A/N: Hey, guys. kdhflsglkj WELL WELL WELL. It's Wednesday (here), everyone! It's the Wednesday we have been waiting for since, what, November? DSJIFLHSKKLD New. Episode. I'm so stoked like you don't even understand. I want to know so bad who's gonna be diagnosed as a sex addict. Throwing the obvious Kenny aside, who do you think it's gonna be? And I so hope one of them is Craig. :| And I really don't want to be disappointed with this. Like hell they're gonna throw in a bunch of random kids we don't know and make them sex addicts, like throwing their own OCs in their show. That'd make me sad. XD

In this chapter, you're actually going to notice some of the things that were included in zeromotion's picture. And god, I'm just realizing how, like... slow and fast these chapters are. They do things slowly but it feels faster because each chapter may as well be nothing but a drabble. Because it took so long to write, I feel like every step they take, takes up like two hours. :| Read slow, kids. Or read it twice. Make it feel longer (that's what she said).
This was the first segment of the story I wrote where I paid attention to chapter breaks, even though it's still a cliffhanger. XD

Thanks for all your feedback! Enjoy this one, guys. :)

IV. Zoologist

This house was, like, super weird. Because, whatever room he was about to lead me into, I had no idea what space there could have been left in the house for there to be another room. Whatever happened to simple upstairs and downstairs, like everyone else? I don't know. Kevin's house, so far, was unique, whatever that means.

"Welcome to my humble home," Kevin said, as he swung the door open.

Let me tell you something, right now. Let me tell you this, my friends, Kevin's bedroom… Kevin's holy bedroom was built, floor to ceiling, of complete and utter kick-ass. I do believe that if it had been any more kick-ass than it already was, which probably isn't even possible, my body would have, like, disintegrated from sheer amazement. And then, it would have been like, "Oh, Clyde died? How?" And then, it would be all, "Oh, he walked into Kevin's bedroom and was so amazed that he disintegrated, right there, on the very carpet that caused him to disintegrate."

And that would be the second end of Clyde Donovan.

Another thing I noticed, besides the gut-busting displays, was that there were diet Pepsi cans. Everywhere. Not just, like, a few diet Pepsi cans here and there, like oh, maybe he drank like two and forgot to throw them out, no. Every corner you looked, there was an empty (as far as I knew, since some of them were crushed) diet Pepsi can. On his desk, there were like four, on his dresser, there were like six, and on his nightstand, there were like three - but none of them were on the floor. His room was very clean, besides the diet Pepsi cans, which could have gone unnoticed. Maybe he liked it as a type of decoration.

Some people have quirky things in their rooms. Like they might have the head of a deer mounded above their bed, or a basketball hoop, and hell, Craig has a shopping cart in his room that he jacked from the parking lot of the supermarket on King avenue. What Kevin had, besides his geek collections and large amount of diet Pepsi cans, was an orange traffic cone beneath his window. I wasn't even going to ask.

"I don't know about you, but I kinda like it," Kevin said, dropping his laptop bag carelessly onto the floor.

"You kinda like it?" I was like, "Dude. This room, is like… oh, my God. How do you sleep in it? Do you stay up at night thinking about how amazing your room is? How do you stop looking at it?"

Kevin chuckled. "You're easily impressed, you know that?"

I never really thought about that before. "Whatever."

I walked deeper into the room, which was actually decently sized. Even though its size was nothing more than decent, it was still, well, awesome. The walls were blue, I think. There were an awful lot of posters on the walls, so, I wasn't really sure of the actual color of the walls. And, by posters, I don't mean those crinkly thingies you get for eight dollars at the mall, I'm talking about these totally high-definition silk screen posters that hung like royal scrolls.

And they weren't just Star Wars posters, there were like, all these other things, like some Spider-Man ones, and these anime ones, and… and, I don't even know, dude. But, like, there weren't just posters, either, there were also these glass shelves, glass, with action figures on them. It was like he lived in the comic book store, which he pretty much did, but, you know what I mean.

And his bed was nice, too. It was pretty big, and when I sat on it, like, oh, my God. I've never felt a cloud, but I bet if I did, I could say that it'd feel just like this bed. Funny thing, though, the bedding wasn't Star Wars, like I would have guessed.

It was zebra-print.

"What, no Star Wars bedspread?" I asked.

"Not everything can be Star Wars," Kevin said. "I like zebras, too."

"Do you think - do you think, do you think that… zebras are white with black stripes, or black with white stripes?" I asked him. I never knew the answer to this question. People say they're white with black stripes because their stomachs are completely white, but then again, their noses are completely black. "Isn't that something else that keeps you up at night, besides your kick-ass room?"

"I think they're white with black stripes," he answered immediately. "I mean, have you seen their stomachs?"

"But, their noses are black," I said matter-of-factly, holding up one finger.

"Their noses aren't striped, though," Kevin argued. "The black stripes emerge from the zebra's white stomach, therefore, their base hair color is white. That is what I think, at least. Zoologists have yet to determine what exactly is the genetic formula that creates those distinct stripes. Zebras are cool with it, though, they can be camouflaged from predators with those stripes, so, it really isn't our place to question whether or not they are black with white stripes, or white with black stripes, as long as they aren't endangered."

I crossed my arms. "Jeez, it was just a question."

"And I answered you!" Kevin replied, half-jokingly, throwing his arms in the air. "Don't ask a question if you don't want an answer."

I stood up (and I really didn't want to, because, damn, that bed was nice). "Why are you flipping out on me now?" I demanded.

"I'm not flipping out on you, I was just saying—"

There was a knock on the door.

The door creaked open, and Mei was poking her head through, holding two small bowls in her hands.

"Dinner time," she sang, and handed me and Kevin one bowl each.

I stared into the bowl. I'm not gonna lie, it looked really gross. Like, super duper gross, but slightly inviting. If you know what I mean, because I don't.

Mei pranced out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

Kevin looked at me. "I know what you're thinking," he said. "Just try it."

I shrugged, and peered back into the bowl. Maybe if I stared at it long enough, it would eat itself.

Well, I know I wanted to try it. I was all for trying out new things, you know? But, this thing, is like… it looks super greasy, and noodly and full of shapes I never even knew food could come in. After this, I knew I'd be spending quite some time in the bathroom. I dipped the fork in, picked up a few thingies, and like pulling off a band-aid, I quickly shoved it into my mouth, and chewed.

"So?" Kevin asked. He was digging into his as easy as eating cereal. "How d'you like it?"

I chewed, and tried to taste it. Well, I tasted it, I was just having trouble figuring out what it tasted like. It needed to process, if you know what I'm saying. I mean, did you know that it could take over a year for a fast food franchise to think of a food, taste test it and release it? I mean, it could be a long time before I decide whether not this is—

Oh, my God, this is amazing.

I took another fork full of noodles and shapes and shoved it back into my mouth eagerly. Unf, Kevin gets a cool dad, kick-ass room and awesome food? Why didn't I hang out with this kid before?

"Oh, my God. Sweet justice…" I mutter, inhaling these noodles and shapes and things. They were so. Good.

I'm sorry, tacos. I really, really am. I'm sorry, crunchwrap supremes. I'm sorry, cheese roll-ups. I'm sorry, burritos. I'm sorry, fajitas. I still love you, with all my little non-Mexican heart…

"What is this made of?" I asked him. "What is this? This is the food of gods…"

"Um." Kevin swallowed. "You, ah, you don't really wanna know what it's made of."

Oh. It's one of those things. "You can tell me what it's made of," I told him. "It's not gonna make it taste any less good."

"Oh, trust me, it can do that," he warned, taking another bite. "I can tell you what it is… in, er, Chinese."

"Chinese, oho." I took another bite, but not too much, and not too fast, because I want to appreciate this, and not run out of food too quickly… "Try me."

"Ju-yee-gha," he said.

"You know something, Kevin," I said, pointing my fork at him. My mouth was still kinda full. "I'm gonna tell you something, and I don't want it to change anything between us."

"Lay it on me," he's like.

"I don't frickin' speak Chinese."

With his fork still stuck in his mouth, he eyed me weirdly. And I'm pretty sure 'weirdly' is a word, okay?

"That's why I told you what it was in Chinese, smartass," he said. And I kind of decided that that was not on the polite side, I think.

"Tell me in English, please?" I asked, being sure to stay on the polite side so that I could be the nice one here.

"You really wanna know?" He raises his eyebrows a bit. That made me notice, kinda, that his eyebrows were really, really thin. Girly, almost. I mean, I don't think I've really gotten close enough to a girl's face (without her shooing me away) to notice the details of her eyebrows. But, I bet they might look like Kevin's. It's like he does them or something. He didn't even have excess hair in the middle! Every day I looked in the mirror and thanked the Lord that I didn't have a unibrow. Cartman kinda has one. He always looks like he's about to kick someone's ass, anyway.

After spending what seemed like much too much time contemplating eyebrows, I confirmed that, yes, I really did want to know what exactly I was eating.

"Are you sure?"

Kevin was aggravating me now, I think, and I don't even know what that word means.

"Yes! Holy freakin' Jesus..."

"Okay. Okay." He set down his bowl gently, while I continued to eat whatever it was I was eating. "I'm gonna tell you." He swallowed, like this was the most important thing in the world he had to tell me. Holy crap, is it made of people? God, I hope not. Who knew people could taste so good? Ugh, I'm twisted.

Dammit, Clyde, focus.

"It's pig ears."

I choked.