Kyle smiled, looking up at his gorgeous, jet-black haired, homo lover. Stan held Kyle in his buff arms tightly, because he fucking felt like it. They laid there on Stain's couch, embracing, like people who are scared of roller coasters hold on to the safety bar (AKA practially bending the metal while holding on for dear life). Terrance and Phillip was on, and the two watched as the actors passed gas hilariously into each others faces. They giggle like little girls while watching the Canadian program. Stan pulled Kyle to look at him, staring intensely, so much that his eyes almost popped out. Kyle felt like he was on fire, like a marshmellow destined for a smore, as his lover stared at him fucking creepily. "Kyle.", Stan said. Kyle gulped, because Stan was being a freak. "Ye-yeah Stan?", He replied, shakily, blushing as red as a Coke-can. And not the shitty Diet Coke, with it's bitch-ass silver exterior! We're talking, like, original badass, bright red CocaCola here, motherfucker! "KYLE.", Stan repeated louder, sitting Kyle up across from him on the couch. He shook him, desperately grasping his teeny day-walker jew shoulders. Stan smiled from ear to ear, looking like the Joker, but kind of creepier, and definately more lusty. "What?!", Kyle asked, freaked out, and just kind of wanting Stan to stop acting like a nasty freakazoid. "Kyyyyyyleee," Stan gasped breathily," Have you ever thought as to make so that better to look and eat adjacently?" Kyle couldn't believe his ears! His Original Cocacola red blush crept all over him, so that he looked like an advertising campaign. His mind was reeling…reeling in a big ass fish that actually turned out to be a shark, and then the rest of your crew gets eaten and the shark is all, "Sorry brah, I was hungrier than and African child!". "Stan! I-I can't belive you would ask that! Of course I haven't", Kyle said, showing that his jimmies had been thouroughly rustled by Stan's innocent QUEERy. Kyle smacked Stan lightly on the cheek, although the only thing of Stan's the slap had affected were his butterfly-fragile emotions!1! Stan let his hands drop to his sides, and pouted. He sniffed, looking absolutely pathetic, like a child who had been just been scolded for rubbing his shit on the walls. Kyle began to feel the guilt well up in his feet as Stan started to cry. He was such an ugly crier, watching him almost hurt. As he cried his expression was that of a walrus with cystic acne, whose eyes had been replaced with water falls. "Oh, ah, Stan, I'm sorry! I guess I don't know my own strength…", Kyle said, now craddling the sobbing dude in his skinny little arms. "Hey, come on dude. I'm really sorry babe, let's go out for ice cream, maybe that'll make it feel better." Stan sniffled and nodded. He wiped his eyes off with the sleaves of his jacket. Once princess Stan calmed his tits he followed Kyle to his car, staring at the jew's ass the whole way, because he kinda wanted to fuck it. But first things first, ice cream. A man's gotta have some damn priorites! When they got to the parking lot of the Dairy Queen Stan's eyes had finally stopped being bloodshot and making him look like a gay pot head who had a bad trip. Now he just looked like an emo gay who was going out for shitty ice cream (because let's face it guys, Dairy Queen seriously kinda sucks, even if it is convient, it looks like the fucking plastic food you used to play with when you were seven. Guise…srsly). …TO PROBABLY NOT BE CONTINUED