Yay! Hello second SP fanfic!

I love writing for Kenny, really. He's a fascinating character. Anyway...this one's kind of angsty, once again I kind of lost myself in the story and forgot I was writing about South Park...I hope Kenny's not too occ. I have longer stories that are more SPish and in character, but they're taking me longer. Be patient! haha

Oh, and this is my first time writing Stenny, even if its brief and one sided..yay?

Enjoy, you bastards!

Humor 1: Flesh

There was this woman who taught me English in ninth grade. Ms. Jones. She was nice. She treated us all with respect. She was pretty hot too: a total MILF. Naturally, she was already hitched. Still, she treated me real nice like, even though she didn't want to get me in bed. That was definitely a first.

She had a son. Clarence, this little messed up shit of a sophomore who thinks he's this little fucking gangster bitch and flips people off and laughs and swears and smokes and tries to hide the fact that he's a skinny little white fucklord. I liked Ms. Jones all right, but Clarence fucking pissed me off.

Ms. Jones had a son. I say had because she doesn't have one no more.

The little shit bought off me quite a few times, but even when he was paying me money he pissed me off. I mean, I had recently graduated into harder stuff; but no, he still wanted to smoke regular pussy shit.

Last time he didn't have 'nough money, so being the nice kid that I am, I let him have a loan. Weeks passed though and he still hadn't paid. He was starting to avoid me, which pissed me off even more than normal, but I let him take his probably thought it was just 'cause of my good grace, but really, deep down, I was still the same money grubbing poor bastard, and there was no way I would let him get away with ripping me off.

One day, my patience snapped and I snapped his wrist as I cornered him behind school, and told him to meet me with the money before sunset or I'd break his arm or kill his family or some of my typical empty threats. This time, though, I might have meant it. He really pissed me off that fucking much.

I met him at a vacant lot on the edge of town, a cracked stretch of abandoned concrete foundation surrounded by a mess of ice covered brush. I knew this place pretty well. Before, this was where me, Stan, and would come to smoke, on those kind of crisp, arid summer days that this town tended to get during the hotter months. I had always loved that taste.

I got their first, cracking the blackened, dusty ice under my snow boot. Some water squished out from underneath it. I stood in the center of the lot, hand in my pockets, head cocked back all the way, looking up to the sky. A strand of blonde hair brushed against my lips.

I blinked the cold out of eyes and watched the glowing red light of the sunset touch on the clouds. Sunsets were nice.

I heard a crunch behind me. I brought my eyes down from the sky and turned around to see Clarence standing a good few feet away. I lazily noticed that I hadn't heard him coming.

Just looking at him again made me mentally vomit. What a fucking tool.

He was pale, skinny, and short, but he wore the fucking basketball shorts that all the douchebags wear that hang around their hips, with the knee high socks and oversized hoodie and wifebeater. I saw his tattoo of some indeterminable asian letter on his chest. I remember the bitch showing it off. He'd got it with his fucking dad.

I snorted. There was no way I was going to pretend I liked the kid. He was a bitch, and he deserved to know it.

"Hey asslicker," I held out my hand, "You got my fucking money, Clarence?" I slid my other hand into my pocket as casually as I could, making sure Clarence didn't notice it. My fingers touched briefly on the handle of the switchblade in my jean pocket.

"I'm not paying you, Kenny." His hands were shoved firmly into the front pockets of his hoodie. He glared at me, biting his lip, trying to intimidate me. Intimidate me? Oh, the stupid cunt.

"Excuse me?" I slipped my hand around the knife handle and readied myself. If he was going to keep being a bitch, he was going to see that Kenny McCormick doesn't fucking fuck around.

"You heard me." He bit his lip and stared up into my eyes. Did he really think his stupid threats would make me stop? I rolled my eyes.

"Right, Clarence. Do you want me to break your other arm too?"

I pulled the knife from my pocket and flicked out the blade. I heard Clarence let out a whine and saw him flinch. I smiled and advanced on him.

"No, boy, you're going to give me my fucking money right here and right now."

Suddenly I heard a click and saw Clarence shakily draw something glinting metal from his jacket pocket. He leveled the pistol up to my height and aimed at my head.

I looked at him pityingly, keeping my knife held in my hand.

"Are you serious, man?"

I pointed to the gun. He was a moron. pulling a stunt like this. I was going to mock him for all he was worth.

"Y-yeah." He was trying to gain his composure back.

"I know. I kill you, you come back, the you find me. You think i'm that stupid?" He grinned shakily at me.

"Too bad I'll be long gone by the time you come back," he cocked the gun, "R-right after I finish here, I'm gone."

I shifted my weight from my right to my left foot. I eyed him coldly.

"You think I won't find you, dude?" The venom in my voice was tangible. Clarence was beyond just pissing me off now. I shook my head. "No, bitch, I ain't going to die today, that's for sure."

Clarence laughed shrilly. He was scared. I could tell. But he still leveled the gun at me and put on the facade like the little tough guy wannabe shit that he was.

"You're never going to find me." He repeated, sounding even more unsure this time.

I sighed, rubbed my head, and held out my hand. "You're sure it wouldn't just be easier to pay me?"

I saw Clarence hesitate, letting out a puff of air; dropping the barrel of the gun. Instantly I launched forward and tackled him around the middle. He shouted in shock, but kept a grip on his gun. I grabbed his weapon arm in my free hand as we hit the cracked concrete. I tried to bring the knife to his throat as I wrestled with the gun but he held onto my forearm for dear life

In the rush of adrenaline I felt myself wrench the gun free but Clarence screamed and shoved himself into me, pushing my body backwards onto the concrete, his aggressive form smothering down on me. My shock and survival instincts instantly kicked in and I felt my finger move against the softness of his jacketed body.

Clarence's chest exploded in my face.

He made a gargled noise of surprise as his flesh burst into a brightly colored shower. He fell forward onto me, his head smacking on the concrete over my shoulder. His gasping mouth lay right next to me ear, our of the corner of my eye, I could see his rolling back into his head, the pink of his mouth now awash with red-

I pushed the body off and me and scrambled away from it. Clarence twitched for a moment, his legs buckling up underneath him. And then he was completely still, and I didn't hear no gasps no more.

I looked around, my face and body unusually calm, the only bit of panic in my brain stemming from the fear that someone had heard the shot-the shot that I weirdly enough didn't hear-

I pushed myself up from the ground, finding my hand still clenched around the gun in a murder grip. I stuffed it in my pocket.

As I slunk out through the icy brush of the vacant lot I took one and only one glance behind me. Clarence had disappeared into a dark, ragged form in the shadow of the sunset. Only then did I start to smell the stink of freshly killed corpse.

It never hit me that I had really just killed a kid, someone younger and stupider than me. I just kind of numbly stumbled on through the growing night.

I mean, the bastard owed me money. He should have paid up. It was his fault.

I had walked what seemed like ages away from the lot when I realized the obvious and looked down at my lower body. Of course. Clarence hadn't just died, all quiet and nice like. His chest exploded. He'd been ripped apart. There was blood splattered all over the front of my parka from where his body had detonated. I had an urge to ditch it somewhere, but if it was found everyone would know for sure, for sure that it was that poor white trash asshole McCormick who shot and killed a poor kid who had real parents and a real job to do in the world. They wouldn't know that he had been an infected little buttonhole.

I couldn't ditch it: it's not like I could hide the gun in my jean pocket anyway. I held the cold gun in my cold hand in the bare warmness of my coat. I didn't know why I was still holding on to this thing. Maybe if this whole ordeal ended with an epic police shootout I could go out in a literal bang.

I ducked behind a bush and quickly turned my parka inside out, feeling lucky that the blood hadn't completely seeped through to the other side yet. Clarence's flesh explosion had seemed bigger than it really was.

Still, his blood had whipped across my hands, so I took a moment to plunge them into the snow, rubbing the melting white all over my hands and scrubbing off the red. I looked around briefly, wary of any potential witnesses, but seeing no one I turned and snatched two compact handfuls of snow and rubbed it into my face. If I had blood on my hands and clothes I definitely had it on my face. I was used to having blood stained into my body: but most of the time, it was my blood. I crushed the snow in my palm and let it crumbled down my face. It served to make my numb flesh and muscle even number.

I sighed and dropped my hands. The snow below me was pink.

I tucked the gun into the inside of my pocket, so that the handle pressed up against my bare body and I slipped back out onto the sidewalk. There weren't people out and about as far as I could see: past sunset on these bone chilling fall-winter nights was enough to keep everyone at home.

I shivered as I felt the biting cold tear in through the thin worn fabric of my coat. The cold gnawing at my brain seemed to dull the shock that I had felt after Clarence exploded. I started to think clearer. Someone was sure to have heard the shot and they would eventually find his body. I didn't think anyone had seen me leave the lot…but I couldn't be sure of that. I couldn't risk getting caught out in the open air or even at my own house.

I needed a place to stay.