Author notes: Good day to you! This is chapter four. This was quite tough to write as I've never wrote anyone drunk before. I think I've failed epically. But I shall let you be the judge of that, dear reader. Quick thanks once again to the people who have reviewed, alerted, etc. Anyway...enjoy!

Chapter Four - Wasted

I really, really shouldn't have had those shots.

After the initial excitement of 'Craig did five shot of whiskey, woo-hoo!' died down, relative normalcy resumed. I was okay for the first ten minutes or so, just happily sitting at the table waiting for my boner to disappear. It wasn't really helped along by the fact that Mr. Grouper had sat down opposite me, his tail accidentally brushing against me every so often under the table. I guess the ability to drink hard alcohol is something he admires, as he was actually talking to me like I was a human being for once. Or maybe it was just because he had been drinking too.

Then, I began to change. Whenever Mr. Grouper said anything even vaguely funny, I started giggling uncontrollably. This appeared to amuse him greatly, so he leaned forward in his chair and told me all of the funniest jokes he could think of. He's actually quite funny when the jokes he's making aren't anti-Semitic. As we sat there, I noticed that we were getting quite a few odd looks from the people we know – like they were thinking 'why the hell are the fish and the bird getting along so well? Why aren't they blubbing at each other or squacking over something random for our amusement like they normally do?'

Sorry dudes, we're on a break.

'Well, I'm hungry,' Mr. Grouper says suddenly, standing to stretch his back. 'I'm gonna go get some food.'

I might as well follow. As I stand up, my head feels like its spinning. My vision is kinda hazy and I'm really tired all of a sudden, but the last thing I want to do right now is sleep. It's not often that I can hold an entire conversation with Mr. Grouper without at least one of us making a death threat to the other at some point. I figure that the world is probably coming to an end – I really don't wanna be asleep for something like that.

Next thing I know, we're in the room where the food is laid out. I have no idea what room exactly - I only vaguely recall walking here.

'What's that you've got?' I ask.

Mr. Grouper looks at what I point to on his plate – looks like a little pile of crumbs.

'Fish flakes.'

'What's those taste like?'

Yeah, fuck grammar - I'm drunk. Mr. Grouper smirks, holding a fin-full out to me.

'Why don't you find out?'

I match his smirk and take them from him, deliberately brushing my fingers against his fin as I do so.

Little do you know, this isn't the first time I've had a boner

I relish this mischievous thought as I curiously chew on the sweet tasting crumbs. I quickly decide that fish flakes are tasty but they also kinda suck. There's hardly anything in them. I feel like a tramp who has found someone's cupboard of pet food and after promising to feed their fish, I fed myself. The flavoring is delicious though - so much so that when I'm done eating, I decide to indulge myself. I trail my tongue and lips from one end of the my hand to the other, suckling and licking at the flavored powder until I'm left with only a wet hand. When I finish, I glance back at Mr. Grouper. He's been watching me, smirking with a single eyebrow raised. I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as I sucked every part of flavor off my fingers.

Suddenly, my nice clean hand is snatched by the wrist. I turn around to meet Stan's eyes. He doesn't look very happy.

'Craig, what the hell are you doing?'

He doesn't sound very happy either. I look from Stan to my hand, then to Mr. Grouper and then back to Stan again.

'Dude, I'm eating.'

Stan rolls his eyes. 'Why are you eating fish flakes?'

'They didn't have any bird seed.'

Hey look, Craig made a funny! Mr. Grouper sniggers. Stan doesn't.

'You do realise that those are for bebe's fish, right?'

Oh, right. I'm not a fish, right? Oops. Letting out one of his obnoxious 'I'm so bored with this conversation' yawns, Mr. Grouper reaches over to Stan and takes the my hand from him, tossing it over his shoulder carelessly and dragging me over.

'Relax, hippie. Is it really such a big deal for a bird to eat fish flakes?'

I nod slowly then get angry, I'm not even a fucking bird… or am I? It was bad enough when I was 12, telling them that I was a bird after watching some fucked up bird anim. My mom would go absolutely ape shit if she found out I'd eaten fish flakes and changed my mind again. I guess there's a simple enough solution to the matter though – I just won't tell her.

'It's very big deal, Grouper,' Stan says sternly. 'He'll get too fat to fly, it's forbidden for birds to fall.'

'I like doing forbidden things sometimes.'

Both of my friends look at me strangely. I blush a little. As true as that statement is, I don't quite know why I felt the need to say it. Mr. Grouper breaks into a grin.

'Really? Like what?'

Just as I'm about to answer, Stan grabs my hand and pulls me across the room. I think he wants to have a friendly heart-to-heart. That's cool. It's been a while since we've had one.

'Dude, I really think you need to go home.'

My mind and body both scream 'nay'. I concur.

'Why go home? I'm having lots of fun! And Grouper is being really nice to me.'

Stan frowns. 'Craig, you're drunk.'

'So is pretty much everyone else.'

I gesture to Kyle who is unconscious and snoring on a nearby couch, and to Cartman and Kenny who are busy trying to shave off Kyle's eyebrow without waking him. Stan shakes his head in disbelief.

'They're used to it, you're not. You need to go home, sober up and get some sleep before you do something to embarrass yourself.'

I'm surprised at how Stan's words make me feel. I'll always freely admit to being a stubborn bastard. I was when I was younger and I am even more so now that I'm a teenager. If someone had said something like that to me usually, I would have told them to mind their own goddamn business, then gone and drank another five shots of whiskey just to spite them. But for some reason, I'm really touched that Stan seems to care so much. I almost feel like crying. How retarded.

'You're such a good friend, Stan!'

I feel his body tense as I throw my long arms around him, embracing him tightly.

'Er...it's cool, dude.'

I can tell he's a bit uncomfortable with this, and to be honest I am too. But for some reason, I continue snuggling into him and babbling.

'Really, you are. I act like such a shmuck sometimes and you're always so patient with me. You're great, dude. I love you so much.'

Before he can respond, I lean in and give him a firm peck on the lips. Stan jumps back in shock and gawks at me, wide eyed. We both glance around the room to see pretty much everyone staring at us. Wendy looks so furious, it's laughable. At least Mr. Grouper seems to think so anyway. I turn to Stan to see his cheeks blush but his eyes shut, the bridge of his nose firmly pinched between his index finger and thumb as he looks away.

' Craig...go home.'

I smile apprehensively. I'm about to explain that I just got caught up in the moment, but I notice that Wendy is approaching fast, like some kind of purple heat-seeking missile. So I quickly mutter my agreement/apology/farewell in one short garbled sentence and stagger towards the doorway. I pass a chuckling Mr. Grouper on my way.

'You're not leaving, are you? You're the life and soul of this piece of shit party, beak face!'

I don't stop to answer, making a mad dash for the exit as I suddenly feel the urge to throw up. I pull open the front door and stumble out into the cold, tripping on the doorstep as I go. Astounded that I don't fall flat on my nose, I stand still for a minute breathing in the night air. It makes me feel a little better. But did I really just kiss Stan? Not that it meant anything... because it definitely didn't….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. I don't like Stan in that way ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. Regardless! I can't decide whether or not doing that was stupider than doing the shots. Or stupider than sucking suggestively on my fingers in front of Mr Grouper.

Suddenly, there is heavy blubbering on the doorstep behind me.

'Later, assholes!'

The door slams shut and Mr. Grouper appears beside me. I quirk an eyebrow at him.

'You're leaving too?'

He glances at my face, no doubt observing how ill I'm assuming I look. Mr. Grouper pushes his fins into the pockets of his jacket and nods.

'That party sucks ass. Besides, you just made out with Stan and I haven't had a chance to rip on you for it yet.'

I groan, feeling sick again all of a sudden. Mr. Grouper laughs as we walk away from the house and down the street together.

'Did you see Stan's face when you kissed him? Fucking priceless! Wendy looked like she wanted to cut your balls off!'

'Of course she did! I kissed her hot boyfriend in front of all our friends!'

Mr. Grouper snorts somehow with his fishy gills, rolling his eyes. 'So what? It was only on the lips! It's not like you dropped to your knees and offered to suck him off or something. Stupid bitch overreacted as usual. Probably just worried that Stan finds you more attractive… ….. than her dowdy ass.'

As Mr. Grouper is talking, another wave of nausea suddenly hits me and the entire contents of my stomach erupts from my mouth and nose. That was the grossest tasting puke ever, like pure stomach acid. I officially feel like shit, but I'm about to feel even worse as I finally realise exactly what I barfed on. Or more accurately, who.

'Dude! You fucking puked all over my jacket! Fucking sick! I oughta kick your ass if I had legs, Craig!'

Next thing I know, my ass hits the sidewalk. I landed with an audible thump, but for whatever reason it didn't hurt. I look up to see Mr. Grouper dusting off his fins but making no move to beat my ass, apparently satisfied with having merely pushed me down. He removes his jacket carefully, shaking the puke off of it into the street. I open my mouth to apologise, but when Mr. Grouper turns around to scowl at me, I suddenly feel angry.

'Don't look at me like that! This is all your fault for getting me drunk, fishface!'

'You only had five shots! Single measures! Maybe if you weren't such a fucking pussy and could handle your drink a little better...'

He trails off as he notices a single tear roll down my face. Well, aren't I just a whirlwind of destruction? In the space of one evening, I've managed to get wasted, break one of the laws of birdkin, molest…... my "best friend" and make an ass of myself in front of everyone I know. Now, having just puked all over the object of my pent-up sexual desires, I'm on my ass in a mound of snow with tears on my cheeks and vomit on my chin. Aren't I just so fucking clever? For lack of anything better to do, Mr. Grouper tries his hand at saying something reassuring and fails.

'Just go home. I'm sure your hippie-fag boyfriend will have forgiven you by morning.'

'I can't go home like this! My Dad will fucking kill me!'

My voice cracks pathetically as more tears come. is looking down at me with a look of sheer disgust on his face. I totally ashamed for letting him see me like this, but like so many times before, the shame feels so good. I pull my knees up to my chest, dropping my head forward to hide my face as I start to blush again. I thought alcohol was meant to slow down your blood flow. It's clearly not doing its fucking job properly judging by the painful throbbing inside of my jeans. I have such serious problems right now.

Grouper sighs impatiently. 'So what are you gonna do? Just sit in the snow sobbing like a date-rape victim on prom night until you sober up?'

'Yes.'

I pout moodily, hugging my too-long legs to me tighter as if to make my point, but all this action does is put more strain on my pulsating crotch. A few moments of silence pass as I await Mr. Grouper's response to my abrupt, albeit muffled, reply to his distastefully worded question. I start to think he might have given up and gone home until I'm roughly dragged to my feet by the collar of my shirt.

'Get your crying ass off of the ground, you fucking pansy. We're going to my place.'

Turning around to face him, I rub at my eyes theatrically so as to keep his attention above my waistline. The last thing I need is hot fish man noticing me wielding the mighty Excalibur. Not that it would really make much difference at this point in time. In fact, it sounds like the ideal end to this marvellous evening. I look at Mr. Grouper's face. The expression of disgust is still there, but isn't as prominent as before. I could swear that there's a hint of pity in his eyes, but then I remember that this is Mr. fuckig Grouper here. It's most likely self pity, which I guess is understandable – he is covered in my vomit, after all.

Just as we start walking in the direction of his pond, Mr. Grouper turns around to face me so fast that I almost slam into him. He grabs the front of my shirt in a clenched fist and pulls my face to his. His fish lips are close enough to mine that they would touch if I inched forward, but I daren't. Our eyes meet – his seem to almost burn with inner fury. He's so intense. If he looks at me like this for much longer, I swear I'm gonna make a mess of my jeans. After a couple of seconds, he speaks.

'But if you ever tell anyone that I helped you out in any way whatsoever, I'll break more than just your nose. Got it, Bird face?'

He releases me when I nod, turning to march off up the street as I trail along behind him. I just hope he's pissed off enough about this situation that he doesn't turn back to check on me at any point. It's pretty hard to walk like a normal person when you're drunk and your gun's cocked and loaded. I really do appreciate what he's doing though – he could have just left me crying on the sidewalk and went home. But at the same time, I'm apprehensive. Like I've said so many times before, this is Mr. Fishfuck we're talking about here – the guy who never does anything for anyone unless there's something for him to gain from it.

I wonder what he's hoping to gain from me tonight.

So, that's chapter four. I've got plans for at least fifteen possible chapters for this story, which is scary since this is only the fourth. I have a lot of work to do. Anyway, thanks for reading, and the review button is there if you wanna use it. Ciao for now!

DD (double DICKKKK)

xx