South Park © Matt & Trey
I'm so excited about us finally learning Craig's mom's name and kind of having an episode about her. She's really awesome. She's probably my favorite parent!
Ever since the dream I've had, I've been trying to learn more about Craig… discretely. He's become something of an obsession of mine. I'm not sure whether it was the dream or the punch he delivered, but I can't stop thinking about him. When his fist landed in my face, I knew I wanted to put my dick in his ass. Maybe that's fucked up on my part, but I can't find it in me to care.
He's rarely in class. Even now, he's nowhere in sight. We're in English. The teacher is droning on about Shakespeare and shit. I am getting pretty bored. I ask to go to the bathroom, partly because I actually need to use it but mostly just because I'm restless and want to walk around. When I go to take a piss, I'm immediately greeted with the strong, potent scent of marijuana. At least it's better than smelling shit.
I enter one of the stalls and do my business. When I'm finished I stand on the toilet seat, peeking over the edge into the next stall over. Speak of the devil. Craig is in there doing what he does best – smoking weed and jacking off. In one hand there's a joint, in the other… his dick. Nothing I haven't seen before in my prophetic dream, I suppose.
"Nice view," I comment.
Craig glances up, giving me a dull stare. "Are you a voyeur?" he asks me. He doesn't look embarrassed at being caught.
"Are you an exhibitionist?" I retort. "Jacking off in the school bathroom? Really, Craig?"
"Mhm," is all he says, but he doesn't stop. Clearly, he's not shy and he doesn't care that I'm here watching him like a pervert.
Still… the entire situation is kind of hot. He's really good looking. I can't help but stare. My asshole literally throbs when I look at him. "Are you still mad at me?" I ask, mostly for the sake of saying something.
"For…?" He pauses, staring at me. I guess I'm ruining the mood.
I snort back a laugh. "You don't remember punching me in the face?"
"That was months ago," he scoffs. He takes one more puff of the joint before dropping it in the toilet.
"So, you're not mad?"
"I wasn't mad to begin with," he admits.
"That's surprising," I say. "You always seem mad." He only shrugs and I can't help but stare at his neglected erection. "Gonna take care of that?"
He gives me a look of impatience. "Get the fuck out of here, perv."
With a smirk, I relent.
The rest of the school day goes by slowly. I wonder if Craig finished masturbating or if I killed the mood. God damn, that picture is going to stay fresh in my mind for quite a while. Maybe it'll overwrite the one of his corpse.
Since it's a Friday, that means the weekend is here. Praise Jesus.
"Hey, ho," Eric greets, sidling up next to me as I leave the building.
Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a whore. I hate that damn word, but I'm using it in context here – I don't have sex with people for money or anything like that. It's just a rumor. There are lots of rumors floating around about me and most of them are all thanks to Eric Cartman. He thinks it's funny. Hell, even I find some of them funny… but the point is this: none of them are true.
"What's up?" I ask him and he just shrugs. "Clyde's having a party tonight," I mention. "Are you coming?"
"Eh…" Eric makes a face. "Parties… weed… hippies. We'll see."
I let out a laugh. "Right."
We make our way to the bus stop and board the orange vehicle. Inside I spot Craig. I give him a lewd smile as I walk past him where he's seated. A second later, Eric grabs me by the jacket and we sit down. "What the fuck is that about?" he asks me.
"What?" I feign naivety.
"You fucking know what," he mutters. "You and Craig?"
"No," I say before flat out admitting, "I wish."
Eric snorts back a laugh. "Why? He fuckin' sucks."
"He's so hot I'd pay to suck his dick," I say with a longing sigh, "or lick his ass."
"TMI," Eric grimaces.
"Fuck, he could spit in my mouth for all I care," I finish.
"You're a nasty fuck." Eric shakes his head a me.
I don't deny it, but hey, I'm not the nastiest guy around here. I'm betting that's Craig.
Come night, I make my way to Clyde's. When I get there, I ask him if I can use his shower since I feel pretty rank stewing in my own juices. "Sure, dude," he says. "Towels are in the linen closet."
I nod my thanks and wander upstairs. It's pretty loud. There are already people dancing drunk and it's only six. After grabbing a towel, I enter the bathroom. I turn on the taps and practically peel my clothes off my sticky body. Gross. I decide to leave the door unlocked in case anyone needs to hurl. When the water is hot enough, I step into the shower and close the glass door. It feels inexplicably good to finally get clean.
Halfway through, I hear the shuffling from the other side of the glass. I decide to ignore it until I'm finished rinsing off. I step outside and see Kyle with his head in the toilet and Eric standing by watching as he dumps his guts out. Poor fucker never can hold his liquor.
"Kenny," Eric says my name.
"Eric," I respond with his, grabbing a towel and drying off. I'm surprised to see him, but then again where Kyle goes Eric follows. "What the fuck is going on?"
"Jew overdid it," he answers flatly. "Yet again."
And they say Stan is the big drinker. Ha! Not anymore. Kyle got a taste and it's been this way ever since. Fortunately, Eric doesn't mind playing the carer. Sometimes I think he might even enjoy it because he knows he can speak freely and Kyle won't even remember it. "Don't touch him," I warn, pointing a finger at the fat ass.
He looks scandalized. "I ain't gay!" he snaps. "I'm not gonna do nothin'! Besides, I wouldn't touch him like this… fuckin' messy."
Kyle lets out a miserable moan and says, "Shut up…"
I roll my eyes, throwing my clothes back on. "Want me to stay with him?" I ask Eric.
He shakes his head. "Nah, I got it."
Of course he does. I smile slyly and simply nod, giving him a pat on the shoulder on my way out. Downstairs, I see Craig with a drink in his hand. I decide to approach him.
"You look clean for once," he states when he sees me.
Asshole.
I shove my hands in my pockets and say, "Yeah, whatever. It's not my damn fault I can't afford to bathe every day. Not all of us have that luxury."
"No need to get all sour about it, fuckass," he responds.
His insults are always colorful. It makes me want to laugh out loud. Craig, of all people, calling me sour? Ha. I am a beam of sunshine, especially compared to him. Nonetheless, I don't say any of that. I just change the subject and ask, "So, what are you drinking?"
"No idea," he admits. "Bebe made it."
I make an 'o' shape with my mouth. Before I can think of something else to say, Jason saunters towards us. He throws an arm around Craig, looking especially peevish. "Hey, 'sup, slut-bag?" he asks with a leering grin. I can't help but frown at that. What right does he have to talk like that?
Craig sneers at him, likely thinking the same thing. "Get off of me, you retard!" He shakes him off and stands near me, eying Jason like he's the scum of the earth.
"That's not what you used to say," Jason smirks. He looks like he's getting a kick out of the whole ordeal. Craig's lips part and I don't know if it's out of anger or surprise. "Dicks don't fly," Jason chortles, "but I betcha wish they did. It must hurt spending so much time on your knees."
"I'm gonna kick your stupid ass, bitch!" Craig snaps, sounding completely mental.
Oil and water, these two are. I swear. Jason is a dealer. He used to be good friends with Craig, but they had a falling out a couple years ago. I'm not sure why. Clearly they have history. Similar to the way Eric used to make Kyle his special victim, Jason does the same to Craig. Hey, maybe it means he's got a crush. Then again, probably not.
Jason now spends his time hanging around Bill and Fosse. Ever since Terrence moved away they've been trying to find someone to follow. Jason filled the gap happily.
Jason looks like a god damn caveman. He has the brow and everything. He's a sore sight next to a pretty guy like Craig. Fucking hell, Craig is good looking. He could sit on my face any day.
"I'd like to see you try," cave boy challenges.
"Yeah?" Craig asks.
"No," I cut in. "Craig, don't do anything stupid."
"Kiss my ass, you evil whore!" he shouts before shoving past me and stomping off. All I can do is stare in disbelief. What the hell did I do?
Craig must've let Jason get to him, because next time I see him his disposition has changed drastically. This can only mean one thing – too much alcohol. "Hey," I call and he gives me a childish smile, holding up his cup and swirling their contents around. "Wanna slow down?" I ask him.
"Hmmmm…" he muses thoughtlessly. "No."
"Dude, Craig…" I start. "You're gonna have an earth-shattering hangover in the morning if you don't chill out a bit."
He wrinkles his nose at me. "Go away, nobody asked you!"
I put a hand on his shoulder only to be shaken off a split second later. MIA's "Double Bubble Trouble" starts to blast on the stereo. Craig downs the rest of his drink, setting the cup down before jumping on the nearest table. He begins dancing to the music and, in his drunken state, he's not that bad. For a while, all I can do is watch. He's gonna fucking hate himself in the morning. Craig isn't the kind of guy who can just muster up the kind of alacrity it takes to do a thing like this and end it on a happy note.
"Go, baby!" Bebe whoops, chuckling at the sight. "Who knew he could move like that?"
I force a tight smile even though all I want to do is scream at everyone in the damn room because I know that a downfall will likely follow this seemingly harmless event. Everyone is too drunk to care.
A second later, Craig removes his shirt, tossing it at me. It lands in my face and I let out an angry breath. I keep hold of it, knowing he'll probably want it back later on. He's an audacious drunk. He's also incredibly spiteful.
When he reaches for his belt, I decide to put a stop to it. I'm sure the last thing he wants is to be that one naked dude at the party. I doubt he wants everyone talking about his strip show come Monday.
I toss his shirt over my shoulder and near the table he's dancing on. I reach forward and try to grab his hand, but he backs away. "Fuck off!" he shouts.
I grit my teeth together. "Fine!" I growl. "Do what you want!"
I stomp away after that. Fuck 'im. If he doesn't want me help, I'm not going to cause myself grief to try and force it on him. Damn it. I'm trying here. I really am. I'm trying to save his fucking life but he doesn't seem to give a shit about himself. He makes it impossible.
I spend the next hour wandering around, refusing to think about that fucker Craig Tucker.
I spend the night in Clyde's bed with him since we are the only two people who don't drink ourselves to the point of incoherency. When morning comes, part of me wants to check on Craig and part of me wants to keep pretending I don't give a shit about what he does.
"Hey…" I murmur aloud, wanting to know if Clyde is awake.
"Mm?" comes his groggy response.
"Why does Craig act the way he does?" I ask. "I mean… last night he was… fucked, to put things simply."
"He's always been like that," Clyde admits. "I mean… for as long as I can remember. He always seems to overdo it, but to be honest, he's not much different drunk than he is sober. The only thing that changes is he'll show anyone the filthy side of himself. When he's sober, he knows there's a time and place for it. I guess, in the end, he just hates himself. Shit happens and Craig will say, 'Oh, I guess this is life,' and he won't do a damn thing to change it. He convinces himself that since shit keeps happening he must deserve it and he lives with it. He rolls with whatever is thrown at him, even if it makes him wanna fucking kill himself."
"Sad," I mumble, giving my opinion on the matter.
"He'll probably end up dead in a ditch someday," Clyde says quietly. "I don't want him to… but at the same time I'm not being pessimistic. I'm being realistic. I guess I'm trying to prepare for it so when it happens I won't be so devastated. He's my best friend… and I love him… but he's not okay."
I smile bitterly up at the ceiling. Yeah, that's exactly where Craig is heading – the only difference is that instead of a ditch it's an alleyway. Same shit. Craig's going to die.
A minute later, Clyde's bedroom door creaks open to reveal Bebe. She's still in her party dress but she looks wide awake and ready to play mother. It's what happens every time. As much as she likes to party, she can handle her liquor and she spends the next morning taking care of every dumb ass who can't find the toilet.
"What's up?" Clyde asks her.
"It looks like Craig passed out without a stitch of clothing on, poor thing," she reveals. "I feel bad for encouraging him last night. I tried to wake him, but he's still conked. I want to at least throw a blanket over him. He's not going to be fun to deal with when he wakes up. Jason and a few other dumbasses were snorting lines off Craig's stomach after he passed out… I wasn't going to get in the middle of that."
Clyde grimaces and I can't help but sigh. "I told him to slow down," I mutter. "He didn't listen."
"He never does," Clyde says, sounding bitter.
"I don't think I've seen Craig sober in years," Bebe admits. "He's always drunk, stoned or worse."
"What's worse?" I ask.
"He just keeps going harder and harder," she says sadly. "Right now, it's cocaine. He seems to like it so he probably won't be quitting any time soon."
I grimace at that, not quite sure how to respond. Without further ado, Clyde stands up and moves towards his closet, getting out a blanket. The two of them leave the room – probably to tend to Craig.
I lie back down. I wish I had Kyle's big brain. Then maybe I could come up with a strategic plan – something smart enough… but I'm not manipulative like he is. I don't know how to act coy and cute. I don't know when to say the right things. I don't even know what the right things are.
Sometimes I think Kyle is fully aware how Eric feels about him but the only reason he remains silent is because he's a little shit. Now, I say that affectionately. He's one of my best friends, after all, but he does have many faults. One of his biggest ones is that he beats around the bush. He doesn't know what he wants. Even when he has something he's unsure if he wants to keep it. That's probably why he drinks so much. It's numbing. I think Craig is like that, too. He doesn't know what he wants.
I decide not to waste any more time. I sit up and get out of bed, leaving the room. There aren't too many people left. There's Red asleep on the sofa with Kevin. Craig is smack-dab on the coffee table of all places with a dinosaur printed blanket draped over him. I move into the room and hover over him, giving him an unceremonious slap in the face. "Wakey, wakey," I sing.
His eyes flutter open and he squints, sitting up and immediately pressing a palm to his forehead. The blanket pools around his waist, just below his navel. "Ow…" he murmurs.
I cross my arms. "Hung over?" I assume.
"Why'd I do that?" he whispers, letting out a shuddery breath. He doesn't specify what exactly he's talking about, but I can take a wild guess.
"Because you were very drunk," I remind him flatly. "You let Jason get to you."
"I hate him," he bites out. "I hate him so fucking much…"
"I know," I say. I want to ask him why he continues to hang around Jason if he hates the bastard so much, but I don't. Instead, I walk away without another word, getting him a glass of water and some Tylenol. "Here," I say, handing them to him. He grunts some non-committal response, swallowing the pill with ease and downing the water. "Slowly," I warn him, not wanting him to hurl. I begin to search for his clothes. It's like a fucking scavenger hunt.
When I've found them all, I hand them to him and politely avert my eyes as he makes himself decent. When he's dressed, he discards the blanket and walks past me, moving into the kitchen. I follow him inside and when Clyde spots his best friend he offers him a tentative smile. "Hey…" he says.
"Hm," Craig grunts.
"Ever the wordsmith," Clyde comments quietly.
"Ever the annoying asshole," Craig returns, crossing his arms.
"Don't blame me for your mistakes," Clyde says. It doesn't look like he's in the mood for Craig's sass.
Bebe backs him up and adds, "The only person you have to blame is yourself."
Ouch. I have to admit I feel for him. Really, I do. He probably feels like everyone is against him. It's probably making him feel even lonelier. "Come on," I try to reason. "Jason started it."
"And Craig finished it," Clyde mutters. "In a big way." He glances at his best friend. "You know, dude, life is a lot easier if people like you… if you let people like you."
Craig rubs his forehead, closing his eyes. "Please, just shut up…" he says weakly. "I'm going home," he adds. "Sorry."
He's gone after that and all we can do is stare at one another, unsure what to make of his apology.
"Craig used to be a private person," Clyde says offhandedly, "but Jason kind of ruined that by putting him on display in the past. I guess it's not really his fault he's like this."
"Oh," I murmur. I don't know what he means by that, but I don't really want to know either. I can't help but wonder if Jason is also the one who got him into drugs, but I won't pry. If the time ever comes, I'll let Craig tell me his stories on his own.
Come Monday, Jason decides to call Craig out on his weekend performance. As soon as Craig enters the classroom he starts hollering. "That was some nice strip tease you gave us on Friday night, Tucker," he says tauntingly. Craig flips him off before taking his seat.
"Enough talking," the teacher says with a grimace.