Chapter #2: You're Not Alone
Author's Notes: Hey guys! Long time no see! Thank you so much for the reviews/favorites/follows to this story! I really love hearing from you guys!
So, I know it's been quite a while since I posted the last chapter, but I just got really busy with life. However, I have really been looking forward to continuing this story. Originally, I was going to keep this story as a one-shot, but then ideas kept popping into my head, and well, I now know exactly where this story is headed and how it will end. There will be 10 chapters in total. This particular chapter will focus on Cartman and how his get-rich plan develops. The story will still be a Cartman and Kyle friendship story, but will mostly feature the Candy pairing.
In addition, in the last chapter, I noticed I kept mixing up Clyde with Craig, yikes. It's just that Craig looks like a Clyde, and Clyde looks like a Craig haha. But now I know that Craig has the blue ski hat and Clyde doesn't wear a hat lol.
Also, this is unrelated, but I kind of want to push Cartman over and see if he rolls. xD
...
Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, or any of the South Park characters, but if I did, I'd hide all of Tweek's coffee stashes for a few months, just to prove to his parents that he doesn't have ADD. Sure, he'd have withdrawals, but after a while, he'd get over it. That is, if his parents didn't make a big stink about it.
...
"Here you go, hon," Liane said, placing a plate of Salisbury steak before Cartman. She took a seat in the chair across from him.
"Kickass!" Cartman exclaimed before promptly digging into his steak. Liane smiled before taking a bite out of her own steak. The two Cartmans sat silently at the table, enjoying their meals.
When Cartman was halfway finished with his steak, he put his fork down and kept his eyes focused on his mother eating. Liane remained unaware, continuing to cut into another piece of her steak. Cartman cleared his throat, causing her to look up at him.
"Mom, I have a proposition for you," he responded in his professional voice.
Liane's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh! What is it, poopsiekins?" she asked.
He took a dramatic pause to let the tension set in. Then, he spoke.
"Mom, what if I told you that I found a way that will make us both a million dollars richer, and have us chilling by pool side in our multi-million dollar mansion by next week?" he asked.
Liane's face brightened. "Ooh! What did you have in mind, dear?" she asked.
"Just hear me out, mom. Your part is easy. All I need you to do is go on the Maury show and pretend that you were one of Johnny Depp's past lovers, and that I'm the son he never knew about. That way, he'll feel bad, arrange a schedule to meet with me to get to know his son better, and then we'll demand that he pay child support for all the years that he missed out on," he explained. "By going on the Maury show, we'll gain publicity, and if he tries to turn us down, other people will know and pressure him to do his fatherly duty. Then, he'll have to pay his part and before you know it, we'll be rolling in the dough."
Liane was hesitant. "Oh, I don't know, sweetie. That doesn't seem like a nice thing to do," she responded.
He sighed. "Okay, look mom. I didn't want to break it to you this way, but I don't have a father and I'm feeling kind of bummed," he answered. "It's not fair that I have to grow up watching other kids spend time with their father and have someone to look up to while I have pretend that I'm not lonely at night and that I'm okay with not having a father."
He looked to his mother with sad eyes. "I know that you're not okay with it either, mom. You're lonely too, and miss the feel of a man's touch at night. Deep down, you want this just as much as I do. And what we're doing is not really mean. We're just giving Johnny Depp more people to love in his life, and isn't love the most beautiful gift of all?"
A singer tear rolled down Liane's cheek. Cartman smiled inwardly. He knew how to work his mom.
"Mom, all I'm asking you to do is pretend that you've dated Johnny Depp before. I'm sure he's dated tons of other women already. He won't even know the difference. You do that, and we'll both be needing wheelbarrows for all the money we'll be packing," he said.
"But Poopsiekins," Liane said, "Mommy has already dated Johnny Depp."
"I know that mom, but-" He stopped. "Come again?"
"Mommy has already dated Johnny Depp, sweetie. You see, it all happened when I was just a teenager," she started, looking up fondly at the memory.
…
"I remember being a wee bit reckless at that time. One time we went drag racing together. Johnny was so good to me. We had a really great time."
It was a warm summer day in L.A. A large crowd of onlookers swarmed a pair of motorcyclists.
A young Liane Cartman dressed in a short black dress and red stilettoes clung tightly to a young brown-haired man in a black jacket on a red Harley Davidson motorcycle. In one of her hands, she held a glass of tequila. She laughed light-heartedly.
"Yoohoo Johnny~! The faster we go, the more loving you'll get later on," she slurred.
"You've got it, babe!" Johnny Depp said, revving up the engine. He put on his dark shades and gave a challenging nod to the motorcyclist across from him.
Across from them, a young dark-haired man in a blue motorcycle revved up his engine in return.
A blonde woman in a skimpy red bikini crossed out in front of both motorcycles. She held up one arm.
"Racers ready!" she called out. The crowd roared.
A moment passed.
"Go!" she yelled, thrusting her arm downwards.
Both motorcycles immediately sped off with Johnny Depp in the lead.
"Oh my!" Liane exclaimed. She attempted a sip of her drink, but spilled it all over her dress. She laughed.
"You like that, huh?" he asked the giggling Liane. Johnny Depp looked behind him. The other motorcyclist was tailing them. "Watch this."
Johnny Depp slowed the motorcycle down, allowing the motorcyclist to catch up. The other motorcyclist glanced over and slowed down his motorcycle in turn. Both motorcycles were now tied. Then, without warning, Johnny Depp floored his motorcycle, causing a billow of smoke to be left with the other motorcyclist. Both Liane and Johnny Depp laughed as they crossed the finish line.
Their motorcycle skidded to a halt, and Johnny Depp and Liane got out. The crowd cheered, chanting Johnny Depp's name over and over. Liane wasted no time in getting better acquainted with Johnny Depp. She jumped into his arms, wrapping both legs around his waist.
"Oh Johnny! Kiss me," she said before jamming her tongue in his mouth and making out with him. Johnny Depp complied immediately. After a few minutes of intense making out, Liane broke off from the kiss and gave Johnny Depp a sly look.
"Mm, how about we go somewhere a little more private dear, so I can give you a better view of my goodie-goodies."
"You sure get straight to the point," Johnny Depp replied, grinning.
"Oh yes, it was a lovely time indeed. I remember feeling so sore for about a week after we-"
"Gross, mom!" Cartman cut in, shutting his eyes. "I hate it when you do that."
Liane chuckled. "Oh! Sorry, sweetie. Mommy forgets sometimes that you are still my little love muffin."
Cartman blushed in embarrassment. "Mom, quit it! I'm not a baby," he said. Then, he looked serious. "So, you're telling me you had the chance to be with Johnny Depp and be freaking rich and famous, and you still chose to live in this redneck town with a bunch of dumbass people and poor fuckers like Kenny?" he asked.
"Well, sweetie, at the time, I had other obligations to fulfill," she answered. "Like taking care of a beautiful baby boy.
His eyes widened. "You mean . . . ."
She nodded. "Yes, Eric, the beautiful baby boy I was pregnant with while dating Johnny Depp was you," she responded.
Cartman went quiet, seeming to mull her words over. "But . . . can't you just, you know, pretend that he was the father of the baby you were pregnant with? Please mom? Just for a little while?" he asked sweetly.
"Well, Muffin, I'm afraid that would be lying, and I haven't spoken to the guy in years," she said. "We broke up shortly after he heard I was with child."
Cartman didn't take no for an answer. "But mom, haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to relive those glorious days when you could have anything you want?" he asked.
She smiled. "I have you for that, honey."
He rolled his eyes. "I know, mom. But haven't you wanted something more? Haven't you missed being able to do anything you want without struggling to make ends meet?"
She considered it. "Well . . . maybe . . . ." she said.
Cartman reached over and grabbed Liane's hand, startling her.
"Mom, look, all you've got to do is fake a few tears here and there, make up some story about how much you've missed Johnny Depp, and have been wanting him to meet his son, and then you and I will be set for life," he persuaded. "And besides, isn't it kind of your job to make sure that your child is fully taken care of?"
"Well, I guess . . . but sweetie, what are we going to do when he asks for a DNA test to see if you're really his child?"
"You leave that to me, mom. I've already got it under control."
"Well, okay, Eric, but only for a little while," Liane replied.
Cartman grinned. "Sweet!" he exclaimed. He internally noted how his plan was coming along quite nicely. It wouldn't be long before he would have his million dollars.
Not long at all.
...
…
On Wednesday morning, Cartman awoke to the sound of his mother's voice.
"Eric, sweetie! It's time to wake up. You'll be late for school," she said, gently shaking him. Cartman groaned, pulling the covers over his head to block out his mother and any sunlight.
"If you stay in bed, your breakfast will get cold, snookums."
Cartman immediately sat up in his bed. He didn't need to be told twice. The second he sat up, his nose was hit with the intoxicating aroma of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. His stomach growled.
"I'm up," he said, before he rolled out of bed, waddled out of the bedroom, and raced down the stairs. Liane chuckled behind her hand. That was the son she knew.
…
After breakfast, Cartman went to his room, and hurriedly began packing his belongings in his backpack. He figured that if he got to school before the bell, he could make Butters share all of his math answers for the homework.
He also vaguely remembered that it was gym day. It sucked ass. Everyone was always making fun of him for being the slowest runner in the class. Well, excuse him for not wanting to kill himself.
He looked around for his gym clothes, but they were nowhere to be found in his room.
"Mom!" he yelled. "Where did you put my gym clothes?"
"They're in the dryer, hon," Liane's voice answered from downstairs.
Cartman groaned at having to walk over to the laundry room, two rooms over. When he opened the dryer, he found his gray gym uniform with the "South Park Elementary" labeling, but . . . the uniform appeared much smaller than he remembered.
"Mom!" he yelled. "The dryer shrunk my clothes again!"
His mother walked in shortly after, and pulled out a few shirts and pants from the dryer, inspecting them closely.
"Hm, that's odd," she regarded thoughtfully. "None of the other clothes shrank, and I thought I made sure to use cold water this time in the wash," she pondered aloud.
"Well, thanks to your careless mistake yet again, mom, I have to listen to my friends call me fatass and lardbutt in gym class, all because my clothes are too small to fit me now," he complained. "Sheesh, this is like the fourth time this month. Get it together mom."
"I'm sorry, sweetie. How about mommy packs you a pastrami sandwich and chocolate cake for lunch?"
Cartman scratched his chin. "Make it three pastrami sandwiches, three chocolate cakes, and two chocolate chip cookies, and we have a deal."
"You've got it, hon," Liane answered before going on her merry way.
"Sweet," he replied with a grin.
...
…
At school, Cartman waddled over to Kyle and Stan at their lockers.
"'Sup," he greeted.
Kyle paused his conversation with Stan to look over at him.
"Fatass," he said. "Why are you here? Your locker's on the other side of the hallway."
"For your information, Jew, I just came back from my locker," Cartman answered, matter-of-factly. "And I didn't come here to talk to you, I came here to wait for Kenny."
"Speaking of which," Kyle replied. "Cartman, did you remember to ask your mom to bake a cake for Kenny's birthday party tomorrow?"
"Yeah, Cartman. You better not have forgotten. You know your mom's cakes are the only reason anyone ever invites you to their parties," Stan chimed in.
"Okay, first off. Fuck you, Stan," Cartman said, casting an angry look in his direction. "And second, yes, I remembered to ask my mom about the cake. I asked her right before I went to bed. She told me she'd bake a special triple-layered chocolate mousse cake for the party."
"Awesome! Kenny's party's going to kickass," Stan cheered.
"Yeah!" Kyle agreed.
"Hey guys!" Kenny's voice greeted. A blonde-haired kid sporting an orange parka walked up to them.
They all stared at him.
He raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.
"Your hood, dude," Stan pointed out.
Kenny blinked. "Oh, right. I, uh, decided it was time to ditch the hood. Apparently, chicks dig you more when they can actually hear what you're saying," he explained. Then, he looked to Kyle. "So, uh, what were you guys just talking about?"
Kyle jumped in surprise. "Oh! Um," he started. "We were just saying that, uh—"
"I was just telling them that I'm planning on changing my schedule so that I have gym in the spring," Cartman interjected. "That way, I can show off more of my hot bod when I run around the track."
Kenny smirked. "Heh. That's funny," he said.
Cartman blinked. "What's funny? Me changing my schedule?"
"No. You running," he answered.
Stan and Kyle snickered.
Cartman's eyebrows furrowed. "Kenneh! Quit joking, seriouslah!" he demanded.
Kenny arched a brow. "I was joking?" he questioned.
"I'm going to kill you someday, Kenneh," Cartman mumbled in annoyance.
Kenny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's supposed to scare me, fatboy," he said. The school's first warning bell sounded. He turned to Stan and Kyle. "Well, guys. I have to go. Annie says she'll let me watch the cheerleaders at practice today if I promise to save a seat for her at the back of the class in Science." With that, he walked away.
Stan turned to Kyle. "Kenny's still the same Kenny, even without the hood, but it's still kind of hard to get used to," he said.
"Yeah, I'll say," Kyle agreed. The second bell sounded. "We should probably head to class."
"Okay," Stan said, packing up all his books.
Kyle shut his locker and turned to Cartman. "Cartman, meet me at my house after school. 3p.m. sharp," he said. "I'm not going to let you sit there and watch me do all the work for the project this time."
"Can't," Cartman answered. "I've got things to do."
"Like what?" he challenged. "You're such a liar, fatass."
"Am not," he replied. "And like I'd tell you, Jew. You'd just try to get in on it like the conniving Jew you are," he said.
"In on what? Fatass, you're not making any sense," Kyle responded. The final warning bell sounded.
"Well, guys. I wish I could stay and chat, but that's the final warning bell, and I'd hate to have to listen to Ms. Garrison bitch again. Later dudes," Cartman said, walking away.
"Cartman, wait! What were you—" Kyle tried, but it was too late. Cartman was already out of earshot. Or maybe he was within earshot and just didn't want to listen. Either way, Cartman never looked back.
"You know what?! Fine, then. I'll just tell Ms. Garrison that I did most of the work!" Kyle called after him. Then, he looked to Stan. "Damn it! I hate it when he does that!"
"Later for him, Kyle. We're going to be late," Stan said, ushering Kyle along.
"Yeah," Kyle agreed. The two hurried to Science.
...
…
Cartman stood before a gate with the words, SOUTH PARK GENETIC ENGINERRING, labelled across the top. Beyond the gate was a steep, snow-covered hill leading up to Dr. Mephisto's home. The clouds hovered ominously above the house as lightning bolts etched the sky. It was weird how the stormy clouds hovered nowhere else, but the house, and Cartman didn't recall there being rain in the forecast that morning.
He took a deep breath. This was it. With this missing piece, he would be able to convince the world that Johnny Depp had a son he never actually had. With that in mind, he headed through the gate doors and up the winding road to the house.
When he finally reached the house, he had to take a few moments to catch his breath. The journey was more exercise than he'd done in a month. He rang the butt-shaped button on the door. Predictably, fart noises sounded from it.
He heard heavy footsteps moving towards the door. Then, the door opened, revealing an elderly man standing with a cane in a yellow floral shirt and park ranger hat, and his mini-me clone standing beside him.
Cartman straightened up. "Good afternoon. Dr. Mephisto, I presume? I am in need of your genetic engineering services. Nothing big. I just need to you to alter my DNA a little," Cartman explained in his professional voice.
Dr. Mephisto stared down at him. Then, he blinked. He pointed at Cartman. "Oh, I remember you! You're that fat kid the whole town lied to about your mom being a hermaphrodite so you'd stop bothering us about your real father."
Cartman's face reddened in rage. "You son-of-a bi—" he stopped himself, clearing his throat. "Err, yes. But I have to correct you on one thing, Dr. Mephisto. I am totally not fat."
"You look fat to me," Dr. Mephisto said. His mini version chuckled.
"Well, with all due respect, sir," Cartman said, "You look like a shriveled-up reject that no one gave a shit about so you live alone on this mountain, cloning failed experiments, and a mini-version of yourself to cover up for the fact that no sane woman ever wanted to bear children as hideous as you are, and you will probably die alone with nothing to show for it."
Dr. Mephisto's eyes widened. "Oh," he replied.
"Shall we move on?" Cartman responded.
"Yes, of course," he said, opening the door wider.
Cartman nodded. "Very nice," he said.
Cartman followed Dr. Mephisto deep in his lab of misshapen butt creatures. When they passed by a large machine, Dr. Mephisto stopped and turned around to face him.
"So," he said. "You said you wanted me to alter your DNA. Any particular type of DNA you want me to alter it to?"
"I request that you alter my DNA to Johnny Depp's."
Dr. Mephisto jumped in surprise. "Johnny Depp?! May I ask why?"
Cartman shrugged. "Why not?" he said.
Dr. Mephisto nodded his head. "I see," he replied, as if that explained everything. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "A celebrity, huh? That might take a couple of days. I assume you have a DNA sample from Johnny Depp, be it a hair strand or a nail clipping?"
Cartman brought out a plastic bag of black pubic hair. "Will these do?" he asked, holding the bag out to Dr. Mephisto.
Dr. Mephisto took the bag from Cartman, inspecting it carefully. "And these . . . are Johnny Depp's? Where did you find these?"
"Ebay," Cartman answered.
Dr. Mephisto blinked. "I-I see . . . They sure have everything on the Internet nowadays," he muttered. "Are you sure you don't want me to just clone another Johnny Depp for you? I'm sure he could re-enact movie scenes just as well." Then, he added. "You know, probably."
Cartman shook his head. "No, I need you to do just as I have requested, Dr. Mephisto. I need you to alter my DNA so that it matches Johnny Depp's DNA," he said.
The doctor sighed. "Oh, fine," he replied. Then, he looked to his mini version. "Kevin, take this bag of pubic hair, put it into that green slot, and enter the data into the machine there."
"EEE!" Kevin said, taking the bag and following the doctor's command.
When Kevin gave the thumbs up that the data was entered, Dr. Mephisto looked to Cartman. "Right. Now, at this point, I would usually ask for you to give me a sample of your DNA, be it a hair strand or a nail clipping. But, before we begin, I'll be needing $25,000," he responded.
Cartman's eyebrows shot up. "$25,000?! The fuck?! I don't have that kind of money!" he said angrily.
"Oh, you don't? I-I see . . . ." Dr. Mephisto replied, turning off the machine. The machine powered down. He faced Cartman. "Tough luck, kid. No money, no DNA."
Cartman wasn't done. "Since when do you charge for DNA altering? In your posted ad, you said everything was free, you asshole!"
Dr. Mephisto nodded. "It was. That is, until I got sued for digging up cadavers from the old Indian burial grounds to use for my experiments," he explained. "You see, the cadavers are important for running my machines."
"Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? The whole reason I even want my DNA altered is to get money!" Cartman argued.
Dr. Mephisto shrugged. "Don't care how. Get the money, and then I'll alter your DNA. But until then," he motioned over to his mini-version. "Kevin will show you to the door."
Without warning, Kevin came from behind Cartman and lifted him off his feet. "Da fuck?! Let me go! You can't do this to me! I'll sue you for all you're worth!" he shouted.
However, his pleas were ignored as Kevin marched him to the door, and threw him back out onto the winding road. Cartman heard the door slam shut.
Cartman got up, waving an angry fist. "Yeah?! Well, screw you guys! I'm going home!" he called out. He brushed himself off. "Goshdamnit," he mumbled before trudging in the direction of home.
...
…
Cartman emptied a handful of cheesy poofs in his mouth as he absentmindedly watched another re-run of the Terrance and Phillip show. Terrance had just asked Phillip to look up and hold his position while Terrance climbed a small ladder and let out a big one in Phillip's face. Phillip screamed, causing Terrance to laugh, and soon enough, Phillip was laughing with him.
"Ahahahaha!" Cartman laughed, just as the front door opened. Liane Cartman and a blonde-haired woman carrying a small blonde boy stood in front of the TV.
"Ay! You're blocking the screen!" Cartman exclaimed, trying to look around them.
"Eric sweetie, I need you to do a favor for mommy," Liane said.
"Not now, mom. I'm busy," he said hurriedly. "And tell your slutty friend to move."
Liane smiled sweetly. "Honey, this is Ms. Alders," she introduced, gesturing to her friend. "And this is her four-year old son, Tommy." She gestured to the child in Ms. Alder's arms.
"Don't care, mom," Cartman responded, turning up the volume to the TV to drown her out. His mom frowned, plugging out the TV.
"Da fuck, mom?!" he exclaimed.
Liane ignored him. "Eric, mommy's friend and I are going to a grownup party. Mommy needs you to be on your best behavior and watch little Tommy for a couple of hours since your babysitter Shelly is going to a concert tonight and couldn't be here," she said.
Cartman glared up at her. "Oh hell no! I know how you bitches work. The second you get some alcohol in you and start talking, you forget about everything, and I miss out on dinner. So, fuck you, mom, and fuck you, Ms. Alders," he replied.
Liane frowned. "Now, Eric, don't be stubborn."
"I said, no mom!" Cartman argued. "There is no way I'm going to watch a screaming kid while you two have fun and party all night long." He crossed his arms.
Liane sighed, looking to her friend. Then, an idea hit her. "But, sweetie, if you watch baby Tommy until we get back, Mommy will get extra chicken from KFC tonight," she persuaded.
That perked him up. "The Kernel?" he asked in a softer tone.
Liane gave a knowing smile. "Yes, hon. I'll get three buckets of chicken instead of one if you watch Tommy for me," she assured.
Cartman scratched his chin, thoughtfully. The money would surely bring him one step closer to getting his DNA altered.
"A-And I'll give you two dollars!" Ms. Alders chimed in. She put Tommy down and reached into her purse, revealing two one's.
Cartman grinned. "Deal!" he said. "But if you guys take longer than two hours, I demand overtime. An extra dollar for every hour you're late."
Liane and Ms. Alders smiled.
"Done!" the Ms. Alders agreed. She handed Cartman the two dollars. Cartman pocketed the money.
Ms. Alders crouched down, facing her son. She put two hands on his shoulders. "Now, Tommy," she said, looking into his eyes. "This fine young gentleman has agreed to look after you for a couple of hours. Do you think you can be a good little boy while Mommy's away?"
Tommy nodded.
Ms. Alders smiled, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Thatta boy. Mommy will be back soon. Love you," she said, getting up. She smiled at Cartman. "Tommy is a little shy and doesn't talk much, but I'm sure you'll take great care of him," she said.
"Whatever," Cartman replied.
Liane and Ms. Alders left the house. Cartman looked to the young boy standing in front of him as he sucked on his thumb.
Cartman cleared his throat, causing the boy to look at him. "Okay, kid, let's establish a couple of ground rules. This," he said, gesturing to the couch he was sitting on. "Is my couch. Only I get to sit here. You take the floor. Me, nyeh. You, hyeh. Got that?"
Tommy nodded.
"And second, there will be no crying when Terrance and Phillip is on. I'm seriouslah. If you cry, I'll kick you square in the nuts," he explained, pointing to his chubby foot. "And finally," he pointed upstairs. "If you need to use the bathroom, it's upstairs, down the hall, second room on the left."
He looked to the bag of cheesy poofs in his hands. "Also, this is my bag of cheesy poofs. That means none of it goes to you. Understand?" he asked.
Toddy nodded once more.
"Very nice," Cartman nodded in acknowledgement. He then got up and waddled over to the TV, plugging it in again and pushing the power button. The TV turned on. Then, he waddled back to his seat. Tommy sat on the floor, continuing to suck his thumb.
"Ever watched Terrance and Phillip?" Cartman asked when he was seated comfortably.
Tommy shook his head.
Cartman grinned. "Well, get a load of this," he said.
…
An hour into the Terrance and Phillip show, there was a knock on the door. Cartman looked to the young boy sitting on the ground.
"Alright, kid, since my mom isn't here, I'm putting you in charge of door duty," he said.
Tommy stared back. The knocking grew louder.
"That means get the door," he said.
Tommy continued to stare, sucking his thumb.
"I'll tell mom on you," Cartman threatened.
Tommy did nothing.
He groaned. "Dumb kid," he muttered, getting up and waddling to the door. He went to the door, opening it.
"Alright, asshole, if you don't stop—"He paused, taking in the elderly man in a purple shirt and blue jeans standing on the doorstep. "Who the fuck are you?"
The elderly man looked down at Cartman. "Oh, I was just passing by the house, and I happened to look in the window and couldn't help but notice that remarkable young fellow sitting in front of the TV with you. The way he sucks on his thumb so slowly in such a tantalizing manner is just . . . mmm."
Cartman gave a bored look. "Okay, weirdo, you have ten seconds to leave before I sick my cat on you," he said.
The man's eyes widened, putting his hands up in surrender. "No, wait! You don't understand!" he exclaimed. "Please, I just want to show that handsome young boy of yours a nice time. It'll only be for the afternoon."
Cartman snorted. "Yeah, like I'm going to give up two whole dollars for some creepy old pedophile to have his way with my money ticket," he replied, beginning to shut the door.
The man stuck his foot in the doorway. "I'll double what they're paying," he insisted.
Cartman looked back up at the man with an intense stare.
"Done," he said. "Wait here."
The elderly man nodded.
A few moments later, Cartman was dragging out a young boy by the back of his shirt. "Here he is. Now where's my money?" he asked.
The grinning man forked over the cash in exchange for the four-year-old. The elder man rubbed Tommy on his shoulders slowly before they left the house. Cartman counted the money as the man drove off with Tommy. Tommy stared sadly back at Cartman through the back window of a black car. Cartman slammed the door, taking his seat back on the couch.
…
Shortly after, Liane and Ms. Alders returned to the house.
"Eric, sweetie, we're home!" Liane called out.
Cartman jumped up from the couch. "Kickass! KFC, here I come!" he exclaimed excitedly.
Ms. Alders approached him. "I can't thank you enough for looking after Tommy," she said.
"Oh, actually I sold him off to some old geezer not too long ago. I got four dollars! See?" He said happily, showing her the cash.
Ms. Alders looked like she was on the verge of having a heart attack. "You WHAT?!" She screeched. "AHHH my baby!"
She ran out the door and into the street without looking. An oncoming truck hit her immediately, taking her mangled body with it.
Cartman looked at his mom. "Mooooom, can we go to KFC now?" He whined.
"Bad Eric," his mother scolded him. "No KFC for you!"
"Say what now?!" That perked him up. "But we had a deal! You better not fuck me, mom!"
"I promised you KFC only if you looked after the kid until we came back."
"But moooom, I did look after him."
"Until we came back, Eric! Now find him now!" She ordered, uncharacteristically.
Cartman breathed out a long, irritated sigh. "Fine . . . ." he said.
He dialed a number into a phone. "Hello? ¿Es carlito? Escucha, necessito encontrar un niño pequeño que tiene cuatro años. Sí, it should be a black car. Un carro negro. The license plate number? Hold on. It's XXX-XXXX. You got that?" He asked. He pulled out a radar in one of the drawers. "I'm tracking him right now. He should be headed in your direction now. Bring your gang along. Don't let him get away. How long? Veinte minutos? Okay. Hasta pronto." He hung up.
Cartman looked at his mom. "I hired a Mexican gang. They should be here with the kid in about twenty minutes."
Liane's eyes widened in amazement.
As promised, twenty minutes later, the gang arrived with Tommy.
Cartman took Tommy by his hands, and handed him over to Liane. "Ah, yes. Nicely done. I believe he won't be bothering us again?" he asked.
The Mexican gang leader shook his head.
Cartman grinned, handing a Mexican man a dollar. The Mexican men all grinned. "Very nice. You keep the job up and I might upgrade you all to a dollar fifty," he said.
"Sí, gracias, Señor Cartman," said the leader.
Cartman shut the door, turning to his mother. He clapped his hands together. "Okay, now let's get that KFC," he said.
"But, Eric, what about Tommy?"
Cartman shrugged. "Sure, we can bring him too. I think they have kids' meals too."
"That isn't quite what mommy meant, sweetie."
...
…
As it turned out, the Cartmans did take a trip to KFC and brought Tommy along with them. Just as they were all finished with their meals, Liane's IPhone rang. She answered it.
"Hello?" she asked. Her eyes widened. "Oh goodness, how terrible! Yes, yes, I see. We'll be there right away, doctor." With that, she hung up.
Liane's face wore a solemn expression. She looked to Tommy.
"Tommy, sweetie. I have some bad news. It's about your mom."
Tommy's thumb fell out of his mouth, his face paled.
"Mo . . . mma?"
Cartman reached over and grabbed a chicken leg from Tommy's plate.
…
Liane walked Cartman and Tommy over to the intensive care unit. They had just checked in at the front desk as visitors, and were now headed to Ms. Alders' room. In one of Liane's hands, she carried a bouquet of "get well" flowers. When they arrived at the room, Liane slowly opened the door to reveal a blonde woman heavily-wrapped in bandages from head-to-toe, attached to a few IVs, a ventilator, and a beeping heart monitor.
"Moooom, do we have to be here? Terrance and Phillip is on!" Cartman whined.
"Hush, Eric!" Liane scolded him, watching as Tommy slowly walked over to his mother.
"Momma?" he asked, peering up at her. Tears fell from his eyes. "Momma!"
Ms. Alders did not respond.
Liane placed the bouquet of flowers on the nightstand beside Ms. Alders. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Cartman yawned. "Moooom, can we go now?" he complained.
Liane looked back at him and smiled sadly. "Yes, Eric. I think we should leave."
With that, the Cartmans left the room, leaving an incapacitated mother and her grieving son alone together.
...
…
As the Cartmans walked down the hallway, Cartman suddenly stopped when he heard a man's voice beckoning him.
Liane noticed this, stopping to look back at him.
"What is it, poopsikins?" she asked, her face reflecting confusion.
Cartman didn't answer, but turned to face an elderly man lying in bed in a small room. The door was wide open with the number "1115" etched across it.
"You there, young man. Could you please come in here for a moment? I have something I need to tell you," the man asked.
"My mom says not to talk to strangers," Cartman replied, turning to leave.
"Wait! Please don't go!" the man's voice called in desperation. Cartman stopped. "I have something to give you."
Curiosity piqued, Cartman turned back around and walked towards the room. "It better not be a disease," he mumbled.
"Eric, sweetie? Don't stray too far from mommy!" he heard his mother's voice from behind him.
He entered the room, keeping a safe distance away from the man, just in case he tried to rape him.
The elder man leaned back against his pillow, giving a faint smile. "Come . . . closer . . . ." he stated weakly.
Cartman took a hesitant forward.
The man laughed. "I'm not going to bite."
"Look, mister. If you're going to give me something, then do it now. Otherwise, I'm going home," Cartman replied. His mom joined him then.
"Honey, we really shouldn't be bothering the patients," Liane said.
"I know, mom, but this guy says he wants to give me something," he replied.
Her eyes widened, looking to the man in question. "Oh! What is it that you wanted to give my little Eric?" she asked.
"Well . . . actually . . . ma'am . . . it's more-so money-related. You see, I am a very wealthy man, but . . . the problem is . . . I'm not very . . . close with my relatives," he paused for a moment to catch his breath. "Now, mind you . . . that hasn't really . . . bothered me since they've been trying- . . . trying to get their hands on my money for years . . . but now . . . I'm getting up there in age and I- . . . I really did some thinking. I thought . . . what if I died? Where would . . . that money go? So . . . I decided that . . . in order to prevent . . . my relatives from getting . . . their hands on it . . . I'd . . . give the money to someone who really needed it." His eyes met Liane's. "That's when I saw your boy."
Liane gasped. "My Eric? Sir, what are you saying?" she asked.
"I'm saying that . . . I want your boy to inherit . . . the ten million I've hidden somewhere. It's . . . in a chest, but . . . it needs- . . . needs a passcode that only . . . I know. With your permission, ma'am . . . I'd like to give that code . . . to your son," he finished.
Cartman, who had been on the verge of falling asleep through the man's speech, was now suddenly wide awake.
"Oh my God, mom! I need that money!" he announced excitedly. Maybe he wouldn't need Johnny Depp after all.
"But sweetie, we can't just take his money," she reasoned.
Cartman heard none of it. "Goshdamnit mom! Don't get in the way of a man's dream!" he said, moving up to the elderly man's bed. He pulled out an IPhone. "Alright, now what's the code?"
"Eric!" Liane cried.
The man gave staggered laughs. "Don't worry, ma'am, it's quite alright. It's refreshing . . . to see someone with so much . . . energy . . . at the hospital," he responded. He looked to the eager boy in front of him. "Now, Eric, was it? The code I'm . . . about to give you . . . is very important. It's seven num—"
"Just skip to the numbers, asshole," he cut in.
"Eric! Be nice!" Liane chastised.
The man laughed again. "As you wish . . . The passcode is five . . . seven . . . nine—" he coughed violently.
"579 . . . what?" Cartman asked.
The man took a few deep breaths and started again. "F-Five . . . seven . . . nine . . . fift—" he stopped abruptly, gasping for air.
Cartman rolled his eyes. He walked over to the nightstand and grabbed a small notebook. "Mom, do you have a pen?" he asked.
"Oh! Why, yes, Eric. Hold on for just a moment," Liane answered, rummaging through her purse.
Meanwhile, the elder man appeared to be in distress, his gasps growing more pronounced as he began grasping at his throat.
"Mom, hurry!" Cartman exclaimed.
"Oh, I know there's a pen in here somewhere . . . ." Liane said as she continued to rummage through his purse.
"Mom, just empty your purse!" he replied. Impatiently, he rushed over to his mom and grabbed her purse, turning it over and letting all the items fall out onto the floor. Among the items was a mirror, a sanitary napkin, a red wallet, a dildo, a checkbook, and . . . a pen!
"Finally!" Cartman said, grabbing the pen.
"Oh, that's where I put it," Liane replied.
He glared at her. "Thanks a lot, mom! Why do you women always need to bring so much stuff?!" he asked.
"I'm sorry hon. I—"
BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
The sound of high-pitched tone stopped them. Both Cartmans turned to look at the elderly man now lying lifelessly on his bed. The heart monitor that made occasional beeps was now showing a line across the screen and emitting a continuous tone.
Without warning, a crowd of nurses and a doctor burst into the room. One nurse carried a defibrillator in hand.
"What's going on? What happened?" the doctor said, looking to them.
Liane was in shock. "I-I don't know, doctor. He just-"
"It's okay. We'll try to revive him. I'm going to need you both to wait in the hall now," he cut in.
"Alright, doct—"
"No way am I leaving without my money!" Cartman exclaimed, pushing past them.
"Eric!" Liane shouted.
Cartman rushed to the patient's bed side. "Where did you leave the ten million? Goshdamnit! Wake up! I need you to tell me where you're keeping the money!" Cartman said, shaking the man's shoulders furiously.
Suddenly, two nurses grabbed him from behind. "Da fuck?! Let go of me! He can't die!" Cartman shouted, thrashing about. He was dragged out of the room.
"We'll take things from here," a nurse said, shutting the door.
"Thank you," Liane said, standing next to Cartman.
Cartman banged on the door. "Goshdamnit! Let me in!"
Liane looked to the energetic boy beside her. "Let's give him some time, dear. The doctor and nurses are doing the best that they can."
Cartman looked to his mother angrily. "It isn't fair! I was so close! Getting my money taken away from me like this is like the biggest 'fuck you' ever!" he said. "It's all your fault mom! You took so long with your stupid purse!"
"Poopsiekins, I—"
"If he dies, I'm holding you personally accountable!" Cartman replied, storming away.
Liane sighed.
…
A couple of hours later, a doctor approaches the Cartmans in the waiting area.
Both Cartmans perked up.
"How is he, doctor? Is he going to be okay?" she asked.
"He should be just fine now. We almost lost him a couple of times, but we were able to revive him. He's a little weak though, so when you speak to him, don't do anything reckless," the doctor looked to Eric especially.
"Oh, don't worry, doctor. We'll only stay a little while," Liane agreed. With that, both Cartmans got up and walked over to Room 1115.
Inside, the heart monitor showed occasional blips on the screen. As they approached the hospital bed, they saw the elder man's chest move up and down, and his eyes were closed. However, when Cartman stood over him, the man slowly opened his eyes.
Cartman breathed a sigh of relief. "You're awake. Now tell me where you left the money."
The man stared at him in confusion. "Money?" he asked.
"Yes! The ten million dollars you said that you were keeping somewhere!"
"Sweetie, let him rest . . . ." His mother coaxed softly.
"No mom! We're not leaving until I get my goshdamn money!" Cartman protested. He turned back to the man. "Now tell me where it is."
Man takes a moment to ponder it. "Money? Oh no . . . sonny. I'm afraid . . . I don't have much of that these days."
"Don't try to hold out of me, old man! You said you were keeping ten million dollars in a secret place! Now tell me where it is."
"What? I said no such thing."
"Yes, you did."
The elderly man gave staggered laughs. "Oh, well . . . You should know better . . . than to take what a sick man in bed says seriously . . . I'm sure I was out of my mind . . . thanks for saving me though."
Cartman levels the man with an intense stare. "Listen, asshole. I did not miss Terrance and Phillip and wait here for two hours just for you to lie to me," he said. "Now, I'll ask you again. Where. Is. My. Money?!"
He grabbed the IVs that were attached to the man.
"Eric, don't!" Liane said.
"W-What are you doing?! N-Nurse!" the man yelled.
"Wrong answer," Cartman said before ripping the cords out harshly. The man screamed in pain.
Many nurses rushed in and pulled Cartman away before he could cause any serious damage. Both Cartmans were then insisted to leave the hospital.
…
…
The drive home that night had been torturous for Cartman. He had spent the entire half hour futilely trying to explain to his mom why grounding him for a week was a bad idea since a) the old man lied to him about the money and b) he was actually doing the world a favor by killing the man since there were enough bad people in the world, and the man was old and sick anyways.
So, instead of eating cheesy poofs in front of the television like he had originally planned, he was instead forced to sit in his room and come up with a plan for how he would earn enough money to get his DNA altered by Dr. Mephisto.
Many crinkled up papers later, he was finally able to come up with a plan that would work. But first, he needed an accomplice—a partner in crime, so-to-speak. He grinned.
He knew just the person for the job.
…
…
The next day, at Stark's pond, a young dark-haired girl in a pink beret carried a clipboard with a stack of papers with the words, "Save the Marine Life," labelled across the top.
Wendy spotted a group of six people passing by and she gave them a cheery smile. The group stopped in front of her. "Hi there! My name is Wendy Testaburger. I'm starting a petition to raise environmental awareness for the marine life at Stark's Pond. By signing this petition, you would really be helping get the mayor's attention for this great cause. Now, who's w-" she stopped mid-sentence when she saw the group leave. "-with me . . ." she finished sadly. To her horror, she saw a person throw a crinkled wrapper in the pond.
Wendy groaned in frustration. "Damn it! Why won't anyone listen to me?!" She shouted.
"'Coz no one gives a fuck about stupid fish," Cartman answered, walking up to her.
"No, Cartman," she stated firmly.
Cartman's face twisted in puzzlement. "No? What the fuck does that mean?"
"You're going to try to convince me to join some crazy scheme of yours, so I'm just telling you 'no' in advance that I don't want any part of it," Wendy said, matter-of-factly.
He rolled his eyes. "What, so all of a sudden you're some kind of mind reader now?"
She put her hands on her hips, giving him the "no bullshit look." "Cartman, I've known you for years now . . . don't you think I would know if you were up to something?" Wendy inquired. "Besides, if I was a mind reader, I'd know that right now you were about to say something derogatory towards me like I'm a dumb hippie-bitch."
"Oh, look at me! I'm Wendy Testaburger, and I'm a know-it-all who can't get her titties to calm down so I have to go ruin life for everyone else . . . ."Cartman sarcastically remarked. ". . . Dumb hippie bitch." He muttered the last part.
Wendy gave a triumphant smirk.
"Whatever, ho. You're probably used to hearing people call you that." Cartman said begrudgingly. "Look, just listen for a sec!"
"Why should I?"
"Because. . . I just might know of a way to actually help those stupid fish of yours."
She shook her head. "The fish aren't stupid, and no thanks. I don't need any help. My petition is doing just fine," she argued, turning away from him to scout out more people that she could get to sign her petition.
He moved to stand in front of her. "No one gives a shit about petitions. The mayor will take one look at it and throw it in the trash," he replied.
"People do care about petitions. The signatures on my petition indicate that," she responded, turning to face him. "And I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you speak for the mayor."
"Oh really? How many signatures have you collected?"
"None of your business."
He peered over her shoulder. "I see three signatures ending in Testaburger, one of which is yours."
"Move!" Wendy exclaimed, pushing him away. "If you want to help so much, start collecting signatures," she demanded.
"Look, instead of wasting time on this crap, you could have already saved the marine life, been labelled a hippy hero, and have Ms. Garrison kiss your ass when he's grading our projects next week," Cartman replied. "All you've got to do is hear me out. You know how dedicated I can be. If I say I'm going to save the fish, then I'm going to save the damn fish, no matter what it takes."
Her eyes narrowed. "How?" she asked.
"I'll get the city council to pass an ordinance authorizing the protection of Stark's Pond."
She crossed her arms. "No killing?" she asked.
"Well . . ."
"Cartman," Wendy warned.
He rolled his eyes. "Oh fine. No killing . . . this time," he muttered the last part.
Wendy thought it over. In truth, she really didn't need Cartman's help to save the marine life. She could very well do it herself by her own efforts. However, by the look of things, it seemed like she was going to be stuck at Stark's Pond for a while, and a part of her was curious about what Cartman had in mind.
"Okay, fine. You have five minutes," she relented.
Cartman breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to use Butters after all. "Finally, you use your brain," he said.
"Four minutes," Wendy snapped, narrowing her eyes.
"Okay, okay. Geez, ho. Take a joke," he replied, holding his hands up in defense. He took a deep breath. "I need you to be my wife."
Wendy blinked several times. "Excuse me?!" she said. She must not have heard him right.
"I said, 'I need you to be my wife.' Well, my pretend wife, and it would only be-" he shook his head. "Look. Last night, I was flipping through some channels and I saw a commercial."
"Uh huh . . . ."Wendy said, not knowing where he was going with this.
"The commercial featured a game show host in Los Angelos who talked about this brand new live show coming out called, 'Marriage with Love.' It's a show where eight married couples from the states are pitted against each other for the title of happiest married couple in the country. There's three rounds in total. The first with eight couples, then four couples, and then two," he explained.
"And you're telling me this because . . . .?" She asked.
His brown eyes locked on with hers. "I want us to enter the game show," he said. "The host said that they're still accepting contestants for this season, but the deadline is in a couple of days, so I need a quick decision."
"Why do you want to enter this contest?"
He grinned. "Easy. The winning couple gets $50,000. I figure if we win, we can split the money 50-50, then I'll have the money to get my DNA altered, and you can have enough money to build an indoor sanctuary around Stark's Pond," he said.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why exactly do you need to get your DNA altered, Cartman?"
He glared. "Never mind that. What's important is that you agree to this, so we can get our money already."
Wendy considered it for a moment. Finally, she replied, "How would we even get there? You said the game show takes place in Los Angelos."
"Already covered. We'll use my mom's credit card," he responded easily.
Wendy glared. "Did your mom say we can use it?"
"Does it matter?" he said.
"Yes, it matters! It's your mom's money!" Wendy fumed.
He rolled his eyes. "You know, I really don't need you to bitch at me," he said.
"I wouldn't need to 'bitch' at you if you cared about someone else besides yourself for once!" She argued.
Cartman gritted his teeth. "Alright, alright. I've heard you already. I'll consider it," he said. "Just say 'yes' so we can get to Los Angelos."
"No," Wendy said.
He blinked. "No? Why the fuck not?"
"It's stupid, and I don't want to go," she replied, turning away from him.
"Winning $50,000 isn't stupid! You really think a piece of paper with a few signatures is going to make a difference?" he asked.
She faced him again, leveling him with a glare of her own. "There are many reasons why your plan is stupid, and I can list a few. First, even if I agreed to be your pretend wife or whatever, what makes you think that we, of all people, are going to win against seven other married couples who have probably been married for years when a) we're not even married, b) I hate you, and c) we know absolutely nothing about each other, except for the fact that you're a complete moron," she answered. "Second, there's no way in hell I'd ever travel anywhere with you, let alone Los Angelos, even if there was a small chance I'd get money for it."
"Okay, I admit you're right about one thing. We hate each other. Me, personally, hating you with the intensity of a thousand burning suns," he said.
"Ditto," she agreed.
"But that doesn't mean we can't learn to get along. Sure, it might be a little unbearable at first, but I'm positive we can work past that," he said. "We both need that money right now and although we don't know much about each other, besides the fact that you're a tree-hugging hippy and a total bitch, we can take time to learn things about each other on the way to Los Angelos by asking each other questions and planning out what we're going to say before we're questioned."
"I'm not a hippy, and I'm not a bitch, you prick!" she argued. "And no one in their right mind would look past the fact that we're kids."
"Actually, I've found a way around that. We can lie on the application about our age an-"
"Yeah, because that'll explain everything," she interjected sarcastically.
"You didn't let me finish, ho," Cartman said in annoyance. "We can lie on our application about our age, AND we can say that we have a condition."
"What kind of condition?"
He smirked. "You let me handle that."
She rolled her eyes. "But why would you choose me of all people? Why not someone else?" she asserted.
He said nothing.
"Well?" Wendy inquired.
"It doesn't matter why," he finally replied.
She sighed. "Find someone else, Cartman," Wendy said, turning away from him.
"B-"
"Oh hi! Have you heard about the disastrous effects of pollution on Stark's Pond?" Wendy said suddenly, walking over to a passerby.
Cartman let out an irritated groan. "Stupid bitch," he muttered, walking away.
…
…
Later that day, Cartman walked up to Kenny's dirty house carrying a large white box. His mother had just dropped him off. He rang the doorbell. He heard footsteps heading to the door.
The door opened, revealing Kenny.
"Hey dude. That for me?" he asked, pointing to the white box.
"No," Cartman said, walking past him and into the house to find Stan and Kyle seated on the couch together with a few opened presents nearby.
Kenny shrugged and shut the door behind him, walking over to the couch. He knew it was pointless to expect anything from Cartman. Kyle looked up at Cartman.
"Took you long enough," he said. "What happened? Your fat ass slow you down?"
"Stan, tell your butt-buddy I'm not interested so he'll quit eye-raping me when my back is turned," Cartman responded.
"I wasn't eye-raping you!" Kyle shouted indignantly.
"Cartman, shut the fuck up," Stan answered.
"Yeah, Cartman," Kenny chimed in. "Only the birthday boy gets to do the eye-raping." He smirked, eying a new playboy magazine with a naked woman on the front cover.
Cartman rolled his eyes, taking a seat next to Kenny on the couch.
Stan eyed the package Cartman was carrying. "Hey Cartman, is that the chocolate mousse cake you said your mom was going to bake?" he asked.
"Yep," Cartman replied.
"Yeah!" all three boys said in unison, grinning at each other.
"Well then, Kenny, you open Stan's gift and then we can eat some chocolate cake," Kyle said.
"You read my mind," Kenny said, opening the small Terrance and Phillip package. Inside was a fresh pair of red laced panties.
Kenny grinned, looking over at Stan. "Dude, you're awesome! How did you know?" he asked.
"I had a hunch," Stan laughed.
"Where did you even get those?" Kyle asked.
"Victoria Secret," he replied simply.
"Dude, you went to Victoria Secret, bought these, and didn't get stopped?" Kenny asked.
Stan blushed. "I told them I was buying it for my mom," he said.
"I love you! I'll have to remember to go there sometime and ask one of the girls for their number and say it's for my mom?" Kenny responded. "Were they hot?"
Stan shrugged. "Kinda," he said.
Cartman chuckled. "There's no way the Jew would do something like that. He's too much of a prude," he said.
The boys looked over at him.
Kyle said, "D-dude, please don't tell me that's-"
"My cake! What the fuck, Cartman?!" Kenny exclaimed.
Cartman was currently licking chocolate frosting off his fingers. His mouth was covered in chocolate, and the box was empty.
"Cartman, you're such an asshole. You can't bring a cake to someone's party and eat it for yourself," Stan reasoned.
"Dude! You could have at least let me lick the box of all the frosting! I was really looking forward to that!" Kenny said.
"Why? It's not like the cake was for any of you," Cartman said.
"What do you mean, 'not for any of us?' We were the ones who told you to bring the cake to Kenny's party, asswipe!" Kyle argued.
"Yes, Jew, you told me to bring the cake. You didn't say I had to share the cake," Cartman answered. "Mom baked this cake just for me. I'm tired of you guys freeloading off of me."
"Freeloading?! All of us chipped in to buy Kenny gifts for his birthday. What did you bring, fatass, besides yourself?"
"I'm glad you asked, Kahl," Cartman said, wiping his hands off on his pants. "I brought Kenny the greatest gift of all—his life."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Kyle asked.
Cartman grinned. "Ever heard of refeeding syndrome?"
"Refeeding what?" Stan asked, scratching his head.
"It's a condition that applies to people who are severely malnourished," Kyle answered. "Basically, if a malnourished person eats too much too soon, they could get really sick."
"What Kahl here has said is correct," Cartman said. "We all know that Kenny's family is poor as fuck and barely has any food lying around the house."
"It's true," Kenny agreed.
"Exactly," Cartman nodded. "So it's fair to say that Kenny finds himself starving pretty often. It's also fair to say that he loves chocolate cake."
"Also true," Kenny nodded.
"By preventing him from eating any of my mom's super-delicious chocolate mousse cake, I'm actually helping him so that he wouldn't be tempted to eat too much too soon, and thus, destroy all his insides. Hence, I am saving Kenny's life," Cartman explained.
He continued. "In addition to that, I am also saving your life, Jew, and the hippy over there," he said. "Jew, you're diabetic. Too much of my mom's chocolate cake could send you to a very sugary grave. And Stan-" he stopped, thinking it over. "Well, Stan can just suck my balls."
"Hey! What'd I do?!" Stan argued.
"Well, gee Stan, I would have considered giving you some of my ultra-delicious chocolate cake, if not for that comment you made earlier about no one inviting me over without my mom's cake," Cartman remarked.
"Dude," Stan said.
"So, in conclusion," Cartman said. "I think we have established that I am not only a totally kewl and awesome person, but also that you three owe me for saving your lives."
"We don't owe you anything, Cartman," Kyle said. "Stop being such an asshole."
"My, my, sounds like someone's an ungrateful bitch," Cartman commented.
"I'm not being ungrateful!" Kyle argued. You're just being a douche because had you really wanted to 'save our lives,' you would have just not brought any cake with you to begin with."
He continued. "But instead, being the super douche that you are, you not only decide to bring the chocolate cake to Kenny's birthday party, fully aware that he loves cake, you decide to eat it in front of him, and rub it in all of our faces about how delicious your mom's cake is, and then act like you're doing us a big favor by eating it. So I repeat. Douche."
"He's got a point," Stan said. "You are acting pretty douche-like."
Cartman rolled his eyes. "Pfft. Whatever. Screw you guys, I'm going home," he said, hopping off the couch and proceeding to the door.
"Screw you, Cartman! You always run anyways!" Kyle called after him.
Cartman slammed the door.
Kenny looked over at Stan and Kyle. "So . . . you guys want to play Black Ops in my room?" he asked.
"Yep!" Stan said.
"Sounds good," Kyle replied.
The three boys headed up the staircase.
…
…
On Friday, Cartman spotted Wendy heading to the library after lunch. Not fazed by their last encounter and not surely one to back down on a fight, Cartman followed after her, intent on getting Wendy to change her mind about being on the game show with him.
Wendy was in the middle of skimming through a book at the back of the library, when Cartman approached her from behind.
"'Sup, ho," Cartman greeted.
Wendy jumped, not expecting him. She turned around and Cartman could just see the displeasure in her face upon realizing it was just him.
"Ugh. What do you want, Cartman? I already said no," She said.
"Come on, ho. This is just acting. Haven't you ever wanted to star in a play?" he asked.
"Not when Romeo is a gargoyle," Wendy replied, walking away from him with a book in hand.
Cartman followed her, rolling his eyes. "Ha ha. Funny," He said. "I happen to know that gargoyles are so kewl, they fly and protect people at night."
Wendy checked out her book and turned around to face him. "Oh, my mistake," she answered, "I meant to say you're more like a walrus because you're way too lazy and fat to do anything."
Cartman paused. "The fuck is a walrus?" He asked.
"Google it," Wendy said, walking out of the library.
…
…
In the girl's bathroom, Wendy and Bebe were conversing.
"Bebe, I don't know what to do. This is the second time that Cartman has bothered me about this stupid game show thing. I already told him no, and he just won't listen," Wendy complained.
Bebe checked herself over in the mirror, and then turned to face her. "What's the big deal? Just ignore him, and he'll eventually go away. That's what I always do," she said.
"That'll just encourage him! You know how he is. Once Cartman's set on something, he never gives up," Wendy argued.
"Yeah? Well, neither do you," Bebe stated.
Wendy stopped. "That's true . . . ." she agreed.
Bebe smiled reassuringly. "Listen, Wends. Don't let fatboy get to you. If you don't play his game, he'll eventually back off. He's like a fire that feeds off of energy. The less energy you expend on him, the fewer times he'll speak with you until he's completely gone."
Wendy nodded. "You always know the right thing to say, Bebe."
"Tell that to the math teacher," Bebe said, grinning.
…
…
After PE, Wendy was alone in the girl's locker room, packing up her gym bag. She had told her friends to go on ahead of her to their lockers to pack up their stuff for the day. She was just about to head out of the locker room, when she heard the door open.
"Bebe?" she asked from around the lockers.
"Guess again," Cartman answered, a smug grin on his face. On his back was a blue backpack.
Wendy frowned. "I said, no, Cartman. Please don't make me file a restraining order against you," she said, trying to walk around him. He blocked her. "Move. You can't keep me in here."
"First," Cartman said, ignoring her. "I wanted to tell you that I googled 'walrus' earlier today, and I just have one thing to say: fuck you."
Wendy smirked. "Is that all?" she asked.
"Second," Cartman said. "I didn't want it to have to come to this, but you left me no choice." He let out a big sigh, removing his backpack from his back and taking out a manila envelope. "In my hands, I hold some incriminating evidence of you participating in some rather unorthodox things."
Wendy crossed her arms. "Fake," she said. There was no way that Cartman had anything. She was smart enough to cover her tracks with anything that would remotely put her in a bad light. Cartman was bluffing.
Cartman's grin widened in a way that sent shivers down Wendy's spine. "Oh no, ho. I can personally attest to the fact that the photos contained in this envelope are 100 percent genuine."
She laughed. "Fine, let's see these pictures of yours if it will make me get out of here faster," she said.
He smirked, handing them over to her.
As she opened the envelope, Cartman commented, "Oh, and rest assured, I have multiple copies of the photos stored on my computer, just in case you thought that destroying these photos would erase any evidence."
Wendy looked closely at the incriminating evidence. Her eyes widened.
"Where did you get these?" she asked, fear now evident in her tone.
"I have my sources."
Wendy raised an eyebrow. "What kind of sources?"
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I have the photos now, don't I?" He said, knowing full well that he had Butters take the photos for him. "Question is, does this change your mind about the game show?"
Wendy's eyes narrowed, focusing on the confident grin Cartman was sporting. How she wished she could wipe that smirk right off his face. She tucked the photos back in the envelope, handing it back to him.
She levelled him with a glare. "So, basically, you're blackmailing me into cheating on Stan with you by pretending to be your wife after I've cheated on Stan only once," she replied, ignoring his question.
Cartman nodded. "Right, but that's based on your definition of cheating. My definition, however, is different," he said. "I believe that it's only cheating if you kiss someone and it actually means something," he explained.
He continued. "By kissing me, you'd only be doing what actors do every day. After all, many of them have wives or husbands at home, but they kiss another person for the sake of playing the part in a movie."
"So you wouldn't actually be cheating on Stan with me as you did before. You'd be merely playing the part. Do you see what I am saying now?" He asked.
Wendy shook her head. "That's how a lot of cheating goes on in Hollywood though. It starts out innocent enough with the kissing in the movies, but more often than not, the actors or actresses end up filing for divorce from their partners because the kissing starts meaning something later." she said.
"Right, but that won't happen with us. I mean, I don't date hippies and you aren't good enough to be with this hot body," he said.
She frowned. "Um, I think you meant, I would never want to be caught anywhere within two centimeters of you. Kissing you would be like kissing a pile of crap that's been in the sewer for days, no years!"
He glared. "And kissing you would be like drinking vomit that came out of a prostitute with herpes and all sorts of diseases."
She smirked. "I thought you already taste that when you kiss your mom."
"Ay! I thought you already taste crap in the sewer when you kiss Stan."
"Leave Stan out of this!" Wendy yelled. "And if kissing me is so bad, why not get another person to do this? Don't think I've forgotten that you avoided this question the other day."
"Because," Cartman said.
"Because why, Cartman?" she pressed. "Because you've already asked everyone else and they all said, 'no?'"
Cartman grew quiet. "What's it to you anyways?"
Wendy grinned triumphantly. "So I was right," she stated.
"Look," Cartman said. "You don't love me, and I definitely as hell don't love you. So there's no way this could be classified as cheating now or ever. Now are we going to do this or not?"
"No!" Wendy said. "Have you been listening to me at all? I said, I wouldn't be caught anywhere near you and kissing you would be a nightmare."
He frowned. "Fine, then I guess I'll just be taking these pictures right hyeh and-"
"You're wasting your time," she interjected. "Stan will still love me even if you show those pictures to him."
He smirked. "That's where you're wrong, ho. You see, he believes in your definition of cheating. Think about it. How do you think he'll react when he sees you out kissing these guys that aren't him?" He said. "Let me rephrase it, how would you react if you saw Stan kissing a bunch of other hoes that weren't you?"
She didn't answer.
Cartman continued. "I think, no, I know he'd freak for sure if he saw those photos. I've known Stan for years and I know he'd revert back into that emo pussy he was a couple of years ago."
"If you don't believe me," Cartman remarked. "Go and tell him yourself. That way you'll know for sure how he'd react. But just remember, you could have been $25,000 richer and kept this secret to yourself."
"Up yours, fatass." Wendy said, now determined. "I'm going to tell Stan right now."
"Go right ahead," Cartman said, moving aside. "See you in fifteen at the library."
He laughed when Wendy flipped him off before storming past him and out the door.
…
…
Stan and Kyle were conversing with each other when Wendy approached them.
"Hi Stan," Wendy greeted in a soft tone.
Stan blinked, surprised to see her. "Oh. Hey Wendy. What's up?" he asked.
Wendy looked down and bit her lip. Should she tell him?
She looked up and placed a hand on Stan's shoulder, her gaze set on his. "Look, Stan. You know that no matter what happens, I'll always love you, right?" she questioned.
Stan shifted uncomfortably. "Uh . . . yeah?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. Then he thought the worst. "Oh God! You're not breaking up with me, are you?" He exclaimed in panic.
Wendy gave a small smile, shaking her head. "No, Stan. I'm not breaking up with you," she assured.
Stan let out a deep sigh. "Oh. Well that's good," he said. "Then, what's up?"
"It's just . . . ." Wendy started hesitantly, then thought better. She shook her head. "It's nothing. I just wanted to say, have a great weekend, Stan."
"Uh, ok. You too." Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
Wendy leaned in and gave him a small peck on the cheek before continuing her way down the hallway.
"Dude, what the heck was that about?" Kyle asked in confusion.
"I don't know dude. All of a sudden, Wendy's been acting differently. Earlier, I spotted her talking with Cartman at the library. You think her strange behavior has anything to do with Cartman?" Stan asked.
Kyle shook his head. "No way dude. I just talked to him the other day and he's been all obsessed about getting his mom to pretend that he's Johnny Depp's son, so he can own a million dollars."
Stan blinked. "Johnny Depp? Really?"
"Yeah, I keep telling him it'll never happen, but as always, his head's too far up his ass to listen," he answered.
Stan snickered. "Yeah, especially since his head takes up half of it."
Kyle laughed. "Good one, dude."
…
…
Wendy wandered into the library, not at all surprised to find Cartman there. Anticipating that she might be staying at the school a little longer than expected, she texted her friends to let them know they didn't have to wait on her. Wendy moved to take a seat at the table across from him. As usual, Cartman had to rub it in.
"Couldn't tell him, ho?" Cartman asked casually. "Would you like me to do the honor? Which one of these do you think Stan will like better?"
He held up a photo of her kissing Token at a party. "Snapshot A?"
He held up another one of her making out with Clyde at the party. "Snapshot B?"
He smirked. "Or my favorite, snapshot C?" The picture showed Wendy wearing a skimpy outfit and flirting with guys at Raisins.
She sighed. "Fine . . . you win, fatass. Let's just get this over with already," she said, her face flushed in embarrassment.
Cartman nodded. "You made a wise choice, ho. Wouldn't want your boyfriend to see how much of a slut you really are," He said, putting away the evidence.
"I'm not a slut, fatass. And stop calling me a ho! I just made a few bad choices, and I already feel bad about them, so you can stop trying to make me feel worse," Wendy replied in exasperation.
"Ay, I'm just calling it as I see it. I didn't make you kiss Clyde and Token. And I certainly didn't make you dress up like a pole dancer and entertain guys."
"It was a summer job, and I needed the money!" She argued.
"Sounds like a ho bag to me."
"Ugh!" Wendy yelled in frustration. "Do you want me to help you or don't you?" She asked.
"I think a better question is, 'do you want me to keep tolerating your whiny voice?' And you're already getting something out of it so you can quit your bitching, ho!"
Wendy was infuriated. Why did these things have to happen to her? She really regretted ever letting Bebe talk her into going to Clyde and Token's party. She remembered Bebe telling her to loosen up a little and when she did . . . she found she didn't want to stop. Truth was, she was getting kind of bored of Stan. Sure, he was a nice guy and handsome and sensible, but he lacked passion and he always puked on her anytime they tried to kiss. Plus, he barely ever hung out with her. She wasn't trying to justify her actions, but it was just . . . it felt so good at the time to be in the wrong. Only now, when Cartman was taking advantage of it, she didn't feel so great afterwards.
She just couldn't tell Stan. It was hard enough that she feels like crap for cheating on him. It's not like she ever wanted to hurt him, but to just face him after cheating on him multiple guys . . . how was she supposed to do that? She couldn't. She sighed, putting her face in her arms.
Cartman turned around and noted Wendy's head in her arms. He took a deep breath and sat down in the chair next to her. He gently placed a hand on her arm to make her aware of his presence.
Wendy groaned. "What now?" She hissed, her voice muffled.
"Wendy . . . I can see you're having a rough time."
"You think?!" She scoffed, finally looking up. Cartman held her gaze.
She froze when she saw the sincerity in his honey brown eyes, suddenly unable to keep her eyes off them.
'Wait, did he just use my name?' She realized in shock.
Cartman continued, "Yes, Wendy." He affirmed, maintaining eye contact. "And I just want to let you know that I really, really don't care. So get that sand out of your va-jay-jay and shut up," He finished, and suddenly, the moment was broken.
He rose back up from his seat.
Wendy was stunned. What on earth had she been thinking just now? What possessed her to think that Cartman might actually care? She got up from her seat.
"You know what? Forget it. I quit. I'm done listening to you order me around. That isn't what I signed up for," She said, storming off.
Cartman blinked, not expecting that. "You can't just quit!"
Wendy turned around briefly. "Watch me." And then continued towards the door.
Cartman immediately met her at the door. Alright, alright already! I'm sorry, geez ho! No need to turn this into a dramatic scene."
"What, so now you care?" Wendy asked.
"As if ho!" Cartman said, averting his eyes.
"Then I'm leaving," Wendy said, trying to push past him.
"No! You can't!" Cartman said, blocking the door.
"Yeah, no kidding. Your fatass is in the way," she remarked.
"Alright fine. I care. Satisfied?" Cartman admitted.
"Almost," Wendy replied. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, leaning in close.
"Let's just get something straight, fatboy. You need me just as much as I need you so if this thing is going work between us, you better not say anything that is going to make me rethink helping you. Got it?" She said, firmly.
Cartman didn't say anything, so she continued.
"I'm fucking serious, fatass. There's nothing stopping me from kicking your ass right now and breaking everything you own. So you'd be wise to show some form of acknowledgement before I rip out whatever little balls you have."
Cartman held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay," he said.
"And that includes calling me a 'ho' or 'hippie bitch,' Eric."
Cartman was quiet for a moment. "Fine . . ." he said.
"Good," Wendy smiled, relinquishing his shirt. "Nice doing business with you." She said, walking back to her seat.
Cartman grumbled something about women and their PMSing.
"Now," Wendy said, getting his attention. "If we're really doing this, I'm going to need a time frame. Exactly how long is this thing going to last?"
"The interview for contestants begins tomorrow evening, call backs are Monday, and the show lasts until Wednesday, when they announce the winner," he answered.
"So four days, assuming that we make it to the final round," Wendy said. "We need to leave first thing tomorrow."
Cartman grinned. "Already booked the tickets," he said.
She blinked. "What? How could you, when I just-" her eyes widened in realization. "You presumptuous asshole! You just assumed I'd eventually agree, didn't you?"
His grin grew. "Didn't you?" he asked.
She frowned, standing up. "Well, it seems to me that you've already got the details worked out. I can see this husband-wife relationship turning out well," she said in sarcasm. "What time does boarding start tomorrow?"
"9:30 a.m.," he said. "Meet me at my house at 8 a.m., and I'll get my mom to drive us to the airport."
Her eyes narrowed. "She doesn't even know about this!"
"She doesn't have to," Cartman argued. "Just trust me."
"No chance," Wendy said. "Look, I'll be at your house by 8 a.m." With that, Wendy left the library.
Cartman grinned. He could smell that money already.
…
Author's Notes: And so ends Chapter 2 out of 10 of "You're Not Alone."
In the next chapter, Cartman and Wendy head for California to audition for the big game show and things don't get off to a good start between them. Will they be able to see past their differences and get through the first round? Meanwhile, Cartman does what to Kyle? The answers will be revealed in Chapter 3 . . . stay tuned!
On another note, I just found out that Johnny Depp got married to Amber Heard, which is awesome and I'm very happy for them, but . . . since I started this story when Johnny Depp wasn't married, now I'm at a split decision. So, my question is, do you guys think I should keep going with this story as if Johnny Depp isn't married or . . . should I alter the story a bit to fit Johnny Depp's recent marriage and have sh*t go down if and when Liane goes public with her confession about her relationship with Johnny? Let me know in the comments below!
As always, reviews are appreciated!