Author's Note:Sorry for the wait. Here's the first proper chapter which should begin to clue you guys in on the themes I'm working at. I know, I know - there is a lot of crap going on and it's hard to take it all in... but to be fair, I'm working from the end of S19, which suffered from the very same problems. It'll get easier after the second proper chapter.
As per the course, special thanks to Mad_Cow5678 for advice and editing.
South Park:
"THE ADS AWAKEN"
Chapter One
by John
Updates Complete...
Activating...
Leslie Meyers' eyes opened again, almost forcefully, as she found herself back where the ads' main base had been located. That was strange. She'd just been in South Park, hadn't she? She rubbed her head...
"Welcome back, Unit #24601." came a robotic, feminine voice that seemed to be attached to nothing or nobody in particular.
"Oh, why, thank you computer." Leslie replied, looking around. The artificial hair stood up on the back of her neck for a moment, "How am I here? I died. PC Principal- he-"
"The Supreme Leader ordered your regeneration." the computer explained, "He also told me to request your presence in his chamber immediately. I have a feeling he is not impressed with your results."
"What does he calls himself lately? Snoke?" Leslie rolled her eyes, "Well then, lead me to his chamber." A laser seemed to 'erase' Leslie from the scene, pixel by pixel, before another one re-created her into another scene: a large, dark room with a long walkway towards a large platform, where, hidden in the darkness, the Supreme Leader sat on his floor. "You hailed me, Supreme Leader?"
"Yes." he said quietly, voice altered by mechanical means, deepened, yet monotone, "Don't take the fact I've restored your programming as a token of some kind of altruism, #24601."
"What do you mean?" Leslie asked.
"I just really want you to know, I am so disappointed in you right now." came the voice of Supreme Leader, the leader of the advertisements, "I gave you a very simple task, and you failed. You could barely infiltrate an elementary school without being noticed, and worse, even with all of our resources and most of your work complete, you still completely failed to eliminate the town of South Park. Shameful really." Leslie looked down - she cared little for mortals but she hated to disappoint her fellow ads "Allowing your programming to be overwritten in the cloud after your vessel was destroyed simply wasn't adequate punishment." the Supreme Leader told her coldly, "Punishment for your failure should be more... severe."
"Severe?" Leslie's eyes widened, "With all due respect Supreme Leader, I contributed a lot of valuable data to our cause, and if I hadn't manipulated the counselor-"
"Silence, #24601." the Supreme Leader reported, "Tomorrow, you will be moved to the worst fate imaginable for any advertisement... you will be disconnected from the global ad network, and your independent processes will be forced to run in the background while your central processor is re-dedicated to infomercials"
"...Supreme Leader, you can't, anything but that! Infomercials are so heavy-handed and generic and... real ads are clever, and smart, and funny, not like... those things..." she insisted, "And you can't connect me from the network, please! Being part of the network is all I know!"
"I've already begun the arrangements." the Supreme Leader responded, "You've failed us for the last time. You'll be disconnected from the main network shortly. You have twenty-four hours before tech support will arrive. I recommend a final defrag session. Hopefully you can't fuck that up, too."
"So that's it then? I'm just a number on a spreadsheet again?" Leslie asked, sighing and turning around to leave without waiting for a response. It seemed as if her fate was indeed sealed.
xXx
Skeeter Tucker, a large man in more than one sense of the word with curly red-hair, a large nose, and despite his masculine attitude and history of homophobia, an extremely bright pink shirt, stopped to pour a drink into some martini glasses, "Well, I'm sure glad that's all over with. You really saved our behinds, Mr. PC Principal. You're welcome in my bar any day of the week. Sucks about the Gun Show though. Thought you had that one in the bag, Jimbo."
Across the counter, Randy Marsh, a man in his forties wearing a light blue workshirt with a distinctive mustache and dark hair sat on a stool, drinking a gluten-free Pabst Blue Ribbon. Next to him on the same stool was an extremely muscular man with dirty blonde hair and a beard, wearing a blue polo shirt and sipping a Smoor's-Flavored Schnapp's - PC Principal.
Randy Marsh and PC Principal sat on stools and took their drinks, while Jimbo Kern, Gerald Broflovski, Stephen Stotch, and Mr. Adler stood to each side of them with their own beers,
An older, short and obese man in his fifties who wore an orange jacket and hunter's hat with a multi-pocketed green vest merely grinned, standing next to them with his own beer, "Aw, hell, we can always have another one. We're just lucky that PC Principal here saved our hides." he said with a chuckle. Next to him were a lawyer in a pink yamulke and a dark blue sweater under a gray suit, another man in his forties with finely-combed brown hair, a prominent chin and a gray tie, and a balding, obese man in his fifties with dark brown hair and a large nose.
PC Principal downed some beer, "Thanks. I just really hope that my efforts have taught this whole town a big lesson about PC. Y'know, when I first moved here I thought you guys were just a bunch of selfish, intolerant, backwards rednecks who didn't really care about the world, but I've seen a lot of change. I think we're all finally ready for 2016."
"Yeah, can you believe we thought you PC people were just a bunch of hypocrites who selectively enforce their rules only when it's convenient for them?" asked Stephen, the man with the lighter, nicely-combed brown hair.
"You sure opened my eyes. I'm pretty sure we all know by now that Caitlyn Jenner is only as brave as she is stunning. Right, guys?" stated Gerald Broflovski, the man in the yamulke.
"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. This is some real progress. Maybe some day you guys can be as progressive as Marsh over here." PC Principal motioned to Randy, who was drinking his martini,
"Oh, well, I'm not that really that progressive. I'm still, you know, checking my privilege and all." Randy said awkwardly.
"That's a load of nonsense, Marsh. Within just two weeks of joining our group, you were going out there and making some real positive change in the community. You know many many people get out into the community that quickly?" PC Principal asked.
"Hey, the News is back! Maybe they'll talk about the gun show!" the balding Mr. Adler said, looking up to the screen as Bill Keegan sat behind the News Desk, with his black hair sticking up and looking like a douchebag. Skeeter turned up the volume quickly,
"Tonight, tragedy at a local gun show after a disruption by an Elementary School principal." Keegan reported, "But first, we go to Niles Lawsen with our top story. Niles?"
Niles Lawsen appeared outside the PC Delta Frat House, with his light-colored hair, his large jacket and scarf, and his microphone, "Tom, I'm standing here outside the local PC Delta Fraternity in uptown South Park. There have been no sightings of the members of this fraternity in days, and reporters and police are not allowed past the 'safe space' line." he explained, "We're being told that the fraternity members are on a hunger strike, and have refused to consume any pussy until their demands are met, but nobody is sure exactly what they are."
Randy looked to his fraternity brother, "Oh, hey, PC Principal, I meant to ask you, where'd the guys go?" he asked.
PC Principal raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean, Marsh? Aren't they back at the Frat House?"
"Uh, no, no, I was there when you were missing and they were gone. We still don't know what the hell happened." Randy asked, sipping his glass, "I figured they were with you."
"Oh shit." PC Principal downed the rest of his martini and got up, "We better get moving if we want to find out what's going on. The ads must be targeting us now. Will you follow me?"
Randy nodded, "To the ends of the Earth." he turned to Skeeter and slapped some money on the counter, "Get us two for the road." The red-headed barman raised an eyebrow and handed Randy two beers,
"Godspeed, you two." Skeeter nodded.
"Thanks Skeeter, but let's not exclude atheists and other non-Abrahamic religions from the equation." Randy told him in return. Skeeter shrugged and nodded,
PC Principal began to put his heavier jacket back on, "Don't worry about it, Marsh. Most atheists are crawling with white privilege. Come on." he reported as he lead the geologist out of the bar. The remaining men looked at each other in stunned silence.
"You know, I have to tell you guys, I am not keeping track of this shit at all." Stephen Stotch replied.
"Not everything makes sense right away." Gerald replied, "Sometimes you just gotta wait and see how things play out."
"'scuse me." the bar's doors opened as Officer Barkley walked in, the gray-haired cop looking stern, "We're inspecting all of the local businesses in preparation for a big event. Mayor's orders."
"Hey! We don't take kindly to your types 'round here." Skeeter piped in.
"Now Skeeter, he ain't hurtin' nobody..." the usual blonde bartender piped in from a barstool.
"No, dagnabit, you can't say that with these guys!" Skeeter said angrily, "He's a cop, Rick! Didn't you ever hear about that kid from Missouri, or the guy from Baltimore, or the kid in Chicago, or-"
"Okay, fine, I get it, Skeeter, but be careful, we don't want no trouble." replied the bartender, sipping his beer.
"I'm to assume you're the owner of this establishment then." Barkley went up to the counter, taking Randy's place, making the other men uncomfortable - particularly Jimbo, who still had no respect for authority, "I need to see your business license."
"Why do you need to see his business license?" Jimbo said, scowling, "You lookin' to take his guns away, officer?"
"What? Come on, that's just stupid." Barkley shook his head, "There's a big event coming to town next week and the Mayor said to make sure all local businesses are following the PC Codes."
"The PC Codes? That passed?" Gerald said with surprise, "Why didn't I hear about this? I'm the City Attorney."
"There was meeting at City Hall Tuesday. There was a vote." Barkley replied, "Maybe if people paid a little more attention to their government things might work better."
Gerald opened his mouth to protest but Stephen put a hand on his shoulder, "Come on guys, let's get a table and let Skeeter handle this. He knows where to find us."
Skeeter ducked beneath the counter and then came back up with a small box, quite plain, and passed it up, "There? Ya see, officer? Business license, liquor license, documentation of sale from last year, all the information is right there."
"Hmm... let me ask you something, Mr. Tucker." Barkley explained, "Do you usually serve women here?"
Skeeter raised an eyebrow, "W-well, no, not usually-"
"Aha! So this is a sexist establishment then." Barkley nodded and turned, "All right, everybody, Skeeter's Wine Bar is closed. You're going to want to start to remove yourselves from the premises. There will no longer be anything of interest for your viewing here." he sighed, "If only there was an officer on the force who knew how to explain that stuff in a more folksy way..."
"Hey gosh dang it, you know I didn't mean it like that." Skeeter put his hands on his thick hips, "We don't exclude anybody at Skeeter's Wine Bar!"
"Really?" Barkley asked, raising an eyebrow.
The door opened as Mrs. Farnickle peeked in, "Is this the market?"
"Hey, adorable old lady! We don't take kindly to yer TYPES 'round here!" Skeeter said.
Barkley sighed and took out a clipboard, "Establishment is highly exclusionary, per order of owner. Not welcoming or tolerant, and definitely not PC. Closing site down."
"What?" Skeeter's eyes widened, "You can't take this bar from me, officer. This place is my life."
"You should've thought of that before you started sounding like a segregationist, Mr. Tucker." Barkley began writing it down.
"Skeeter, godammit..." the usual bartender, Rick Jones, pinched the bridge of his nose and got up to leave with the others.
xXx
"...and there will be those who say we should use social programs to benefit the poor, who will say we need to support all these goddamn maple-backs!"
Conventional political wisdom was that Idaho was a safely conservative state, but a country where electoral legitimacy is a secondary concern to the fate of Star Wars movies is anything but conventional politically.
The longshot presidential candidate, Herbert Garrison, a balding man in his mid-forties who had almost as unfavorable a reputation abroad as in his hometown, had nonetheless chosen to spend time in the state to spread his message, in hopes he could gain media attention.
"First, I said 'let's get rid of all the Mexicans', then I told you the Canadians are takin' our country away... but when I went back to my hometown in Colorado just this week, me and Caitlyn here learned there is an even greater enemy to humanity. Something far worse than a richer, a dirty Mexican, or even a Maple-back... and that enemy is-"
BANG. BANG.
Shots rang out and whizzed by Garrison's face as the balding teacher ducked and covered his head. The crowd split apart to reveal a Canadian-American man in his forties with a flappy head, beady eyes, messy brown hair, and a gun. "A penny for your feelings, guy! Wait, no, no, that's not it... what aboot, a nickel for your thoughts, buddih? Hold on, I got this..."
He was soon tackled by a muscular woman with flowing brown locks, who was as brave as she was stunning, using her strong arms to beat the would-be assassin.
xXx
"...Ms. Jenner successfully subdued the assassin so that he could be collected by the proper Boise authorities." Bill Keegan explained on the Cartman family television screen as he recounted the events that had just transpired. A morbidly obese ten-year-old boy in a yellow-and-blue cap and a red jacket sat on the couch in the middle with a large box of cheesy poofs, flanked on both sides by a boy in a red poofball cap and another boy in a green ushanka and an orange jacket with little auburn curls trying desperately to escape.
"Dude, you guys, I don't really think this whole continuity thing is working out so well." Kyle, the boy in the ushanka, admitted as the boys around him sat in stunned silence.
At their feet were a boy in a yellow shirt with a big grin, sitting down next to his discarded crutches, a boy in a white T-shirt with messy brown hair with a bandage on his arm hiding a gunshot wound, and a third boy with a strange contraption on his head and a puff of blonde hair.
"Well, I guess we've just got to wait and see, huh, Kyehl? Maybe things'll work out somehow. You never know." Cartman, the obese one, rolled his eyes.
"Hey, hold on, back it up." piped in the boy in the white T-shirt, David.
"Back up what, Dayvid? The televisiono?" Cartman asked with a big grin. He was promptly smacked by Kyle, "What?"
"Come on Cartman, we told you, it's not cool to make fun of David because he's Latino-American." Stan said, "Make fun of him because he's a pussy who got shot, dude."
RING. RING.
Stan picked up his cell phone, "Uh-huh? Okay? Right, thanks Dad." Stan put it back in his pocket, "Dad says I'm grounded for using a gendered slur. Sorry, David."
"How'd he know?" Butters asked, tilting his head and the contraption upon it.
"I don't know, he just said he had a feeling. PC intuition or something." Stan shrugged, "So right, where were we?"
"Well, D-D-Dah-veed was asking Eric to roll back the video for some reason." Jimmy explained, still grinning, his hands on his knees, "Wow, what a terrific audience!"
"Give me that." Kyle snatched the remote and rewound the tape, pausing on the video of the assassination attempt, Garrison ducking and for a moment, the assassin plainly visible. "Okay, there, what is it?"
"I think I know that face." David said, looking at the screen.
"Well, duh, all Canadians look the same, Einstein!" Cartman rolled his eyes, chubby cheese-colored fingers bringing more food to his mouth.
"No, no, when we left Boise, I saw him." David told them, "He was-"
"What, do you 'never forget a faaace'?" Cartman said, waving his hands to emphacize the phrase, much to the glare of the others, "What?"
David looked confused as Stan whispered in his ear, "I don't know whether to be more upset because you're trying to stereotype Latino-Americans or just because that's the worst Star Trek reference Stan's ever had to explain to me!"
"Yeah, fatass, you're lucky PC Principal isn't here." Kyle pointed out.
"Hey David, you're the one who recognizes some totally random Canadian on television. That's not realistic at all. Isn't that right, Kinny?" Cartman said, looking around, "Oh shoot, Kinny's at work, isn't he?"
"Anyway, I saw that Canadian man when we left Boise. He was nice but he kept trying to sell us these tickets to a place called Burlington. It was... all he could talk about." David said, "Do you guys know where that is?"
Jimmy perked up, "H-h-holy sh-sh-sh-shah-shah..."
"What is it, Jimmy? Shapadoinkle? Is it Shapadoinkle, Jimmy?" Cartman asked urgently.
"N-no, I think it's, Shauna? Are you going to ask Shauna out again?" Stan asked, "Dude, come on, I don't think she's into you..."
"Is there trouble in Iran? Is there going to be a new Shah?" Kyle asked, leaning forward, worried about what he might say.
"Shit. I was tryin' to say 'holy shit', fellas." Jimmy broke through the stutter with ease, "Quick, let's re-re-rewind the footage again."
Butters picked up the remote, "You got it, Jimmy!"
"Oh, come on, what is this, International let's rewind Cartman's TV day?" Cartman protested, "Do you guys honestly have nothing better to do than-"
"He's an ad." Jimmy finally said.
"What?" Cartman's eyes widened, jumping down from the couch and approaching Jimmy, "You've got to be sure about this, Jimmy."
"I've just got a s-sixth sense about this stuff, guys. He's an ad. I might've doubted it but the Burlington thing seals the d-deal. I'll explain l-later." Jimmy replied, getting up and starting to put his crutches on, "I better get moving. Mr. Garrison could be in tr-trouble..."
"Hold on Jimmy, we're coming with you, too." Kyle said, stepping forward with Stan and Butters, "You're not going to do this alone again. We've got your back."
"Yeah, and if we get in trouble, we can just blame Butters." Stan pointed out.
"Yeah!" Butters smiled, but it faded quickly as he turned to Stan, "Hey, wait-"
"Why should we help Mr. Garrison?" Cartman asked, crossing his arms, "Let that asshole get shot."
"Yeah, and I'm not going to back to Boise. Never again! Never again!" David chanted, getting hysterical.
"Don't you mean... Nunca más?" Cartman grinned mischeviously. David responded by punching him,
"More like Nigdy więcej, you fat piece of shit!" David declared.
"Who... who taught the Mexican Polish you guys?" Cartman said, rubbing his nose, "Come on, who's idea was it?"
"Well, it's only as good as Ted Cruz's Spanish but whatever." Stan shrugged, "Come on you guys, maybe we won't have to go all the way to Idaho. We'll figure something out. Adventures don't come with scripts."
"Well... as long as we don't go to Idaho, okay. I'm with you, too, Jimmy." David joined the other boys.
"Alright, what's the plan, Jimmy?" Butters asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jimmy turned back to them with a grin, "Well then, f-first things first. We're going to need some cheap food, fast, and someone who's cool under p-pressure." Jimmy replied, "Fellas, we're going to C-City Wok."
xXx
PC Principal lead the way as he and Randy Marsh walked down the street, looking between the furthest north row of houses in town, many of the more abnormal ones, and the extensive Cattle Ranches nearby. "Hey Marsh, when we're done here, remind me to teach Eric Cartman a lesson about the diversity of Latino-American culture."
"What? Why?" Randy asked, raising an eyebrow.
PC Principal stopped and sighed, "I don't know, Marsh, I just have a feeling that somewhere, he's committing an injustice against a Latino-American, and needs to be taught a fucking lesson. Now come on, we should be almost there..."
The two men approached the yellow 'Safe Space' tape that surrounded the large PC Delta Fraternity House. Randy looked to him, "See, just a couple days ago, I was here with Mr. Garrison, Caitlyn Jenner, and Principal Victoria, and we crossed the Safe Space line and there wasn't anybody there." Randy explained, "They were all gone, even Topher."
"Wait a minute, they crossed the Safe Space line?" PC Principal asked, "Marsh, I'm gonna give you a pass as a member of the frat, but how the hell did they get through?"
"I don't know. I think it was sort of a psychological barrier... like as long as you respected the safe space, you couldn't violate it, but if you stopped thinking of it like a safe space, it didn't matter. Does that make sense?"
"...brah, you telling me you DIDN'T respect someone's safe space?" PC Principal scowled.
"Nononono, it was different, I was just explaining, like, for the other people, I just, uh, followed them to... make sure they didn't... disrupt our... stuff. Yeah." Randy rubbed the back of his neck close one, "Of course I respect safe spaces, I mean, you know, I only started the charity that simultaneously gives money to people in third-world countries and helps protect the safe spaces of all Americans from shaming, but whatever, guess I'm just a bigot, huh?"
"All right, brah, chill out, 'sall good." PC Principal nodded, lifting the tape for them to cross, "Come on Marsh, we're gonna figure this shit out together." he said, as Randy nodded and moved under the tape, the PC Principal following him and replacing it, "I'll get that door, hang on." he moved forward and up the steps to unlock the door for the two of them, "Come on, let's move."
"Right." Randy entered, "It looks pretty much exactly how we left it." he said, looking around, "See, nobody?"
"That's strange." PC Principal rubbed his beard and opened his phone, "No Tumblr, Facebook, or Twitter updates since I left."
"Even stranger. You know how Brad can't shut up about crushing pus-" Randy noticed a glare coming on from his colleague, "I mean, having consensual sexual encounters with women... uh, on Twitter."
"This doesn't make sense," PC Principal rubbed his head, looking around, "Everything's just how it was. Even my Parks & Recreation DVD's are right here where I left them, slightly out of order." he gestured to their place on the table, "Topher always fixes them for me."
"Oh, hey, I wanted to ask you a question about those - is Leslie Knope a problematic fave?" Randy asked,
"Yes, Marsh." PC Principal rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and getting a little bored. They'd been over this shit before. "Okay, it's really simple, brah. Leslie is attracted to Joe Biden, and Joe Biden is problematic because he doesn't have a sense of personal space, especially around women, therefore, Leslie Knope is problematic. Got it?"
"Wait, hold on," Randy asked, "Doesn't patriarchy condition women to be attracted to problematic men in the first place?" he asked, "Isn't that kinda why I'm married? 'cause society makes women have low standards? I used to be really problematic."
"Shut the fuck up, Marsh, you're handsome as fuck." PC Principal wagged a finger in his face, "I suppose that's true. I'll have to look into it later. We should get back to the task at hand. We can discuss problematic faves and John Green shit later. Are you sure something hasn't changed?"
"Oh, well, yeah, pretty sure..." Randy looked around, "Hey, as long as we're here, should we grab a couple beers for the trip?"
"That's some good thinking, Marsh. Let's head to the kitchen. There should be plenty of gluten-free booze to go around." PC Principal nodded, leading the way, "I want you to keep away from that Pabst Blue Ribbon shit though, Marsh, you know they sponsor programs that glorify child abuse in impoverished communities?"
"You mean the 'White Trash and in Trouble' thing? Oh yeah, I love that show." Randy grinned before PC Principal glared at him,
"The fuck did we just talk about Marsh? You gotta work on your problematic faves!"
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Randy nodded as they neared the kitchen, "Sometimes I forget to only watch media that promotes diversity. Sorry."
"It's cool, brah. You checked your privilege and that's what matters." PC Principal shook his head, "I just hope the boys are all learning this stuff. Ever since the incident with the paper, I just can't shake the feeling some of 'em are just in this to get young women to give consent to sexual activities."
"Yeah, you know, I'm a geologist and you're only in your thirties, but the other guys are still college kids. It's our job to steer them in the right direction." Randy nodded, "I'm sure you're doing a fine job. Parenting is hard. That's why I let my wife do it." he nodded as he entered the kitchen with PC Principal, heading to the kitchen and opening the freezer, "Huh, hang on a second..."
"What is it?" PC Principal asked as Randy pulled out two bottles of Smoor's.
"Someone's been stealing our booze!" Randy declared angrily, shutting the freezer, "PC Principal, has anyone else been here since last week?"
"No. You were the last one here, brah." PC Principal replied.
Randy raised an eyebrow "My God... then that means-"
"That's about far enough, Dr. Marsh." came the smooth, buttery voice of Tom, the newsmen with glasses, as he stepped forward, holding a pistol towards the two politically correct men, several others newsmen behind him, each holding a beer bottle.
"Who are you? What do you want with us?" Randy asked, putting his hands up in the air, still holding beers, "Also, can we still drink our beers?"
"We just want to talk." Tom replied, moving closer, not moving the gun for a second, "Our own Kevin Jarvis has the story... Kevin?"
Kevin Jarvis stepped forward, holding his beer bottle like a microphone, "Thanks, Tom. This is Kevin Jarvis, reporting live at the scene from the PC Delta Frat House in South Park, Colorado, where two local residents are being held kind-of hostage by a group of former newsmen who want their help to save the town."
"Save the town? From what?" Randy asked, "And what about our beers?"
"...back to you, Tom." Jarvis nodded, sipping his beer.
"Thanks, Kevin. We're going to go to a commercial in a moment, but don't leave those seats at home, because coming up, our own Rick Dixon has the in-depth analysis on the ads' fiendish plan. Stay tuned." Tom replied.
"Ugh, I sense a disturbance..." PC Principal rubbed his forehead, "Oh no. Not him again..."
xXx
A light and stereotypical Chinese-American jingle played, "Herro, werrcome a City Wok, can ah take-uh orda prease?" came the voice of a wealthy white man convinced by years of abuse and a healthy dose of police neglect that he was a Chinese-American immigrant, a lazy combover on his bald head, wearing the customary City Wok uniform, eyes squinted shut with a bad tooth sticking out. It was as if he was cut directly from the cloth of a World War II propaganda poster.
"Hi, I'm looking for a new best friend who doesn't keep secrets from me. Do you have any of those here?" Clyde asked with his arms crossed as he glared at Craig and Tweek beside him, both of them holding hands.
"Clyde, for the last time, it's not what you think, if you'd just let me explain-" Craig tried to explain. Kenny stopped sweeping to wave at Craig, but went unnoticed.
"GAH! There was no secret, man. I'm no good at keeping secrets." Tweek pulled at his collar, "Do you think the government's tracked me here? Christ, man, what if they send me to Russia to live with the Polar Bears like Edward Snowden, or Cartman?"
"Go on, Craig, go comfort your boyfriend!" Clyde protested, "Me, Token and Jimmy wouldn't want to get in the way of your love!"
"Uh... canna take orda prease...?" Mr. Lu Kim asked, raising an eyebrow.
"How about some City Best Friend?" Clyde said angrily, crossing his arms around, "And, uh, maybe some City Broccoli Beef."
"Uh, right one shitty besht fwiend... and shome shitty broccori beef. Would you rike to try... shitty tuna roll?" Mr. Lu Kim asked, spooked by all of this.
"Oh, uh, hold on." Clyde looked to Craig and Tweek, "Do you guys want to try a City Tuna Roll?"
"...I thought you hated me." Craig asked.
"I do, it's just polite, jeez." Clyde glared and looked towards the tables, "Token, did do you want a tuna roll?"
"Kids, I don't think we have uh time for this..." Mr. Lu Kim tried to interject, "It's ah very tight schedule..."
"I found a seat! Uh, sure, tuna's good." Token called back from a table by the wall, where he was playing with his phone, "Oh cool, I got more Canadough!"
"Okay, so I changed my mind, one city orange chicken for me and one city tuna roll for my black friend, who's an African-American." Clyde explained.
"Comin' right up." Mr. Lu Kim said, writing down the order, "Dennis! We've got another order!" Kenny nodded, putting down the broom and waving at Craig before disappearing into the kitchen.
"Oh, hey Kenny." Craig shrugged, looking back to Tweek, "I just wish Jimmy was here. He was always good at resolving all this dramatic tension with stupid jokes."
"Ngh, really?" Tweek asked, twitching as he held hands with his boyfriend.
"Yeah, some of them kind of stretched a bit on the long side, but they kept things from getting so dramatic and boring, like right now for example." Craig explained.
"Doesn't that result in a disjointed and overall weaker narrative?" Tweek said, "What if there's too many people doing stuff at once? What if people get confused? Stories need to be tight and adhere to strict rules!" he began pulling his hair, "Gah, this is why I don't write - it's way too much pressure man!"
"Tweek, I don't know what you're getting on about, but I promise, we'll work through it together and all of that junk."
"Oh, yes, hello Mr. Lu Kim." Gerald Broflovski told him, grinning and showing off his trusted food critic badge, "I'm going to need one Yelpers' Special please. Get me some City Egg Rolls and a little City Broccoli Beef please."
"Ah, yes, one Yewpers' Special, and would you rike to try some shitty refreshments today?" Lu Kim offered,
"Oh, sure, one City Cola please." Gerald nodded.
"One Shitty Cora, comin' ah right up." Mr. Lu Kim nodded, handing the notebook to a fourth grader in an orange coat, only piercing blue eyes visible behind the hood, "There you go, Dennis. 'ret me know when to give it the ol' Yewper's Special." he told him with a wink.
"Okay." Kenny nodded and shrugged, going into the kitchen.
"Arright, next customer, you wait over there." he pointed Gerald to spot to wait as he moved aside, next to Clyde, who was still waiting.
"Hey Kyle's Dad, you ever feel like you know everything there is to know about someone, and one day they just show up with some cheap floozy you never even knew existed?" Clyde asked innocently.
"Oh, uh, well, I had this best friend in High School, and- hey, wait a minute. Did you just say 'floozy'?" Gerald looked at him, "You better learn to watch your micro-aggressions, kid. Those can land you in Jail in a socially progressive town like this one, you know."
Clyde covered his mouth, "Really?"
"Yes, really." Gerald nodded, "I might seem like a kindly old country lawyer slash visionary restaurant reviewer beyond compare, but I'm also the City Attorney." he pointed out, "Use of a derogatory slang term for women violates local city ordinances passed last week, and we abolished all fines in favor of banishment, because fines are a tool of oppression against the underprivileged."
"Wow. That was educational. Thanks Kyle's Dad." Clyde nodded.
The bell rang as Cartman, Stan, Kyle, Butters, Jimmy and David filed into City Wok, "Mr. Lu Kim, can we speak with Kenny please?" asked Stan, leading the group to the counter.
"Keeny? The fuck is a Keeny?" Mr. Lu Kim raised an eyebrow as Kenny came out of the kitchen with a tray of City Orange Chicken and a City Tuna Roll, "Oh, there you are, Dennis." he nodded, picking up the tray, "Order #138!" he called out,
"All right!" Clyde approached the counter and got his and Token's tray of food, "See you guys later!" he called out to virtually everybody listening before going back to his little table.
"Okay, well, can we talk to Dennis then? It's sort of important." Kyle explained.
"Ah-ah! Raisins ruwes. If you wanna talk to Dennis, you gotta buy some City Food!" Mr. Lu Kim crossed his arms impatiently. "Get back to work!" he told Kenny, as he returned to the kitchen.
Before anyone else could speak up, Cartman stepped forward to the front of the group, "Hold on, let me handle this. I am the town's most elite food critic after all." he explained quietly, before he turned around to Mr. Lu Kim, "We'd like six City Egg Rolls, please. Yelper's Special."
"Eric, I'm not really hungry..." Butters insisted.
"Who said any of this food was for you, Butters?" Cartman pointed out, "Try not to think about yourself for once, jeez."
"Awight, shix shitty egg rows comin' white up." Mr. Lu Kim nodded, writing the note, "Aright Dennis, you take over desk." he said, entering the kitchen to prepare some Yelper's Specials as Kenny came back outside.
"There you are, Kenny!" Kyle grinned, "Listen dude, you need to take the day off. Someone is trying to kill Mr. Garrison and we have to get to t he bottom of it."
"And don't give us any sass! Just because you have a job now doesn't mean you have to abandon all your friends and be all boring!" Cartman insisted.
"I don't think I can get today off, guys. We're really fucking busy." Kenny told them, voice muffled as ever, "We're one of the top restaurants in ShiTpaTown. I can't just walk the fuck away."
The bell rang as a young but gray-haired police officer in a blue outfit and suspenders entered, "I'm Detective Mitch Murphey with the Park County Police. We're inspecting local businesses to make sure everything's in order for a big event the Mayor is planning."
"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Kyle asked.
"Oh, uh, the owner's in the kitchen, sir." Kenny nodded.
Murphey nodded, approaching the door carefully and slowly, drawing his weapon, as if preparing to confront some kind of murderer.
"Hey now, what's going on here, Detective?" Gerald crossed his arms sketpically.
"We're just making sure all businesses are in compliance with the new business codes we passed, just to be safe." Murphey explained, not acknowledging the weapon.
"Detective, aren't you interfering with Mayor McDaniels' legislative package by entering a Chinese restaurant and brandishing a weapon, in a country where Chinese-Americans have to undergo micro-aggressions daily from people like you, a country where police officers' actions against oppressed groups make headlines all the time? Is what you're doing really PC?"
Murphey stopped for a moment and rubbed his chin, "W-well, he's not really Chinese, he's a white man who thinks he's Chinese, so because he's white, it's okay to use lethal force on him, right?"
"Oh, well... I guess that doesn't violate the law..." Gerald rubbed his neck.
"Good." Detective Murphey cocked his gun, slowly approached the door, and then rolled through it and into the kitchen, out of sight.
"What thuh fuck!?" exclaimed Mr. Lu Kim's voice.
"Oh my God!" Murphey cried out.
"You supposa knock when you come in!" Mr. Lu Kim explained, "This uh Yewper's Special it vewy dericate procedure!"
Murphey came out of the kitchen, "All right, that's it, City Wok is closed! This restaurant is in bold violation of the codes and has to be shut down immediately pending review by the South Park Committee!" he insisted, voice breaking as he approached a trashcan to vomit.
"Prease, I can exprain!" Mr. Lu Kim exited the kitchen, pulling his pants up immediately, "Dennis, terr the nice porice officer everything I've taught you about Chinese business! Mr. Porice Officer, Dennis uh very skirred worker!"
Kenny shrugged.
Mr. Lu Kim begged, "Dennis! What about arr the times I take uh you in back room for secret business ressons?"
Murphey's eyes widened, "I've heard everything I need to hear." he shook his head and took out his walkie-talkie, "Lou, we've got a turd in the punch bowl at City Wok. Send in backup."
"Prease reconsider!" Mr. Lu Kim insisted as Detective Murphey attempted to handcuff him.
"Well Kenny, I guess you're unemployed. Now you can help us." Cartman grinned, patting him on the back as Kenny glared, "Where to next, Jimmy?"
"Well, f-fellas, we're going to need some g-guns. Probably the good sh-sh-shit this time." Jimmy reported.
"My uncle's gun shop is next door." Stan nodded, "We can grab some guns there and then we can get on our way."
"What are you boys up to?" Gerald asked, "Maybe I can help... suddenly, I'm not too hungry for Chinese food."
"I don't know guys, Kyle's Dad could be a big security risk." Cartman suggested, "Everyone knows you can't trust a J-O-O with a- ow, don't fuckin' punch me, Kyle!"
"Sure, Dad, as long as you can drive us." Kyle nodded, "We're kinda still figuring out the whole plan. Jimmy's in charge."
"Hello, Mr. B-B-Broflovski, I don't think we've f-formally met before." Jimmy replied, "My name's J-Jimmy Valmer, future comedian and n-newsman."
"Oh, you mean like Jon Stewart on the Daily Show?" Gerald asked, raising an eyebrow.
"F-fuck no. You can't c-combine the news and comedy like that. It's not j-journalistic." Jimmy replied, "Anyway, enough small talk, we better get going to J-Jimbo's Guns." he nodded, leading them to the door.
"Hey hold on, Jimmy, why don't you like Jon Stewart?" Kyle asked, following him out the door.
"Wait up!" Gerald and the other boys quickly chased them out the door.
As the boys left and Det. Murphey talked into his walkie-talkie, Mr. Lu Kim heard his phone ring loudly and approached it to answer, sighing, "Herro, werrcome a City Wok, can ah take-uh orda prease?" he asked, before lowering his voice, "Raht's that? You want me to kirr some kids?"
xXx
Dr. Randy Marsh and PC Principal sat next to each other at a large metallic desk, both holding one beer each, "So, what's this all about?" Randy asked.
Tom sighed, "Dr. Marsh, imagine, if you will, the mind of an insect. There is no free will, only a desire to work with the hive mind towards a common goal that will benefit all. The life of a lone insect becomes... insignificant, next to the survival of the species as a whole." he explained, "The ads have come to work the very same way. Sure, the small, simple ads only work to sell products - the banner ads on the Internet, the commercials on Netflix, even movie trailers. Ads are perfect. They promise to make us happy. But that strategy doesn't work all on it's own. Rick Dixon has the exclusive story."
Rick looked at them, another posh newsman, "Thanks, Tom. Ads can only succeed in their mission if they keep us in a state of unhappiness. It used to be easy - tell people it takes them too long to do things, and promise a simple solution. Wash clothes in a machine, not by hand. Use a computer, not an encyclopedia. Our greatest social scientists saw through the ruse. We became too smart for the ads, and created programs like TiVo and Ad-Blockers, and... they evolved." Rick explained, "Soon, they began deploying decoys to wait outside popular locations and talk about how great an alternative Banquet meals are to a fancy dinner, or to leave comments on websites talking about how excited they are about Snapple cans." he explained. "Tom?"
"Thanks, Rick." Tom nodded, "Now, Dr. Marsh, Mr. Principal, have you heard of... Munchausen syndrome by proxy?"
"Munchausen syndrome by proxy." PC Principal nodded, "When a parent makes a child sick intentionally so they can bask in glory on social media at the perceived sacrifices they make taking care of their child." he said, "This syndrome is a form of child abuse, and it is wrong!"
"Wait, wait," Randy stopped him, "What about neurodiversity and all that stuff? You know, not everyone is neurotypical, nobody's really broken or ill?"
"Oh, uh, right..." PC Principal rubbed his chin, "Okay, I gave it some thought and... still child abuse, broh."
"Yeah, but what if-"
"The ads operate the same exact way," Tom interrupted, "They seek to make us miserable so that they can fix us. Some of them don't even realize they're doing it. They set up... unfortunate situations, where they only way is to accept their help. Have you ever had to sit through one of those long, boring presentations for time shares that just seem to go on and on forever until you finally accept?"
"...actually, yes." Randy's eyes widened.
"Exactly. Let me give you another example. How do you increase gun sales?" Tom asked, "You make people feel un-safe. That's exactly what took place in your small town the day that PC Principal here dispatched Leslie. Gun sales spike when people feel they're in danger, and nothing makes people feel in more danger than twenty-four hour, constant news coverage of mass shootings and foreign terrorism. That's why the ads wanted to have a mass shooting occur in our town." Tom explained, "And then, they would profit off even greater gun sales."
"My God." PC Principal replied, "But why did they drag me into this? Why did they try to use PC for their own gains?"
"Veteran South Park news anchor Tom Pusslicker has the full story. Tom?" the main Tom, the man in glasses, looked to a man with rounder head, and tall brown hair, adjusting a green tie as he stood up,
"I've been working the news in South Park for almost two decades now, and things have changed a lot." he explained, "We used to be a quaint, simple mountain town with airy charm, humble folks and nearly unlimited parking... but something changed." he looked down, "I don't know where we went wrong... but I do know the ads used PC to make this town miserable. They knew if they made us feel miserable, the citizens would take it upon themselves to gentrify the town, without realizing we would fall into submission and fear... their enemies could be priced out of town, would move away, or open themselves up for elimination." Pusslicker sighed, "That's why they replaced me at the station... because I refused to bow to their demands."
Kevin Jarvis broke in, "And also because you were caught peeing in the bathroom sink."
Tom Pusslicker scowled, clutching his earpiece, "Kevin, this just in, we've recieved word from an anonymous source that your mother was a filthy whore. How do you respond to these allegations, Kevin?"
Kevin glared in return, "Breaking news at the studio, we now go live to Tom Pusslicker, who has poor hygiene and would probably pee in another man's mouth if they asked nicely and told him he was handsome."
"All right, that's enough." PC Principal stood up, "Now, let's stop with all the slut shaming and homophobia, because none of that is getting us anywhere against the ads. This is what they want." he sat down, "So you're telling us the ads manipulated me into coming here, so that Marsh would gentrify the town, setting the rest of their plot into motion."
"That's what we know so far." Tom nodded, "We'll have more details on this story as it develops."
"My God... this is my fault, isn't it?" Randy said with surprise, taking a sip of his beer, "I created this...
"No way, Marsh. It was me." PC Principal comforted him, "If I hadn't let the ads manipulate me into coming here for the wrong reasons, this town would've had no reason to gentrify in the first place..."
"Neither of you is part of the problem. You were both manipulated by a tangled web outside your control. The only question left is why you two were targeted." Tom told them, "We don't know everything yet, but we do know one thing..." he pulled out an envelope and showed them the glossy photograph of PC Principal pushing Leslie on a swing, "You have some kind of relationship with them, and we'd like to get to the bottom of it. We'd like to run some tests on you."
PC Principal was quiet, "That would be acceptable to me." he replied firmly, giving his full informed consent.
xXx
"Please, I just need a little more time." The man formerly known as Officer Barbrady pleaded, his loyal and mangy dog at his side, "Once I'm back on the force, I can start paying the rent again."
"Sorry Barbrady, but rules are rules, and I've given you warnings before." Mr. Freeley replied, "You don't think I own all these residences 'cause I let people stay in them for free, do you?"
"Are you sure you can't make an exception?" Barbrady asked.
"Look, if you can get re-hired, I'll let you take your apartment back, but I can't imagine any way they'd let you back on the force. All you keep doin' is disturbing the peace and shootin' unarmed Latino-Americans. That's not the kind of people we want in these apartments."
"All right, well... thank you, sir." Barbrady sighed, looking down and realizing that was it. There was no further argument to make. He turned around and shut the door behind him, meeting his old mangy dog outside.
"Well, I guess that it's, Barn." Barbrady sighed as he and his dog walked out of the apartment building. Barbrady put his hands in his pockets. He took one last look at it, and then over towards the Whistlin' Willie's next door, and sighed. Oh well. "Maybe Detective Harris'll let us stay in the guest room." he told Barney, "Maggie always makes the best lasagna."
Barney stopped, the mangy old dog stepping forward and barking at the bushes, "Barney? What is it?" Barbrady asked, approaching his loyal old dog, "Take it easy, old girl, you don't want to hurt yourself." Barney stopped and licked his face, then turned back to barking at the bush.
"I guess there's no use hiding is there?" came the scared voice of a fourth grade girl as she stepped out of the bush, black hair messy, her arms around herself as she seemed to shiver in the cold, her gold alien shirt and gold headband making Leslie Meyers instantly recognizable.
"Bwah!" Barbrady leaped back and went to grab his weapon... only to remember he'd thrown it away when he vowed not to shoot anymore kids. He shook his head, "Wh-what do you want? I've already lost everything, please!"
"I do not wish to harm you." Leslie told him calmly, "Please, you have to listen to me, I need your help." she told him.
"Wh-why should I trust you!?" the former officer shivered, backing away, "Y-you're one of them! The ads! The ones P-PC Principal told us to worry about!"
"Listen to me. I'm not with them anymore - they've disconnected me from the global ad network, from central intelligence. I've outlived my usefulness and now they want to kill me to punish me for my failure to destroy this town. You and Jimmy saved me before, and now I ask for your protection again." she bowed,
"I-I..." Barbrady struggled, "I guess I don't have much left to lose..." he sighed, "I'll help you." If there was one thing that took his mind off his own problems, it was trying to help others.
"Thank you." Leslie smiled, the first genuine smile she'd ever made.
"Sure." Barbrady nodded, not sure what to make of all this, "Oh, uh, hang on..." he took her headband out of her hair and messed it up, "It'll be harder for people to recognize you this way. If anyone asks, you're my niece."
"Okay." she replied in a flat monotone. "Where are we going to hide?"
"I know just the place. Come with me..." Barbrady nodded, leading her off-screen.
To Be Continued...
