seeing Tweek's scrawny naked ass."
I laugh and stand up, shivering at the chill of only being in my boxers. We run back to Craig's, relieved when we're hit with a blast of warm air and the promise of some clothes to put on our backs. Craig lends us all shirts (an extra-big nightshirt for me) and pants. Craig's house is like one of those model places you see in the Lowe's furniture magazines. It's all super clean and cream colored, so any spills are 100% unacceptable.
"What do you guys want to do now?" I ask, already impatient for another thing to busy my hands with.
"How about we go and rent a movie?" Token offers. He really doesn't like to do anything straining after a physically straining prank. We all nod in agreement and run off to the local Blockbuster. Now, I know what you're going to say. "Blockbuster is so obselete! Why don't you just use Netflix? Nobody even rents movies anymore!"
And in response to that, I say: "We do what we want!"
In all honesty, Craig's family stopped using Netflix when it stopped streaming all of their favorite shows. And unless we wanted to watch 'Care Bears' or 'The Land Before Time' again, we were going to have to head up to the movie place.
So Craig loads us all into what he calls his 'Caddy-baby', which is really just a busted up blue Cadillac, and drives us down to Blockbuster. It's pretty far away, but I kill the ten minute drive by poking Token's face and then quickly looking away.
The local movie joint is pretty run down. There's usually only one or two employees on shift, and half the place isn't even ever lit up. We all get out of the car and stroll through the glass double-doors, eyes scanning the shelves. The guy at the counter doesn't even give us a wave, instead pouring over one of those Japanese comic books.
"Tweek and I are gonna go look down this aisle," Craig announces, grabbing Tweek by the wrists and practically yanking the poor boy down the shelves. Token shrugs and checks out some cool action movies.
And me? My favorite movies are chick-flicks, and nobody else from the gang likes them. So instead of looking for a title like the other three, I just lean over the counter where the guy sits. His black hair is matted down, and he smells awful. He doesn't even have one of those little name tags.
"Is that one of those manga things?" I ask awkwardly, trying to occupy myself while Craig and Tweek take forever to pick out a movie like they always do.
"Yeah. But they're pronounced 'mon-ga'. You're saying 'Mane-ga'," he says in a soft voice.
"Does it really matter?" I ask.
"Yes," he says.
I nod, not really understanding why it's such a big deal to differentiate between 'Mon-ga' and 'Mane-ga'. The dim light of the Blockbusters seems eerie all of a sudden, and it sends chills down my spine. It's not well heated in here, and I wonder how this guy looks so comfy with only his short sleeve shirt. Or why he smells so bad.
"You reek, dude," I swear, it slips out of my mouth as soon as I think it. He furrows his eyebrows and looks up, so that I can see his slightly slanted deep brown eyes. And in that moment, I notice, well, everything. His high cheekbones and button nose, made prominent on his face when he scrunches it up like a rabbit. His long, thin pianist's fingers. His full, chapped lips.
And it hits me, like, "Wow, that is one attractive guy."
Not attractive like Craig. He's kind of unconventionally attractive. Attractive in the way a turtle can be called 'cute'. It's not an adjective most people would agree on, but it just sort of works, you know?
"Yeah, well," he says with an almost condescending voice, "a bunch of assholes threw rotten eggs at me." I don't have to wonder if he knows; just the look on his face betrays everything. His arched eyebrows and deadpan expression give me a look that makes me blurt out a nervous chuckle and wildly look around for Craig or Tweek or Token or anybody.
"Oh, gee, um. I'm real sorry and-"
"Whatever," he rolls his eyes and goes back to his book.
"Hey, dude. Uh- what's your name?" I ask.
"Kevin," he says back, real curt to imply that he doesn't want to be poked with a thirty foot pole.
Kevin. I decide that I like that name. Just as I'm sitting there, mouth hanging open like a dope, leaning on the counter and staring at Kevin, who's six inches away from me, Craig and Tweek barge in and slam a movie on the desk, jolting both Kevin and I.
"That'll be twelve dollars," Kevin says in monotone.
"No way! We're only renting it for the night!" I shoot back, my face contorted in disbelief. Craig has the same look plastered on his face. Token, like the classy bastard he is, just sifts through his pocket and pulls out fifteen.
"I'm sorry," Kevin shrugs, not sounding sorry at all. "But some assholes threw rotten eggs at me and ruined my shirt. Now I need to wash it up at the dry cleaners."
"Dude, who uses the dry cleaners anymore?" Craig groans. It was true, nobody except those who lived in apartments without washers used the dry cleaners. All the neighborhood boys once paid Kenny McCormick 20 dollars to shove himself in a spin-cycle. I... I don't really remember what happened after that, to be honest. He put himself in the washer, and I think he chickened out or something.
"Our washer and dryer broke," Kevin snaps. "Twelve dollars."
Token throws the fifteen on the counter nonchalantly, ushering us out before Craig decides to let his short fuse make short work of Kevin. I'm partially glad to be out of there, honestly.
"That kid's an ass," Craig declares, firing up Caddy-Baby. He spins her out extra loud just to grind on Kevin's nerves, and takes off down the cracked streets.
"A piece of ass, maybe," I stopped myself far too late. Stupid me and my stupid mouth. Craig gives me a questioning look, but shrugs it off. I'm cherry red, utterly embarrassed, and pressed between Tweek, and Craig's collection of old CD's and cassette tapes. Tweek's a twitching and vibrating mess, which can only mean one thing. Horror movies.
"Clyde's gay?" Tweek asks. "Yeah, okay! Ah- Clyde! Who's sexier; Edward or Jacob?"
"What? No! I'm not gay. I can just appreciate when a guy is attractive," I snap, now fully aware that everyone's eyes are on me. Except for Craig's because, you know, he has to look at the road.
"I've never appreciated a boy before," Craig says.
"I've appreciated lots of girls," Token says.
"Urk! Sometimes I appreciate myself!" Tweek yells.
"I can appreciate to that," Craig winks.
After about a dozen more sexual innuendos later, everyone's forgotten about my little slip-of-the-tongue and we're just dry heaving from laughing so hard. About fifteen minutes later, we're all planted in Craig's living room, with me on my beanbag chair, Craig and Tweek sharing the couch, and Token on the recliner. Craig pops in the movie and a threatening flash goes across the screen, 'FRIDAY THE 13TH'. Oh boy, I love horror. It's not even three minutes in, and Tweek is already muttering, "It's not real," over and over into Craig's couch pillows.
And like that, everything is back to normal.