A/N: All right! I'm finally starting my attempt at a multi-pairing fanfic! Now, I know I'm new to this, so don't tell me how crappy this is. Flames will be ignored, but constructive criticism and tips are loved. And I mean that I adore those reviews. So send 'em in!

This story will be written mostly from Kenny's perspective, seeing as he will be the main character in this. Some other chapters may be written from the perspective of other characters, but Kenny is the God of this story (well… not God, per se…) so expect a lot of Kenny… stuff. We all love him. So no complaining!

As a disclaimer, I do not Own South Park, any of its rights, merchandise, characters, logos, symbols, ANY OF IT. All I own is my imagination and its tendency to show its stuff to the masses. If I write about any other companies or products, then I don't own them either, unless I specifically say in a note that I created something. So now you know I can't be sued or something.

And on a final note, I'm dedicating this story to a bunch of people. This goes out to you, Dark, Kat, Kii, Ash, Rose, Paperleaf, Bitch Slap Love, PlayingCards, Are you Afraid of the Dark, and Salli W. Rye. If any of you are reading this, then I love you. YOU'RE ALL SUPER AWESOME COOL!

Have you ever looked around and noticed that everyone around you seems happier than you are? That's my life story. Everywhere I go I see someone who is at least ten times as happy or joyful than I am. It's pretty sad. You could say that I'm jealous; and I would be, if I actually cared about how other people feel.

Okay, well that's not completely true. I care about what My friends feel. What my brother feels, even. What he feels.

I watch my two best friends, Stan and Kyle, sitting together on a bench and just talking. Suddenly Stan punches Kyle's arm. I laugh. They must be arguing. I'd go over there and make a perverted comment, but right now I'm smoking behind a building and kind of... well, spying on them. But it's not my fault that they happened to come to the park behind the small café I work in. I take a deep drag of my cigarette, not caring how black it makes my lungs. I die daily anyway.

"Hey! Kenny!"

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I'm disappointed when I realize the voice is feminine. I tunr to look over my shoulder at the girl that disturbed my eavesdropping. Blonde hair, short, red tank top, large breasts, miniskirt… "Hey, Bebe," I say. Bebe Stevens was my first real girlfriend in eighth grade. Since we broke up, we've actually been pretty tight as friends, which is weird considering she can be a total snob. "What's up?" Please leave, I coaxed her in my mind. Just go away.

"I was looking for Kyle," she replied, blushing a little and looking at her feet.

I sighed. "How come?" I knew the reason, but wanted to ask anyways.

"Oh, umm… you know, I… uh… yeah!" She stuttered. I laughed as a devious, Cartman-like plan wove its way into my mind. I pointed over to the bench where Kyle was, sitting with Stan. "Right there. Go make your move on him," I said. She'd separate them for now, flirt with Kyle, leave me alone, and maybe Stan would come over here to talk to me. Whichever scenario it was, I was benefiting from it.

She must have caught my smirk, because she gave me a strange look as she skipped off (moving her hips in a flirtatious manner) with her miniskirt swaying over to Kyle. "Hey, Kyle!" I heard her squeak. Ugh. I rolled my eyes. But then, as I saw her scoot in next to Kyle, pushing Stan aside, I smirked again. Stan sported a disappointed look, waved 'bye' to Kyle, and walked over to me. I waved, grinning, and put out my cig. Stan waved back and I felt my stomach flutter. I was thankful for my parka right now. It would hide my warm cheeks. "What's up?" I asked him.

He stuck his bottom lip out. "Bebe," he said. "I know you two are friends, but she is so annoying!" he said. "Sorry..."

"Don't be," I said, feeling a strange sensation in the pit of my still-fluttering stomach. Jealousy? I hope not. "You and Kyle get enough time alone together, anyway. What's the harm in letting her have her fun?" It was hard to keep the sting out of my voice when I said 'alone.' Stan gave me an odd look. "Well, yeah, but… sometimes I just don't like to be… you know, intruded upon?" He gave me a hopeful look. Damn those eyes. What colour is that called? Cerulean? Sapphire? Storm Blue? Midnight Blue? I don't know. But I felt myself blush. "Oh, umm… right. We do all need our privacy." Now that wasn't a forced response at all. I mentally kicked myself. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Stan grinned. I gulped. There was something about that look that was all-knowing. "So, what's up with you two anyway?" I said, tone icy. "Don't you two have girlfriends or something?" Stan sighed and his face turned red. What was that about?

"N-no," he replied shakily. "I… I'm not… erm, I'm not looking. Not now. For Girlfriends."

I raised an eyebrow. Is something wrong with him? What's going on? I elbowed him. I could tell he was embarrassed, so I didn't persist. "What about you?" He asked. Oooh, good recovery.

"I'm single. But if you wanna have me, I'd be more than happy to let you." I gave him a seductive wink and He shook uncomfortably. He knew I was bi. What was the big deal?

Beep, beep, beep. What was that noise?

"I better get going, Kenny. I promised Mom I'd help out around the house today," Stan said. He smirked. The sound must have been his watch, because he switched it off "See you later? Maybe?"

I nodded as he left. "Oh! And tell Kyle I'm sorry I left!" he called back.

"See ya, Stan." We waved our goodbyes and he dashed off in the direction of his house. I made a mental note to never tell Kyle.

I lit another cigarette. Then the door opened and Craig walked out. I sighed. "Hey," I said. Craig nodded a greeting. "Hey," he replied, taking out his own box of cigs and lighting one. Did I forget to mention that we work in the same café? It doesn't pay well, but we make our own hours and get free food. And I could use it. I'm as skinny as a twig! We sighed at the same time. "Life sucks," I said. He nodded in agreement, taking off his hat and messing up his hair. It looked pretty sexy all ruffled and messy like that. I didn't dare to say anything, though. "I saw Stan out here," he said. "You tell him yet?"

I felt a jolt of electricity go through my body. How did he know…? "Wh-whaddya mean?" I asked. The lump in my throat made it hard to choke the words out. Craig smirked. "You like Stan. Like… you like him."

I glared daggers at him and he flipped me off. Typical. "How do you know?"

"I just do. So did you tell him?"

I shook my head. "No. And I'm not going to."

Craig grinned the same all-knowing grin that Stan had. Damn it. "Okay then," he said, reaching up (he isn't very tall. At least 4 inches shorter than I am) and wrapping an arm around my shoulders like my brother would. He gave me a small squeeze. "Whatever."

So there you have it. My name is Kenny McCormick. I'm sixteen years old, bisexual, and have a heavy crush on Stan Marsh, my friend since… I can't remember. I have a shitty job and hate my life. So when it gets unbearable, I just throw it away and come back the next day.

Suicide is my hobby.