For the sake of the non-slash population of the South Park fandom, I bring you this story.
Answer
me
Zakuyoe
Cartman's sitting in the middle of his basement when he buries his head into the palms of his hands.
"I just don't get it," he mumbles, talking to the only other occupant of the room. "Why doesn't she like me?"—of course, the said girl happens to be a pretty girl who Cartman knows he'll never get. She's decently tall, quite elegant, with flowing black hair and sparkling eyes, and she happens to be Stanley Marsh's girlfriend.
"What's he have that I don't?" asked Cartman with a dejected frown. However, any other person could've answered that question faster than a heartbeat. Despite how much he could argue the degree of his pleasantly plumpness the fact remains that he's still a corpulent boy who outweighs a young killer whale.
Not to mention, of course, the lack of sports and activities that makes Stan more popular than he does. While Stan plays on the varsity soccer and football teams, participates in the chess club (for Kyle's sake), knitting club (for Wendy's sake), and fishing club; Cartman does nothing except remain at home, prank calling the cell phone that Kyle never picks up.
"She is pretty, though," says Cartman, and it's quite true. Wendy's lost the baby fat her cheeks once had, and she's got that hourglass figure that many of Cartman's supposed friends admire—Stan included, of course. She's got mesmerizing eyes, and she always has this flushed look on her face.
"Damn, why does Stan get to have her?"—perhaps it's because he's the one who had been dating on and off with her, or perhaps that he had been the more courageous one in asking her to a date, or perhaps that he had been more of her 'type.'
Cartman turns to his companion and frowns. "Seriouslah, I want her so damn much!"—his companion only stares blankly at him, not even voicing an opinion of his own. This, of course, angers Cartman. "Goddamnit, you're being more annoying than them goddamn hippehs—even Kahl!"
No response.
"Am I really that fat?"
No response.
"Am I really that unattractive?"
No response.
"Do I really have no chance with Wendeh?"
No response.
And then, "Goddamnit, you're pathetic!"—and he throws the poor Clyde Frog, the only thing willing to listen to his Wendy rant for the thirteenth time, across the room and into the wall.