Yesterday Red yelled at Stan to make up with Kyle, because she said she didn't want her boyfriend pining after anyone that wasn't her. So she dragged Kyle over to where we were sitting and Stan and Kyle talked, then started yelling, then got into a slap fight. Stan eventually pinned Kyle down and declared victory, and then he let out this girlie little yip. He and Kyle had the following exchange:
"You bit me!"
"You're sitting on me!"
"Dude, you don't just... bite people!"
"My insides are in danger of being irreversibly squashed!"
Kyle chewed on Stan's arm for the rest of lunch and Stan pinched Kyle's stomach, and when the bell rang to get to class they hauled each other to their feet, employed their brand new secret handshake, and declared the matter settled.
I don't know how such gayness got wasted on straight guys, but whatever. Now Stan will stop following me around and sighing loudly whenever Gary explains something about Mormonism. And stop complaining when Mole steals his calculator and uses a-lock to write clever messages on it that made Stan sputter with either embarrassment or indignant rage.
Then at lunch today Cartman marched up to Kyle, looking like Kyle'd just banged his mom. I'd thought Cartman had already thought up and called Kyle every variation of the term "faggy Jew" under the sun, but apparently rage brings out his creative side. He'd no sooner stomped off than Wendy approached them and told Stan Shelly was twenty-seven kinds of a slut.
After lunch we had the Arts and Other Arts Festival and, you know, I really should have made the connection between the festival and Craig's stupid video project. He set it up on this huge projector and played the video in a loop. And he clipped the video together so that it looks like this huge, elaborate, black-and-white gay love story between me and Clyde.
I knew Craig was stalking me (he wasn't particularly subtle about it, after all), but I'd had no idea he'd been crawling into my bedroom at night to film me while I was asleep. And the thing is, I usually sleep in the buff. And it's not like most of the school hasn't seen it already, or that I've got anything to be ashamed of, but I thought it was considered a common courtesy to ask a guy before you plaster his dick across the school.
So most of the student body flocked to Craig's film and neglected the rest of the art festival, but I wandered around to look at what everyone else had done. Henrietta's sculpture looked fantastic. I'm not use what it was suppose to be, exactly, but there was a lot of barbed wire in it and she pasted newspaper clipping about car crashes and murders to it.
I was rather pleased with how my scene of hell turned out except, as Mole pointed out, I forgot that the trees were blooming down there at this time of year. I was standing there, thinking about how I would touch it up when the festival was over and I could take the painting home, when Bebe wandered up. She made this face at me and called me a perverse exhibitionist. I'm guessing she saw Craig's film.
I could have protested my innocence, but there really wasn't a point. If there are two things Bebe Stevens hates in this world, it's her big rack and me, because I always call attention to her big rack. Personally I think she needs to tone the self-hatred down, because that mace she carries around fucking burns. And wherever she took her self-defense lessons, they seem to have forgotten to teach their students the difference between a sexual predator and an average sixteen-year-old boy.
So instead I just called her a prude and asked her what she wanted. She said - with that same look on her face - that she had hunted me down to tell me our english was making her tutor me.
Then her eyes drifted over to my painting and she asked, with a bit of surprised look, if I'd painting it. I said yes, and pointed out my signature in the bottom corner as well as the big fucking plaque next to it. She said I didn't have to get sarcastic and asked why I was painting a strip mall; I told her it was hell.
Her eyes got all wide and she said "What?" in this startled tone.
I said, "It's hell."
Bebe gave me this unnerved look and said, "I thought you went to heaven."
I cracked up, and then Tweek came barreling through the gym in a car. I can only assume the drag race didn't go well. He smashed into my painting, completely mangling the canvas. He destroyed Henrietta's sculpture as well as a few others, and then he finally plowed into Craig's projector, crushing the tape.
Bebe went running to the car to make sure Tweek was okay, and I just kept laughing, because it was funny.
I'm the last person who deserves to go to heaven.
