Disclaimer: And I don't own the Smurfs, or Marilyn Manson, of Lord of the Rings either.

Chapter 9: Smurf Inferno

Christophe scurried out of his tunnel and into his basement. He tried sneaking up to his room, but his mother caught him just as he was shutting the basement door behind him. She began yelling at him in French. The subtitles below her read:

"Christophe! Where have you been?"

He took his joint out of his mouth to answer, his own set of subtitles popping up below him. "Nowhere."

"Have you been smoking?"

He took a drag. "No."

"What's that in your mouth?"

"Candy cane." Noticing the tobacco floating around him, he added, "An American kind. All their candy is so goddamn weird here—Oh damn! I mean, darn-"

"What did I tell you about taking the Lord's name in vain in this house? You are still grounded!"

Christophe kicked his subtitles angrily, sending white letters flying across the carpet. His mom took him by the arm, yanked him up to his room, and turned on the TV to the Smurfs. She turned up the volume and left, slamming the door behind her.

"Papa Smurf, voulez vou cousher avec moi?"

"Oui, oui Smurfette! Oui oui!"

Biting his lip with fury, Christophe put on an I-pod and listened to Marilyn Manson music. "I hate you God." he muttered flipping off the sky out his window.

"What IS the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? And intestinal worm?"

"Ah, what Mr. Cobb is trying to say is…"

FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP! Frap fraaap fraaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaap!

"Gass!"

Terrance and Phillip burst into laughter, concluding the opening scene of their newest parody movie, "Asseption."

"I don't know Kyle," Stan said. He and his lover were making out on the sofa again. "Should we go to the Cowfest Dance at O'Malley High tonight, or stay here and have a Lord of the Rings marathon?"

Cowfest was an annual holiday celebrated by the hick town of South Park every fall. Basically, it was an excuse to have another day to cancel school and work and get drunk.

Shelly's high school was holding a dance that night, to which students from the neighboring middle school were also invited as long as they had a permission slip from their parents (this was to avoid lawsuits, should anything like spiked punch or the Canadian Mafia get involved—again).

"Dunno," Kyle said. "My mom signed my slip. But on the other hand, your parents are going out, and Shelly's going to the dance, so if we stay we'd have the house to ourselves!"

They heard Shelly swear harshly from upstairs. "STUPID FAT TURD!"

"Sounds like she found the pink dress," Kyle muttered. "Seriously, we should just lock Cartman in the house with her some time and then all our problems will be finished."

"Word." Stan said and smooched him. "Ah, what the hell, let's just go to the dance and watch Lord of the Rings later. It's not every day we get to see Rick James perform live at a school dance."

"Okay turds, how do I look?" Shelly asked, coming down the stairs.

She'd finally found a glittery periwinkle dress that the ass master hadn't managed to stretch three times her size. She had green teardrop earrings, and her chestnut hair (actually brushed for once—another thing she and Kevin both hated was brushing their hair) was up in a spiral bun, except for her bangs.

"A lot like Mulan actually." Stan answered.

"Okay."

The doorbell rang.

"Nerdy Smurf, voulez vou cousher avec moi?"

"Oui Smurfette, oui, oui, oui, OUI!"

"La, la, lala, la, la, sing a happy song, la, la, lala, la, la, smurf the whole day long!"

Christophe flopped onto the bed face-first, turned his headphones onto full blast, and crammed a pillow over his head.

Tap, tap.

He lifted up the pillow. "Hmm?"

Tap, tap, tap.

It was Kenny! The blond Yank was sitting in a tree outside his window. Christophe bounced off the bed and shoved it opened.

"Kenny?"

Kenny coughed for air. Once the cigarette smoke from Christopohe's room had (mostly) passed him, Kenny said quietly, "Come on dude! I'm taking you to the Cowfest Dance."

"I can't go I—"

"Oh Grouchy Smurf, voulez—"

Christophe muted his TV. "I'm f-cking grounded Kenny."

"So you're always grounded. Come on, I died twice just getting over here to get you! First Cartman threw a hand grenade out the window at me while I was running past his house, and then Chef his me with his Cadillac,"

"Kenny, I'm sorry. But I don't even have my permission slip signed to go,"

"Christophe!" his mother hollered from downstairs. "I don't hear any Smurfs!"

He glared at his door. With an expression like he was about to kill somebody, Christophe twisted the TV volume back up.

"All right, Beetch. Let's go."

He climbed out the window and followed Kenny down the tree, hoping the blast of the communist children's program would drown out the noise.

"Handy Smurf, voulez vou couche…"