It's weird how fast three hours can go.
Like, it feels like I was talking to Kenny only a moment ago, trying to weed myself out of going to Bebe's party tonight. But no. It's been three hours, and here I am, still trying to think of ways to get out of going. I really don't know why I don't want to go. Like sure, I'm not a very social guy, and I know I'll probably have a better time sitting alone in my room playing games and watching Netflix. But then again, going to a party and getting drunk is fucking awesome. Nothing beats the atmosphere like a good old highschool party... well, maybe clubbing, but I've haven't done that yet.
Maybe it's just because the party is at Bebe's. And, well, me and her don't really get along. We haven't since Wendy and I began having study together. She seems to think that I'm trying to steal Wendy away from her, which is a pretty stupid thing to think. No one could come between those two, it's literally impossible. Which is kinda amazing when you think about it, because no one really even knows why they're friends to begin with. Like, they're pretty much polar opposites of one another. Wendy is the goodie-two-shoes class president with aspirations of Valedictorian, while Bebe is, with all due respect, South Park's resident valley girl. But I guess the two must have something in common, because why else would they be friends?
But anyway, yeah, it's been three hours since Kenny hung up on me, and now he's on my porch, bashing the shit out of my front door and yelling for me to open up. As I get up out of my chair and make my way downstairs, I wrack my brain trying to think of ways to get out of going to this party.
I could pretend to have suddenly become sick... no, that's a stupid idea, Kenny would see right through that. Maybe I could tell him that my parents having gotten into an accident and I'm too worried to go? Maybe that would work. But then again that would require me to act worried... and I'm a really, really shit actor. Everyone knows that. Fuck. For someone who's supposed to be so goddamn smart, I really can't think of any way to get out of going. Whelp, looks like I've got no way out of this.
Just as I'm about to open the front door I hear Kenny yell at me from the other side.
"Yo slut! Open up, it's K-Dog and the Big C!"
... K-Dog and the Big C.
Huh. That's a new one.
They sound like one of those duos that go around schools and try to convince kids that drinking, smoking, and doing drugs isn't 'kool'. God, those people were so fucking cringey. I never will understand who actually thought that those guys actually made a difference at all. I remember back in elementary school when one of showed up and tried to teach us not to smoke. They actually had the opposite effect on us. We were so scared of becoming as retarded as they were that we decided to start smoking right then and there, which ended up getting way out of fucking hand when we got caught. Damn... those were some good times.
As soon as I open the door I can already tell that Kenny's drunk. It doesn't come as a surprise though. It's normal for Kenny to be drunk on a Friday night. In fact, if Kenny isn't drunk on a Friday night... that's when you know something has gone very, very wrong.
Within seconds I'm crushed in a bear hug. I can smell both the alcohol, and the weed, reeking off him. Great... he's high as well.
"Kyyyyllllleeeee!" he slurs, nuzzling his head into my neck.
I give out a small chuckle, "hey Ken."
As soon as he breaks off the embrace I bring up his new nickname.
"So, K-Dog huh?"
He smiles, "yeah dude, K-Dog!" he replies, "and thats the Big C," he continues, pointing at Cartman's hummer behind him.
Yeah, you heard right, Cartman's got a hummer. Because of course he does. But Cartman's hummer isn't just any regular old hummer. Oh no. That wouldn't suit Cartman at all. You see, Cartman's hummer has a custom paint job, one that he paid top dollar for. Well, I say Cartman paid, but in reality he didn't pay a dime for it, or for the hummer either. It was Cartman's step-dad who paid for the whole thing. Ever since Cartman's mom started dating Coach Williams, who coaches Park County High's football team, Cartman's been conning his step-dad into getting him a whole manner of bullshit, including a position on the football team. The hummer is just the latest thing he's conned him into.
But yeah, back to Cartman's hummer, as I said, it isn't just any old hummer. No. Cartman's hummer is painted midnight black... with red and orange flames flickering across it. Yeah, I know right? The retard probably thinks the flames make it go faster. It looks like one of those little toy racing cars blown up to real-life size. You know the kind, they're the ones you buy in a pack of five at the toy store for three bucks. They were all the rage back in elementary school. The funny thing is though, Cartman legitimately thinks his hummer looks cool. He thinks everyone is jealous of it. Because Cartman is that kind of guy. You know what I'm talking about. Cartman's that kind of guy who thinks that getting a hummer will help him pick up chicks. In reality though, all owning a hummer does it show the world exactly how small your dick is.
"Anyway dude, let's go! Party's waitin'," Kenny says, staggering a step back and giving me a small wave to come with him.
I was about to close the door behind me and follow, but then I just remembered that I left my phone, wallet, and keys upstairs.
"Sure dude, just gimme a sec, I gotta get my shit from my room," I reply before turning around and heading back inside my house.
Kenny gives out an exasperated sigh, follows me inside, and up the stairs. Halfway up he suddenly asks me something, which immediately makes me blush.
"Hey Kyle... why is your ass so fuckin' thicc?"
...
"What the fuck!?" I exclaim, turning around to look down at him.
He's just looking up at me with this weird grin on his face.
"I said... why is your ass so fuckin' thicc?"
...
"Jesus Kenny, why are you like this?" I reply, shaking my head.
I try to brush it off, but I know as we continue up the stairs that, without a shadow of a doubt, Kenny's staring at my ass. He does this all the time. Not because he's into me or anything. I mean, sure, he'll flirt with me every now and again. But that's just Kenny. He's a known pervert, he'll flirt with anyone, even Cartman. But no, the reason why he stares at my ass is because he know's that it makes me self-conscious. And it does. It's why he's always pointed out how 'nice' my ass is. He's done at ever since Bebe became obsessed with me back in elementary school... which is kind of weird, especially how she can't stand me these days. As always, whenever I notice him doing it, I tell him off for it.
"Quit lookin' at my ass Kenny."
"I want to dude... but I can't!" he replies.
"It's just right there, in my face," he continues.
"It's soooo huge Kyle! It's impossible not to!"
He's trying to sound like my ass has captivated him.
"It really isn't Ken," I reply, and it really isn't, especially when compared to Clyde's or, god forbid, Cartman's.
"But it is Kyle… your ass is sooo majestic!"
I scoff.
"Really dude! it's beautiful, it's like… a force of nature. One of the seven wonders of the world y'know?" he continues.
"Sure Kenny," I reply, "and I thought I was supposed to be the gay one."
By this time we've already made it up the stairs and into my bedroom. As soon as we get in I head over to my desk, grab what I came up for, and shove them into the pockets of my jeans while Kenny throws himself on my bed.
"I thought I wasn't Kyle, but damn… your ass is so fine," he replies, laying down with his arms behind his head.
I turn to look at him.
"I'm so conflicted about it dude, my heterosexuality has literally never been so fragile right now," he continues.
"You're drunk Kenny," I reply, brushing off his stupidity.
"That may be the case dude, but this isn't the alcohol talkin', your ass is glorious. I'm seriously in awe of it," Kenny replies, however as the words are leaving his mouth he begins to crack up.
I roll my eyes and give him a look which, after a few seconds, makes him start laughing. I swear he's the weirdest kid I know, and that's why he's my closest friend. I wait for him to stop laughing, but the thing about high people is that once they start laughing, it takes ages for them to stop. Especially Kenny. He always gets like this when he's high, but I'm pretty sure most people do as well.
For some reason that makes no sense at all, everything just become funny as fuck when you're high. Even the most boring and basic shit. The first time I got high back in freshman year, I couldn't stop laughing at the way my hands looked. I don't know why, but I thought it was the funniest shit imaginable. Pretty cringey when I think back on it now, but since the guys were also high with me, I doubt anyone other than myself remembers it.
Kenny's laughter is cut off by the piercing sound of Cartman's horn. As soon as he hears it, Kenny stops laughing, and looks over towards my bedroom window.
"I think the Fatass wants us to hurry up," he says.
I nod, "I think you're right."
Kenny then jumps off the bed, grabs my arm, and starts leading me towards the hallway.
"Well we can't keep him waiting, you know how the Big C gets when things don't go his way," he says, suddenly remembering his stupid nickname, letting go of my arm as soon as we exit my bedroom and immediately starts running downstairs. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the empty house.
After I've made sure I've got everything, I follow him down, switching off the lights as I do go. I make sure to lock the door as I close it behind me. Wrapping my arms around me as the cold nights air hits me, I quickly trudge my way through the snow towards Cartman's hummer. I can never understand how Kenny can stand the cold. No matter how cold it gets, he's always running around without a jacket or coat. Like right now, he's only wearing a pair of tattered jeans and a Queen band shirt. Meanwhile, I've got both a sweater and a shirt on underneath and I'm freezing my balls off.
As soon as I climb inside Cartman's car, I'm hit with the sickening smell of his rancid BO. It's foul. It's so fucking pungent that it completely overwhelms the smell of weed. Which, right now, absolutely reeks. As much as Cartman calls druggies degenerate, he smokes a metric fuckton of weed. Unlike these two idiots though, I've grown out of it. I thought weed was cool back when I was 13, but now, no. Like sure, if I'm in the right mood, I might smoke some if they offered it to me. But I wouldn't go out of my way to buy some y'know? Even despite it being legal now.
"Yo fag," Cartman drawls as soon as I close the door.
I scrunch up my face, both due to the congealed sound of his voice and at the disgusting smell of his car. I would be able to stand the smell of his BO if his car wasn't such a pigsty. But that's Cartman for ya. He literally lives in filth.
"Shut up Cartman," I reply as I gingerly clear the junk off my seat and put the seatbelt on.
Cartman, who's watching me in the rear-view mirror, just laughs at me.
"It's not like your bitch mom is here Kahl, you don't have to put your seatbelt on, like seriously," he snidely remarks.
"With all due respect Fatass, I'd rather wear this than go flying through your fucking windscreen when you inevitably crash into a telegraph pole," I reply, equally as snidely.
Cartman just glares at me as Kenny tries to defuse the tension.
"Whoa, shots fired!" he exclaims, having already opened a can of beer.
God, I can't stand Cartman, I really don't know why I still hang out with him.
"Kyle, buddy, you want one?" Kenny asks me, offering me a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Against my better judgement, I take it. If I have to be around Cartman I'd rather be drunk. Anyway, according to everyone I know, Cartman and I get along when we're drunk. I see him offer Cartman one, but thankfully, Fatass declines. By the time I've opened the can and taken a sip we're already half-way down the street. Kenny's turned up the radio, which is blaring some modern pop song that I'm not really listening too, and he's rolled down the window and stuck his head outside. I take another drink, feeling a slight buzz of warmth fill my body, it's not enough to make much of a difference, but after two or three cans hopefully it will. Besides, there'll be harder stuff at the party. I look back to Kenny, who's now hanging halfway out the window and screaming the lyrics to the song playing, Cartman's joined in with him, and I grin.
Ehh, maybe tonight will be a good night after all.