EDIT: As I have said, these are revamped. However, please don't hesitate to tell me anything else I might have missed! Thank you for reading and reviewing- and remember, I don't own South Park! That goes for all my fictions of it.

Part One: Having a Party

As he made his way over the snowy hills, Eric spotted them. They were standing in a line as they always did every morning: Stan- the average, wussy, and sensible pussy, Kenny- the poor, lewd, and friend to the crude, and-

That one. It.

Eric approached them slowly, for once in his life unsure of what to do.

"Hey, Cartman," Stan said, not taking his eyes off the horizon.

Eric didn't answer back.

"Yeah, hey, fatass," it added.

There was still no answer.

"I said hey, fatass," it tried again.

Eric just kept his eyes glued to his shoes.

"What? Is there no insult today? No degradation? No 'shaddup Jew, your mom sucks' comment?" While that was usually exactly what Eric would have said, it didn't sound so alluring with the heavy weight of the knowledge in his hands- that would technically be like saying Eric's own mother sucked.

The boys at the bus stop had no idea what was going on in their roly-poly red friend's head, and they tried several different gimmicks and insults to try to get Eric's attention.

No matter what they did, he couldn't bring himself to respond.

Finally, in a stroke of genius, Kenny tried something the others hadn't thought of- as Stan was giving the despondent Eric an atomic wedgie, Kenny simply tore the paper Eric was holding from his frigid hands. The frozen boy sprung to life instantly.

"Give that back! Now, Kenny!"

In reply, Kenny made a series of ridiculously muffled noises. (To anyone but the other boys who had known him all his life, they would have been impossible to understand, but here, their meaning was clear.)

Eric responded accordingly. "It's none of your business what it is! Give it back!"

"Oh, does the fatass think he can keep one of his schemes a secret from us? What're you trying to do this time? Sell Chinese babies? Or just try to pull off widespread genocide?" It came forward and went for the paper in Kenny's gloved hands.

"No! Don't touch it! Don't! It's mine!" As Eric struggled to move forward, Stan held fast to the underwear in his hands and anchored the larger boy down.

"Well too bad, Cartman! I'm not having my whole Mothers' Day weekend ruined because you did something that gets me grounded or the town destroyed again!" With a nasty look in Eric's direction, it reached for the paper.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" It couldn't see that sheet of enlightenment!

With a shriek, Eric found the strength to dive-bomb the unsuspecting Kenny. He noisily tore the tender information from his peer's hands (although it was no noisier than the sound of Eric's underwear ripping) and used his momentum to continue to run across the street.

The other boys watched Eric Cartman's pale, bare butt gleam at them as he made his way across the empty road and towards the neighborhood. It reflected the sun like the snow around him, and if it weren't for his blood red jacket, Eric would have been perfectly camouflaged.

"Dude," Stan muttered, elastic waistband still in his hands. "What got in his Wheaties?"

"I dunno," Kyle Broflovski stated, "but it seems suspicious to me. I mean, Cartman never shows up without an insult or the intention to be an asshole."

The three boys continued to watch the hefty boy's rear disappear into the front door of his house.

"Do you think we should go after him?" Stan asked.

Kyle looked like he wanted to, but then thought the better of it. "Nah. If my mom finds out I was skipping school, she'd disown me."

Kenny muffled out something.

"Yeah," giggled out Stan, "a fate worse than death."

Eric wasn't sure why he had decided to come to his house. On one hand, it was the closest place he considered safe, but on the other, it meant he'd have to face his mother and didn't want to do that so soon.

No. Liane was his father- he didn't want to face his father so soon.

Liane Cartman acted as a woman and a matriarchal figure, but the truth was that she was actually an intersexual and had really been the biological father of Eric. In a classic motherly fashion that would fool even another intersexual, she rushed to the door the moment she heard it open.

"Oh, Eric! Thank goodness you're home! I was beginning to think that you had run away when you didn't come downstairs for breakfast. I'll call the police back and tell them that I found you."

Desperately, Eric tried to compose himself.

"Oh, my poor Poopsiekins! You've ripped your underwear, poor dear. Hurry upstairs and change so you won't be late for school." Liane gave him a gentle push and began to get worried when her son wouldn't move. Eric was just staring at her with a glazed look.

"Eric, is something wrong?"

"Mom, who was my biological mother?" Oops, it slipped out.

Liane was caught off guard. "It was… she was… we were in Canada and, um," Liane kneeled down to Eric's level. "I'll tell you when you are older. I don't want it to be too much for you. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Do you even remember who it was?" He really looked uncharacteristically pathetic with his haggard, half-dressed stance.

"Well, of course I do, dear," Liane lied. She could remember the general plans and agreement that had happened after the woman had gotten pregnant, but she couldn't remember names or anything else.

"Was it Mrs. Broflovski?"

What?

What?

"WHAT?" Liane blurted.

Eric inhaled deeply and began his whiny tale. Liane didn't even have time to prepare herself. "Last niiiiiight, I snuck outta bed and went to Mister Mephisto's, and had him do a maternity test with the samples I collected from all the women in towwwwn, and Mr. Broflovski in case he wasn't like iiiiiiiiit and had gotten more than sand in his vagiiiiiina, and paid for it with the money I took from the offering plaaaaaate and Salvation Army these last Sundaaaaays, and then it said that my real mother was Sheila Broflovskeeh-ehh-ehh!" At this point, Eric's commonplace whining turned into full-blown tears. "Waaaaah! I don' wanna be that Jew bitch's spah-hah-hawn! Waaaaah! "

Liane hadn't even listened to her son's confession, instead choosing to gain information by taking and reading the paper he had carried in with him.

She read it once, twice, three times.

It couldn't have been Sheila! Liane would have remembered something like that, wouldn't she? Hell, Sheila would have remembered something like that! Of course, Liane had been posing as a man and using an alias, but Sheila hadn't done the same to cheat on her husband, had she?

They hadn't both been THAT drunk, had they?

"Eric, go to your room."

"But-"

"Just do it!" Liane never raised her voice to Eric, and when she did it now, it scared him.

For once, Eric did as he was told and stayed in his room with Clyde Frog while Liane called the Broflovskis.

The whole of South Park Elementary found their day extremely pleasant thanks to the absence of Eric Cartman. Token and Kyle were free to play flag football without any slurs, Wendy and Bebe didn't have to listen to any sexist comments, Pip wasn't picked on, and even Craig was a lot better behaved. Tweek had calmed down enough to give his coffee to the Goth kids, who had actually come to class. And as he munched on his ketchup-less ketchup sandwich, Kenny noticed that even Mr. Garrison was in such a good mood that some of his feminine sway had returned today. He pointed this out to Stan.

"Eww, Kenny, he's our teacher," his friend said between chuckles.

Kenny rolled his eyes. He hadn't meant it THAT way (at least, not this time), and realized with some chagrin that he had been expecting Cartman to be there to overhear and shout out some rude comment.

Oh, well.

"Sheila, I'm absolutely positive about this. I made Mephisto hexadeca- and nonadeca- check this."

"What what WHAT?" Sheila Broflovski said for the thirtieth time, still staring down at the sheet of paper in her hands.

"I didn't think it was you, either, believe me."

"How could this be? I never did any partying while we were in Canada, except for that one night when Gerald and I had a few with friends at our last night being in any kind of city." Sheila stopped. "I don't exactly remember everything that happened that night." Liane raised her eyebrows.

"But how can that be?" Sheila continued. I know you were Eric's father, but I also know you gave birth to someone around the time my son Kyle was born." She paused again. "I have never fully understood how that all worked."

"Neither did I," mumbled Liane. "I mean, uh, the mother- you- said you were really close with a lawyer,"

"My husband Gerald," interjected Sheila.

"And legally transported the zygote and put it inside me because I wanted the child."

"I don't remember Gerald and I handling anything like transporting something like that," Sheila pondered.

"Like what?" asked a voice from the basement.

"Oh! Gerald! Don't barge in like that!"

"How so, Sheila? This is my house, too!"

They bickered for a while, Sheila's ingratiating accent coming out more and more with each word. Liane leaned back in her chair, trying not to notice how much nicer the Broflovski's couch was than her own. She could never figure out how to get the Cheesy Poof stains out of hers. Eventually, Liane tuned back in to the conversation.

"The only transplanting of anything that I dealt with was that test tube baby experiment that you and I did so that I could learn how that custody system worked for that one case I was finishing up just before Kyle was born."

"Oh, when we were unsure of what stance to take on that whole issue?"

"Yes, Sheila. That time."

"What happened to that whole thing, anyway?"

"Everything cleared up and I sent it to the woman that called and said she wanted a child. She said that she wanted to take care of it and felt that it was her responsibility to," Gerald finished, shrugging.

By this time, Liane had perked up and began to listen to the conversation again.

"Where was this woman living?"

"Well, I guess in Denver, 'cause that's where I sent it."

Liane swallowed hard. "What was her name?"

"Dick Teese. I remember that because it was a really masculine name for a woman."

"Why, Liane?" asked Sheila.

"That… that was my male alias."

Sheila was speechless for a moment. "Well, if it was our test tube baby, then that explains why the test said I'm Eric's mother," she finally managed out.

"But, no, Mephisto also took that paternity test on Eric last year. I was proven his father, not your husband. You were there, Gerald."

Gerald Broflovski, eyes bugged out, let out a breath neither other woman realized he had been holding. "Oh, thank Jehovah Eric Cartman isn't my son!" he shouted. Laughing nervously, he glanced from the stunned face of his wife to the glaring face of Liane. "I mean, um, oh, that's odd." An awkward silence reigned supreme over the threesome.

Finally, the seriousness of the implications hit Gerald. "Wait a minute. You're the father," he pointed at Liane, "but you're the mother?" He slowly moved his prosecuting finger to his wife. They stared back at him stoically.

"What if Mephisto made a mistake?" he asked, sweating. "I mean, his head is usually in one of many asses."

After a quick glance at each other, Sheila shamefully handed Gerald the enlightening paper as Liane explained the situation.

Gerald slowly nodded as he processed the information being given to him. When they had finished, he simply stood up and walked out of the room.

"Gerald?" Sheila whimpered.

Her husband said nothing as he left.

"Is he alright?" Liane asked.

They heard several muffled screams and violent noises coming from the bathroom before Gerald finally reentered the room.

"Kyle was born prematurely," he said, sitting down as if nothing had happened, "on May the twenty-sixth at ten minutes until five. He stayed in the hospital for exactly forty days." Apparently, Gerald Broflovski's lawyer mind had been onto something as he had been having his breakdown. "When was Eric born and when did he leave the hospital?"

"Well, let's see," Liane began, not quite sure where this was going, "Eric was born on July the first and we left about, oh, three days later?"

"Exactly forty days after Kyle was born."

Liane nodded complacently.

"Why, yes, I think you're right. The doctors at Hell's Pass hospital were reluctant to let me take him home because he was so fragile and small, but they decided to after I… persuaded them." She still did not quite comprehend what the point was.

Sheila, however, had figured out her husband's conclusion.

"No, Gerald! How could they have been so careless about labeling the correct babies? They're a hospital, for goodness' sake!"

"Yes, but they're Hell's Pass Hospital, Sheila. How else do you explain them continually giving people AIDS from blood transfusions? How else do you explain those redneck McCormicks always winning their lawsuits against them without a lawyer or anything? The doctors are careless morons!"

"Wait a minute, interrupted Liane, "You aren't actually saying that Eric- my baby- is actually Kyle Broflovski?

Eric Cartman had snuck out of his house after his mother had left and had crept into the Broflovski residence via their son's- its- second-story window (a practice that he did entirely too often, as it was almost second nature to him) and crept to the top of the stairs so that he could find out for himself what was happening. Gripping Clyde Frog tightly, he held his breath and tried to be as silent as possible while he eavesdropped.

"You aren't actually saying that Eric- my baby- is actually Kyle Broflovski?"

The words hit Eric like a stone and he let out a tiny gasp.

"What was that?" Sheila whipped around, scared that somebody else had heard their conversation. She looked to the top of the stairs. "Eric!" she shouted in surprise.

The jig was up and Eric was overwhelmed beyond belief.

"You can't be my mom!" He screamed and ran down the stairs to beat Sheila with Clyde Frog as hard as he could, ignoring the stuffing coming out of his beloved toy's badly damaged head. "I am not that Daywalker-Jew thing! I'm not! I'm NOT!"

"Eric!" yelled Liane, trying to pull the flailing boy off of his mother.

"Gerald!" Sheila cried.

"Liane!" he blurted.

"ERIC!" Liane yelled louder.

The poor boy just kept throwing his tantrum.

"GERALD!" Sheila was getting frantic.

"LIANE!" Gerald followed suit.

"ERIC!"

"GERALD!"

"LIANE!"

"ERIC!"

"GERALD!"

"LIANE!"

"ERIC!"

"GERALD!"

"LIANE!"

"RANDY!"

The four frantic people turned to the newcomer in the doorway. Randy Marsh, Stan Marsh's father, stood grinning, with his fists triumphantly raised in the air. After a few minutes of no reaction, Randy realized his inappropriate folly and sheepishly dropped them.

"I heard you shouting names and thought it was a game, and I wanted to join." He rubbed the back of his neck.

Liane pulled her son off of Sheila as the redheaded woman fumed. "So you barged into the house without knocking?"

"I guess it wasn't a game, then," Randy said dejectedly.

"A game?" The McCormicks popped into the doorway. "Izzit a drinkin' game?"

"Get OUT! This is none of your business!" Sheila shrieked, pointing to the front door Randy had just opened. But of course, this was the podunk town of South Park and nobody knew the meaning of privacy, so instead of exiting through the doorway, more people just invited themselves right in.

Randy's brother Jimbo and his friend Ned shoved by the drunken McCormicks and leapt into the room. "What's attackin'?" Izzit comin' right for you?" They had their guns poised and at the ready, moving the barrel from person to person and paused only when they spotted Jimbo's kin. "Oh, hey, Randy!"

Mr. Mackey, the school counselor, poked his head in the door as well. "I heard screamin' and wanted to know if everything was alright, m'kay."

"Aren't you supposed to be working now?" asked Gerald.

As if on cue, little Butters Stotch walked in. "Hey, everybody! I wanted to see what all the fuss was about." He noticed all the people gathered in the Broflovski living room. "Oh, hamburgers! Are you guys havin' a party?"

Sheila threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Does anyone else want to barge in on us?"

The people in the room began to shout and rabble as Sheila and Liane tried to shoo them away.

In the center of the chaos, Eric had long since stopped screaming and was now staring at the doorway in a dumb stupor. A newcomer had arrived at this impromptu party.

It was here.

Kyle Broflovski had come home from school.