Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman
Chapter 01: Hello, Mr. Cartman
He could hear the cameras flashing around him as he made another speech. He was getting pretty damn tired of making similar speeches seemingly every day to another group of people. Especially when some of the people in the groups he'd recognize, which kind of freaked him out, since he got this sense that they were following him. Was he gaining stalkers? Nonetheless, he found this kind of thing drastically boring, but he also knew that it was entirely necessary for what he was trying to do. Becoming the President of the United States wasn't the easiest thing in the world. If it was, he wouldn't have worked his ass off (literally, some might say) to get there.
On the other hand though, he wasn't finding things to be too difficult. He already had a lot of public favour and had been on the news because of his achievements, which mostly circled around his quick rise in the governmental system. They were all so damn awed by how powerful he was becoming and not only because he was doing it so rapidly but also because he was doing it so young. Hell, he was only thirty-one years old; half the time he even wondered how he'd done it.
Then he'd realize it was because he'd actually started to care about what he did. School work became important and though it was just to piss that Jew off at first, it had soon become for something else. Greater plans in which he planned to use to make the world to what he saw to be better. The best part was that everyone in the United States seemed to be behind him on it and they didn't even know what he was going to do yet.
"Of course there are those of you wondering what makes my promises so much better than the promises of the other man running for this position, and I do have an answer to give you," Eric Cartman's loud voice rang out and it was loud enough that he probably wouldn't need a microphone, but the microphone was a definite bonus. "I'm not here to make specific promises that I may never accomplish or that I never plan to accomplish. I do have one promise to make though that I will use all my power to achieve, and that is to make this country a better place! My power, the money, it will all be used wisely to bring justice to the people. It will be used to fix what needs to be fixed. To help start hopefully the world in a path to better living. That is what I plan to do!"
It was well present in the formerly large man's mind that making such a vague speech could cripple him and cause people to lose faith in him, but so far it seemed to be working quite well. The cheering was enough to tell him that as well as the good reports he saw in the papers day after day. The papers that almost always had the exact same type of photograph to accompany the article. The photograph which held the face of a suit-clad, auburn hair man smiling at the crowd and making the people happy (or at least they looked happy).
Said suit-clad, auburn-haired man stepped away from the podium, walking down the steps where a group of reporters swarmed him. The men that acted as Eric Cartman's bodyguards took their places in keeping these journalists back, but their swarming only amused him. He watched as they fought feverously against the larger-built men to get to the thirty-one-year-old-could-be-President while they all the while continued to snap photos and keep their cameras running with the microphones pointed at him.
"Mr. Cartman! Mr. Cartman!" they all called out in means to grab his attention, but even without his attention they would continue on with their questioning.
"Mr. Cartman! Do you think the people will vote for you?" one shouted his way as he practically dropped the microphone as he was jerked violently by the rest of the reporters crowding around.
"Who the people vote for is up to them. I just hope that whoever they pick is the right choice," he replied with the implication stuck in there that he thought that he was the right choice. Whether they would pick up on this or not was beyond him, nor did he really care because he did think that he was indeed the best choice.
"Mr. Cartman! What do you think of your competition?" another launched an attack in form of question, holding out the microphone so that he could catch the reply.
Though he was growing tired of all their repetitive questions he answered the ones he could and felt like answering anyway. This was something he was growing used to, something he knew he would have to grow used to since he planned to make huge changes in their country. These changes he knew would cause controversy, but he was set on doing them all the same.
With eventuality he was able to pass through the mob of people and make it to the clichéd, black and shiny car that was waiting for him at the curb. With a final grin and wave to the people and reporters, he stepped into the vehicle, his bodyguards climbing into one behind him, and told the driver where to go. Even if he hadn't told said driver where to go, the man would have known anyway. There were few places that Mr. Cartman would be going.
Cartman leaned back against the plush seat of the car, sighing and closing his eyes while he relaxed a little. He'd grown accustomed to the headaches that came with all their shouting to the point where he could just ignore them. At first it had been hell in a damned hand basket, but he was okay now. So much so okay that he didn't need to take out any headache medicine anymore. He always kept it with him just in case, but lately he'd been fine.
While he very much just wanted to go home and sleep, he couldn't and he was aware of this. The work day wasn't over yet. Others would probably tell him he could go home, but with his mind dead set on keeping up his good appearance, his intentions were to keep working until he could work no more, at which point he planned for the country to take sympathy for him. As long as they still believed in him.
So for now, he would keep working.
xxxxxxx
It was rounding eleven o'clock at night by the time Cartman got back to his house from working. He did nothing more than enter the large condo, remove his shoes, walk to the living room, turn on a light, sit down on the couch and then turn on the television. Soon he would probably even be heading for bed if he didn't fall asleep on the couch beforehand. The time being though would be consumed by him watching the eleven o'clock news to see if there was anything interesting being reported.
Of course on the news as of late he kept witnessing events that were being reported solely because he was there. Generally when he saw himself on the television he would take the time to study his flaws; to study so he could make himself better the next time. He discovered that he often found flaws, usually insignificant things that other people wouldn't notice, but he noticed and it often bugged him. He wasn't quite a perfectionist, but pretty close, especially when it came to getting what he wanted done and getting it done well.
He'd always been one to scrutinize politicians on television, or even when he saw them in person. He was constantly looking at them, judging them and thinking that they could do much better. He could recall a time when he was younger when he was sitting on his couch at his mother's house and eating some Cheesy Poofs while screaming at politicians who couldn't hear him on the television. It was his opinion that they never did anything right; they were always doing things in stupid ways that would get them no where. That's when he'd really become interested in changing that by becoming a politician himself. He would be the one to change things, at least that's what he was convinced of.
Even as a child he began to recognize that the government was too damn concerned with other countries when he saw that they needed to fix their own first. There were so many problems that became present to Cartman that he wanted to go down and meet the President and tell him what to do. He wanted to smack him across the face and get his attention so that the real problems could be addressed. But he couldn't do that and he formulated the plan.
He could clearly remember the shock on people's faces when he'd gotten his first A in the seventh grade. At first they'd thought maybe the teacher had been paid off somehow to give the boy an A, many even suspected Mrs. Cartman for having something to do with it, but it turned out it was a genuine A . One that he'd earned all by himself by picking up his studies and paying attention in class. They'd begun to watch him, and noticed that he took notes all the time instead of slacking off and playing video games or napping behind a propped up text book. When they realized this, many thought it was a bloody miracle, that they wouldn't have another deadbeat in their town.
The expression that was lodged in his memory the clearest though came from a one Kyle Broflovski.
"Lookie here, Kyle. I got an A !" Cartman recalled to this day using those words to grab his friends' attention, though especially Kyle's.
"Yeah right, fat ass," Kyle snapped back in an instant, disbelieving that Cartman could get anywhere near an A. He knew Cartman to often be happy when he got a D minus, so why would Cartman even go for getting an A ? But then he caught a glimpse of the paper with the red A written at the top. Before he could even stop himself, his hand snatched the paper away and Kenny and Stan crowded around him to check it out, too.
"Kyle, Kyle, no need to check the answers. They're all right." Cartman just crossed his still-somewhat chubby arms and grinned. The look of panic in the Jewish boy's grey-hazel eyes was priceless and caused him such glee.
"You must have cheated!" Kyle decided after seeing all the answers were perfectly correct, as he should know since he'd aced that test himself.
"Or it was his mom," Kenny's muffled voice came from behind the hood of the parka as per usual. Many often wondered how long the boy would wear a parka and refuse to let the hood down. Maybe he was hiding something?
"Shut the hell up, Kenny!" Cartman made to swing at the blonde, but he dodged easily. "And I didn't cheat. That's a genuine A right there!"
"Cartman, since when do you get A's of any sort?" Stan now inquired, handing the test paper back before Kyle ripped it to shred in his anger.
"Since right now." Cartman took the test and neatly folded it before putting it in his backpack where it would be safe from the enraged redhead's clutches. He'd definitely be showing his mother that lovely piece of paper later.
"No way, I won't believe it!" Kyle shook his head in disbelief.
"Believe it, Jew-bag, cause it's real."
This had continued up all the way to graduation, even after graduation from university. Cartman had begun to excel and there seemed to be no stopping him, no matter how hard the young Jewish man had tried to prove that it couldn't all be intelligence. Cartman didn't have intelligence, according to Kyle.
Now Cartman saw that he was probably about to become president of the whole United States of America. He would be the one standing at the head of the people under the flag of red, white and blue. Cartman could see Kyle's expression already and he even wondered if there would be a heart attack caused by shock involved. One could only hope.
"Elections are just a week away and people are getting anxious to vote. With some it is clear who exactly they are going to vote for, but with others there still seems to be some skepticism between the candidates," a reporter on the television told the man sitting on the couch.
"We'll just have to change that, won't we?" Cartman spoke to himself, taking note of everything the reporter was saying. He needed to sway the people in his favour, after all as he was determined not to lose.
"Many are evidently in favour of Eric Cartman, who, if elected, will be the youngest President that the United States has seen. Perhaps it is because of his youth that some are aiming to vote for him, though it is suspected that it is his promise to make our country a better place. Of course many have said that in the past and done little to achieve it, but the passion behind this man's words appears to be fully genuine," the reporter, a middle-aged man continued to say. As he was making this report he was standing in front of one of the main buildings where the elections would be taking place.
Cartman merely nodded at the word genuine, as if the man was right in front of him instead of a pixilated image on the television screen. Maybe it was just habit of listening to these people and having to respond somehow, maybe he was just a little odd; either way it didn't really matter.
As he continued to sit on the couch, he attempted to stay awake to at least hear what the next day's weather would be, though it didn't affect him all too much. The need for sleep was just something he couldn't fight off however; his eyelids were becoming increasingly heavy and closing without him even realizing it quite a few times. When he did realize, he'd snap them back open, only to have it happen again. Eventually, the sleep won, leaving him to fall asleep on the couch.
As he slept, Cartman dreamt. He dreamt of the only thing that had been consuming his thoughts, waking and sleeping, lately: being president of the U.S. of A. Even taking into consideration how much he'd matured over the years and years of growing up, he still wanted to rub that one fact in Kyle's face. That he'd gotten a better job; that he was the one who had the most power. Kyle's constant protest had pushed him forward, that and the praise he'd received from everyone else. He had to admit though, Kyle was the only smart one of the lot of them.
This dream specifically dealt with Election Day, where even Stan (who'd once refused to vote, much to his regret later on) and Kenny were voting for him. This time, the voting wasn't for something so simple as choosing between a Giant Douche and a Turd Sandwich for a mascot for some crummy school that everyone hated. It was of course much more important than that, and of course Cartman came out victorious; it was his dream after all.
As mentioned, even in his quite mature state, he was still rubbing this in Kyle's face, the face of a boy who was now sobbing because he'd been outdone by a 'fat ass'. In the real world, as well as in the dream, Cartman was grinning broadly, watching as all hope was taken away from the Jewish boy. There was no changing it now. Cartman could do whatever he wanted. Whatever he wanted… Whatever he wanted…
The man awoke with a start, hearing the television's volume at a sudden highest level. Apparently in his sleep he'd begun to press the volume louder and louder for the object that some called the 'idiot box'. Returning the volume to its normal level, Cartman stretched and turned it off. He ran his hand through his short hair before throwing the remote on the couch as he stood up. As he was heading towards his bedroom to sleep in his much-more-comfortable-than-the-couch bed, he was beginning to unbutton the shirt he was wearing to trade it for whatever he chose to wear as pajamas. Whether they were actually pajamas or just a shirt and a pair of boxers, he didn't really care. Just as long as he could sleep.