Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. Matt Stone and Trey Parker beat me to it. Damn them!

Whoo, chapter two! Guys, serioushlah, thanks for the reviews, they made my day. I really am very proud of this story and I promise it really picks up after this chapter. Review this chappie anyway!

Help! I'm Trapped in a Jew's Body!

Ch.2: Dumb Luck

I was feeling pretty good the next morning at the bus stop...for different reasons than the day before.

"Morning, Kenneh. Stan." I greeted evenly.

"Hey, dude."

"Mmf."

Kyle didn't seem to notice that I didn't add his name. I couldn't wait to see him dead. It'd be so great! I could almost taste the irony blood pouring out of his cracked skull...I couldn't help it; I spoke again.

"And an especially good morning to you, Kaaahl." I drew out the name as long as I could, it rolled sharp and sweet on my tongue, no doubt making his skin crawl. He kept himself composed and turned to me.

"Hey, Fatass," he chirped cheerfully before turning back.

Gr! He got me, OK?

Not that it mattered. The bus was coming. I had to act quickly. I grabbed my knapsack. The plan was simple. Make sure I was the next-to-last one on the bus. Make sure Kyle was right behind me. Spill at little oil on the steps and 'whoops!' he'd fall back. Now our bus driver, Ms. Crabtree doesn't particularly care for us kids. She's been known to drive off before students are in their seats and send them flying. That's why Kenny's usually the last one on (who cares if the poor piece of crap dies?). With Kyle under the bus, she'd unknowingly take off, crushing Jewboy into a road-ladka. Ha!

I stepped on, dropped a big glob of oil and hurried up the steps. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I heard a distinct 'whoa!' behind me. I grabbed a seat at the back of the bus as it drove on. I grinned, awaiting the carnage. There was none. Where in the world was--

"Where in the world is Kyle?" Stan asked.

"Mff-mm-mph-mmm." Kenny answered.

No, Kenny. He didn't miss the damn bus! Maybe his body was caught under it though. Yeah! Once at school, I sat at my desk feeling satisfied.

"Hey, Stan."

"Oh, there you are, Kyle." I froze, shocked. "Where were you?"

"I slipped off the bus and Mr. Crabtree drove off without me! Psycho. Anyway, I managed to get up and onto the side walk. Otherwise, she woulda driven right over me, dude! I saw your dad though, and he gave me a lift to school so I wasn't even late!"

"Jeez, dude. You're lucky you didn't get squashed." Stan's voice expressed worry for his friend. "Didja hear that, Cartman? Crabtree almost drove over Kyle!"

"Well, well, well. I guess you're lucky, huh, Kahl?"

"Yup. It seems that way."

Dumb luck, I though, simmering. Dumb luck. Unfortunately, his dumb luck continued. During recess, I hid under a slide and pulled out a rifle from my bag. Oh, if you're wondering where a nine-year-old gets a rifle, remember that this is South Park. Also, you're reading fan fiction. I could sprout wings and zap Kyle with lazer eyes if I really wanted to. So I aimed carefully. Jewboy, Stan, and Kenny were playing tag. I followed him with my eyes and gun.

"Come on...come on...SHOOT!"

BAM!

Damn it. Kenny ran in the way unwittingly and died. Stan and Kyle looked shocked. Then, they resumed tag. Growling at Kenny's stupidity, I tried again.

Ka-shink!

Empty? There was only one bullet left?! "Damn!"

Back at class, I dipped the end of his pencil in arsenic powder. (Kyle tends to bite erasers when deep in though during class. Twitching as usual, Tweek walked over to Kyle.

"Hey, Kyle—Gah!--could I b-borrow a pencil?" he asked tentatively.

"OK, dude." he answered, handing him the one I had found on his desk and poisoned. Tweek turned to walk away and tripped over his own two feet, the clumsy idiot. Kyle's pencil flew from his hand and out the door.

"Dammit!" I cried.

"Ack! Sorry, Kyle!" the blond cried, terrified.

"It's fine. There's more in my bag...here you go."

Dumb luck, dumb luck, dumb luck! "That's it!" I wailed. I rose from my desk and grabbed my last resort—a carving knife. "You're gonna die, KAHL!" I knocked him out his seat, pinning him down under me. He glared in an angry surprise when he noticed that I was indeed holding an actual knife above him and glaring at his exposed neck.

"H-hey!" he gasped.

I slid it down against his jugular, snickering. "Bye-bye, Kahl Broflovski--"

"That is quite enough, Eric!"

Huh? I turned to find Mr. Garrison glaring down at me. While I was distracted, I felt Kyle wriggle one arm free and desperately try to push my knife from his neck.

"But Mr. Garrison--" I started.

"No buts! No violence in school, Eric! Put your toy knife away and get off Kyle or it'll be another detention!"

Grumbling, I obeyed. At least our teacher didn't believe the other students as they tried to convince him it was a real knife I was using. ('Don't be ridiculous, class! A nine-year-old boy couldn't possibly get his hands on a real knife! Now let's get back to math...'). Class resumed. Kyle looked shaken; he kept passing me nervous glances. I returned them. After all, it was dumb luck the redhead was alive. Dumb luck, dumb luck, DUMB LUCK!

Still no luck for our little Ericy-poo. Don't worry, it gets better. Now review and make me love you again!