The majority of this chapter is a flashback. I didn't want to label it as such because I think that looks sort of ugly in a story, but I wanted to avoid any confusion, so I decided to just mention it in the author notes. Also, I've finished plotting the story and I'm afraid it isn't going to be as funny as my previous South Park works. I'll still strive for humor instead of angst, though.

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"Cartman!"

Wendy's voice was shrill and furious as she marched to Cartman's desk. She stood over him and glowered, her hands on her hips. He glanced up at her. "What do you want now, ho?"

Wendy sucked in an outraged breath and slammed a piece of paper down on his desk with as much force as one could slam a piece of paper. "What," she shrieked, "is THIS?"

"My article," he said innocently, in a tone that suggested she was an idiot for asking.

"This isn't at all what I told you to do!" she went on, gesturing toward the paper with short, angry jabs. "I told you to report on the football players!"

"Stan does play football," Cartman protested.

"This isn't what I meant and you know it!" she cried, griping the edge of his desk and leaning down to scowl at him. He scowled back. "Did you really think I'd let you publish this... this... libel?"

"It's all true!" Cartman snapped.

"It is not!" Wendy felt like beating her head against a wall. It had to be easier than this. She groaned a little. School hadn't even been in session for a week, and already Cartman was driving her to self-inflicted brain damage. "You're just doing this to piss him and Kyle off!"

"And sell papers!" Cartman said, which was (she guessed) apparently supposed to convince her. "Who wants to read some boring-ass article about football practice? The public wants scandal."

"Our papers are free," she wailed, and resisted the urge to rip her hair out in bloody chunks. Or his. She pushed herself off his desk and clenched her hands at her sides, fighting the impulse to punch him. "We're not publishing that, Cartman! Write the article I told you to!" she shouted, then stomped off.

Cartman scowled at her departing back, then he picked up the paper and scanned it. He'd spent so much time writing the thing, too. He glanced at Wendy, who was talking with Brandon, and gave her a particularly venomous glare.

The God damn hippie-bitch, she was screwing everything up. He'd given up the easy A that was shop class and joined the gay school paper for this. It was just his luck he'd gotten the biggest ho in existence as the editor. Anyone else he would have been able to talk, bribe, or extort into printing the article. But Wendy never fell for this stuff. She was the only one in the whole town that didn't; he even managed to trick Kyle some of the time. He glared down at the paper in his hands, trying to think of a way to get it published. To his frustration, none immediately sprang to mind.

Damn. Damn it all to hell. How was he supposed to get his revenge on Stan and Kyle now?

--

South Park was not a town that invited much change, and Cartman, Kenny, Kyle, and Stan all abided by certain norms. Even after seven years Cartman was still fat, Kenny was still poor, Kyle was still a Jew, and Stan was still as normal as someone could get away with being in South Park.

Stan had braces, however, because he'd gotten screwed by his genetics. It had taken several hours to get them, because at first the orthodontist had put in pink ones by mistake and Stan had been utterly horrified and refused to leave the office until he got something more masculine. Kyle had laughed when he'd heard the story and slapped him on the back and told him he was lucky he wasn't getting headgear. Because, really, then he'd be too much of an embarrassment to hang out with, and they all knew how much he would pine for him.

Kyle had glasses, because he'd ignored his mother's warnings about staying up late watching TV in the dark and had strained his eyes. Kyle had at first been mortified, and tried to destroy or lose them, but they kept mysteriously returning to his room, unharmed. He'd eventually decided that if he had to wear glasses at least they were possessed glasses, which was actually pretty cool, and he actually looked rather debonair in them. Or at least, that's what his girlfriend said. Cartman said any girl that would willingly touch Kyle obviously had unsound judgment and ought to be shunned by normal society.

Then Kyle punched Cartman, though Cartman wouldn't tell his mom who did it because he didn't want to admit someone in glasses had managed to break his nose.

Kenny had lost his parka in fifth grade. A plane carrying the National Firefighters' Convention had crashed into his house and burned it to the ground. Kenny had described the incident as life giving you the finger.

He'd worn his brother's hand-me-downs until seventh grade, when he'd uncovered a shirt with '87' stamped on it at some flea market. Kenny had laughed himself sick when he'd found it and had sported in proudly ever since. Stan hadn't gotten it until Kyle had pulled him off to the side and told him it was a colloquial way of referring to a rimjob while Kenny laughed himself to death.

At first, when he'd walked around without his parka, no one in South Park had believed it was him. This had made Kenny increasingly annoyed as time wore on and they had multiple encounters like this:

"Hello boys," a passerby would say. "Kyle, Eric, Stan... blond kid."

"I'm Kenny!" Kenny would snap.

"Riiiight..." he would say, rolling his eyes skyward. "You're 'Kenny'," he'd continue, making the world's most annoying hand gesture when he said it. "Look, we've all been through this before. Kenny 'dies permanently'-" the annoying hand gesture again "-and they replace him with some blond until he shows up again."

"I'm not that easy to replace!"

"Actually, dude, you kinda are," Stan would say.

The town had only accepted it was him when a place carrying the National Pediatricians' Convention crashed into him while he was standing in the middle of the town square, scowling and asking a mob what he was supposed to do to prove he was Kenny.

Kenny described that as life bitch slapping you.

It was the last day of summer vacation, and they were all plastered to Kyle's couch, sweating because Kyle's mother wouldn't let them turn on the AC, half-paying attention to the TV. Stan had been working at J-mart all morning, which he'd been doing all summer, and now he was whining, which he'd also been doing all summer.

At that particular moment he was whining about Lola.

"She came to see me during my lunch break."

"Hm," said Kyle, who was the only one even pretending to pay attention to him.

"She broke up with me."

"Bummer." One thing Kyle had never been good at, would never be good at, was comforting people. Stan gave him a sidelong glare.

"Aren't you going to ask why?"

"It's obvious why," Kyle muttered. He slide down in his seat and made a face when his shirt rode up and the couch leather stuck to his skin. "You threw up on her. Like you do to all your girlfriends."

"You guys only went out twice," Kenny spoke up. "That's not really dating. You didn't even french her."

"Shut up, Kenny." Stan swallowed and noticed his throat was dry. "Hey," he said, kicking Kyle feebly in the ankle. "Go get me something to drink."

"I'm not your bitch. Get it yourself."

"But it's your house!"

"No."

"C'mon. I'd do it for you."

"Fine, then get me one too while you're at it."

"I don't want to get up," he whined. On a hot, uncomfortable day like today, everything sounded like whining. "I was on my knees all day."

Kenny lifted an eyebrow. "Something you're not telling us about your job?"

Stan scowled at him. "I was repricing soup cans. Christ. Go fuck yourself, Kenny."

"Don't think I haven't tried."

Stan glanced pleadingly at Kyle. "Please?"

"No."

"Fine," Stan grumbled, making a great show of how difficult it was to get off of the couch, and consequently how unreasonable it was to make him. Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman ignored him while he disappeared and went through the motions of getting a glass out of the cupboard. They all jumped, however, when he screamed bloody murder and ran back into the living room.

"Stan, wha-"

"Your refrigerator just tried to kill me!"

They all stared at him for a while. Then they cracked up.

"Kyle! God damn it, it isn't funny!" he snarled. "Your fridge wants me dead."

"Okay, Christ, don't be such a pussy," Kyle said, still shaking with mirth while he climbed off the couch. He walked into the kitchen and immediately noticed the refrigerator, and all the ice cubes that had spilled out over the floor. "Damn, dude, what did you do to the ice maker?" he called out.

"I was defending myself!" Stan shouted from the living room. Kyle shook his head a little and sweep the ice up, dumping it into the sink before it had a chance to melt.

"Ey! Get me a drink, too!"

"Fuck you, Cartman!" Kyle yelled back, but he grabbed him a glass anyway and opened the refrigerator, pushing around food until he found a bottle of soda. He poured a glass for Stan, and then went to pour one for Cartman, too, before hesitating. He set the soda back down, smirking, returned to the sink and grabbed a fistful of dirty ice, dumped it into Cartman's glass, and then filled it to the top.

He carried the glasses back out and found Cartman, Stan, and Kenny were engrossed in an infomercial for authentic japanese weapons.

"We should call and get one," Cartman was saying earnestly.

"Haven't we been through that before?" Kyle asked, rolling his eyes as he shoved his way between Stan and the armrest and handed him his drink.

"I don't hear you coming up with any ideas 'bout what we should do, Jew," Cartman said snidely, grabbing his drink from him and taking a swig. "Ugh!" he said, and made a face.

"What now, lardass?" Kyle said, glaring at him.

"Your bitch of a mother only buys that sugar-free, caffeine-free crap. I'd rather drink water than this shit."

"Shut up about my mother, fat tits!"

"Isn't she too old to be PMSing-?"

Cartman was cut off as Kyle dove at him, swinging. Kyle knocked over a lamp and Cartman cracked the side of head against the coffee table, and they were both splashed with Cartman's drink.

"You fucker!" Cartman wailed, and punched him in the stomach. "This was a new shirt!"

Kyle managed to stand, because he had the advantage of not being on his back. He groaned, clutched the side Cartman's fist had collided with, and kicked him as hard as he could. "Keep your mouth shut about my mother!"

Cartman kicked him back, in the knee, and Kyle fell backwards into Stan, who shoved his drink at Kenny quickly and caught him. Kyle glared at Cartman while he got back on his feet, and noticed for the first time what his shirt said.

"'Schadenfreude'?" he repeated blankly, then scowled. "What is that, German for 'We must exterminate the Jews'?"

"No, that would be 'Wir müssen die Juden ausrotten,' you uncultured simpleton," Cartman said haughtily, and Kyle growled. "Schadenfreude is finding joy in another person's misery."

"The perfect shirt for you, then," Kyle said darkly. He finally seemed to notice he hadn't moved since Cartman had kicked him, and was half-sitting in Stan's lap, Stan holding him up. He stood up and went to stand the lamp back up.

"We still don't have anything to do," Kenny complained. "Come on, I don't want to piss my last day of vacation away listening to you guys fight. I can do that any time."

"Well there isn't anything to do," Stan said, and then the infomercial they'd been watching ended and a regular commercial came on.

"Hey!" the TV exclaimed cheerfully. "Last day of summer vacation? No where to go? Nothing to do? Then come on down to the free carnival, one day only, in Fairplay!"

Then it switched over to an ad for the latest weight loss program, which was paying someone twenty bucks to follow you around and smack the food out of your hands.

"... That was freakishly specific," Kenny said.

"Yeah, the timing of that was a little too perfect. It's rather off-putting," Kyle said.

"Who cares, it's a free carnival!" Cartman said, who always focused on the things that really mattered. "Come on, let's go!" he shouted and left the house so quickly he didn't close the door after him.

Kyle, Kenny, and Stan remained where they were sitting, looking after him. There was a pause, and then Cartman reappeared in the doorway, scowling at them.

"Assholes, come on."

The other three sighed and got off the couch, turning off the TV and stretching. Kyle picked up the keys to his dad's car on his way out, and Stan closed the door behind him. Kyle hopped into the front seat and Stan and Kenny engaged in a brief scuffle of who got shotgun (Stan, having the advantage of not being scrawny and underfed, won), but Cartman remained in the yard.

"... You're driving?"

"It's my dad's car. Of course I'm driving," Kyle said.

"No."

"Cartman, God damn it!"

"No way am I getting in a car with a Jew behind the wheel. Jews are horrible drivers."

"We are not!"

"Cartman, just get in the fucking car." Kenny said.

"Hey, if you want to go flying through the windshield and get run over, that's your business. I'd rather walk."

"Do you want to go to the carnival or not?" Stan challenged. Cartman's rage was such that it could only be expressed in choked out syllables. He finally snarled and climbed in, making a get show of buckling his seat belt. Kyle glared at him in the rearview mirror.

Ten minutes later Cartman was saying, "Told you so."

"I swear the tree jumped out of no where!"

They all scrambled out of the car and surveyed the damage. The car had plowed into a tree, consequently putting a huge dent in the hood and cracking the windshield. Kyle groaned and buried his face in his hands. "My parents are going to kill me."

"So you tried to take us down with you!" Cartman cried. "I knew that was your plan all along!"

"You boys need any help?" drawled a southern voice, and they turned around to see none other but Officer Barbrady.

"Yes!" Cartman said immediately. "We need you to drive us to Fairplay."

Barbrady got out of his car, walking around it, stared at the smashed car for a few minutes, then scratched his head. "Did someone have an accident?"

"All right, we gave you a chance," Cartman swore. "Kenny! Hot-wire his car!"

Everyone ignored him. "Is everyone all right?" Barbrady questioned.

"Kenny probably isn't," Kyle mused.

"Actually," Kenny spoke up, "I'm fine."

Kyle blinked and turned to look at him. "Really?"

Kenny spread his arms out and shrugged. "Perfectly fine."

"Huh," Kyle said. "Weird."

"We're all fine!" Cartman wailed. "Can we go now?"

"Actually," Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck, "my neck kind of hurts."

"Whiplash!" Barbrady cried with a dramatic uplifting of the arm. Stan's eyes widened in alarm.

"You think?"

"Definitely," Barbrady said, nodding authoritatively. "You'd better all get to the hospital."

"Sure," Cartman said. "We'll get right on that. You can leave now."

"I'll call an ambulance."

"God dammit!" Cartman shouted.

Barbrady leaned into his car through the driver side window, using his intercom to call. Cartman seethed while Stan questioned Barbrady about just how deadly whiplash was, Kyle stared at his dad's car and groaned, and Kenny prodded himself, apparently amazed all his parts were still in the right order.

"Just how long is this going to take?" he demanded, glaring at Barbrady.

"Oh... an hour for each of you, an extra two for the waiting room?" Barbrady estimated.

Cartman stood back and closed his eyes in a grimace. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked down the road at the ambulance that was fast approaching. He dropped his hand, took a deep breath, and turned to face Kyle and Stan.

"... you GOD DAMN FAGS!" he exploded. "I'm going to miss a free carnival because you two assholes are determined to ruin my last day of summer vacation! Oh, I am going to get you for this, you sons of bitches! I'll hang your nut sacks from the rearview mirror for this! Just you wait and see!"

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TBC