Ten chapters already? Thank you all for the reviews! As for the contest: c'mon guys, join! If you're worried about your artistic skills(or lack of), don't worry! Trust me, I am in no shape a great artist. just remember, any of you have a shot! so submit and enjoy this brotherly bond chapter :D

Chapter 10

Apparently Wendy did break up with Stan, and the next day at school she was ignoring him, as were all the girls. So now Pussy couldn't get pussy. He even tried to complement her by saying her new hair looked nice and stuff, but she flipped him off.

Watching those two fight never gets old.

This morning fucking sucked. I had to wake up early and go to Scott's stupid Jew church. The service was long, and it was boring as fuck. He kept nudging me to pay attention, but that was pretty much impossible.

The ending announcement was the worst thing I have ever heard. Apparently they're trying to start some "tween group" as they like to call it. Something to "rekindle the youth's excitement in Judaism", by having some sort of lock in thing. Scott keeps poking at me, but there's no way in hell I'm going.

I still haven't managed to see Jew Boy here, so it's all been pretty good. Well, as good as its gonna get. After he finished talking to some of his friends again, he went over to where some bitch was standing and started talking to her.

Fuck. She was the bitch who was in charge of that gay lock in thing. He scratches down something and then comes over to me, acting all happy and shit.

"Ready to go, Eric?"

I don't even reply, as I'm halfway out the door. I get into the seat of his truck, as we head off to part two of this wonderful day.

"You're really not going to make me go to that thing, are you?"

"I dunno, it might be nice for you to meet some kids your age here. Maybe if you make some friends, going to Temple wouldn't be so bad. I didn't like it when I was your age, but then Dad forced me to go, and I made some friends. But then I lost them when you drove me to insanity…."

"You don't need to go on about that," I warn.

"I'm not going to," he replies back, annoyed. "And we're here. " He pulls out a giant tub from the back of his truck and drags it into the house. "Just gather the important things, like pictures and shit. All furniture and shit stays."

We go into the living room, and he starts to snicker at all the pictures on the mantle. We go through all the pictures on the mantle (and there's a fucking lot) one by one. Mom had an obsession with documenting me, so there were tons of photos of me all over. It was easy to tell I was her only child.

Scott snickers at one of my mom's favorite pictures. You're not supposed to be taking pictures of a kid taking a crap, but Mom did. I was two and a half, naked, and sitting on the toilet. I wouldn't be surprised if it was after a bath, too.

"We're so getting this framed and hung up by the entrance," Scott says with a smirk. "And if there's a video for this, we're so watching it."

I mumble and shove the picture into the box, ignoring the caption: Eric took a poo poo on the potty! What a big boy he is, pooping by himself! I place the picture in along with all the birthday and Christmas photos, the big family portrait being placed on top.

After that we scatter around the house gather little trinkits and useless shit that's really only important to keep. We go to my mom's next to last, and it's creepy being in there. I check around her room seeing if there's anything important to take, but so far there's nothing important.

I find it a bit weird at first that Mom didn't have much of me in her room, except two pictures. One, was one of those stupid professional pictures of me taken before I was old enough to remember, and the second one was taken when I was nine right after all the celebrities attacked. It was of me and Scott, both of us scowling not wanting to be in the picture. Mom wrote on the back: Eric and his half-brother Scott! like both of us were dying to be in the picture.

I put those in the box as well, and went into Mom's closet. She used to hide birthday presents in there, like that one blow up doll I got for Christmas one time. That doll sucked too, it popped the next day. I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I came across a giant box labeled Precious Memories. I opened the lid and was shocked to find every fucking thing I have ever done in here.

You know those gay art projects you do in elementary school for holidays? Apparently Mom kept every single one of those, along with all my written stories and everything.

Scott came in the room, dragging the box behind him. "Is there anything left in-what the fuck is that?"

"My box. "

"Of?"

"Mom apparently kept all the shit I did." I dug around in the box and pulled out a crappy old drawing. It was large and ugly, and was so shitty drawn. On the front that is. On the back it was labeled "Eric's first drawing, age three. What a beautiful self portrait!"

"Why the fuck do you have green hair?" Scott asks, staring at the picture.

"I don't know." I put the drawing back in the box and pull out the report I did in first grade.

Why I Love My Mommy

By Eric Cartman

I love my mommy. I love my mommy becuze she is nice. She is nice becuz she buys me lots of prezents. My mommy is also fun. I love my mommy.

I grinned to myself; I was one hell of a smart kid. I even knew back then if I sucked up to her, she'd buy me stuff. Of course, you have to manipulate them in the right way.

Mom kept everything I ever did, even stuff I wish she'd of thrown out. She even kept shit like my baby hair in a little plastic bag with a note attached. Eric's first haircut! He was a squirmy little man in the seat, he didn't like to obey orders, but he looks very handsome!

Mom kept note of everything I did, regardless of what it was. She was taking notes like everything I did was super important. But then again, it was all about me so it probably was important. After all, I am a pretty important person.

Even after spending an hour and a half shoving all my old crap my mom kept into the blue tub, we still had the attic to cover. Most of that probably wasn't anything important, but we still had to go see.

We went into the attic, which still smelled from the time I hid all the cats up there, and Scott went straight to this one box that had my name on it. Aside from some old baby clothes and photo albums, there were a shit ton of old video tapes.

I was really hoping none of them were from Mom's "work." The last thing I need to see is people "working" with Mom. I pulled out some, and thankfully most of them seemed to be about me, except for a few, which weren't worth looking at.

The last box in the corner hidden behind a bunch of dust was labeled Forbidden, and I immediately opened it up. All of it was Denver Bronco shit, ranging from a signed football to jerseys to videos of the games that were the cause of me not knowing my father. There was even a signed photograph of the team, and I made sure to keep everything hidden from Scott.

He'd have a fucking shit fit if he was to see something relating to the Denver Broncos, or anything having to deal with one of his parents. He's a big fucking pussy when it comes to dealing with death. It was his fault anyways.

I wanted to throw all that shit out, give it away to some museum or something, but I couldn't. There's always been that one part of me that I fucking hate. It's the part of me that used to cry at night because I didn't have a Dad like all my friends did, or the part of me that spent hours crying about the fact I killed my own dad. Not physically, but it was all part of my plan.

Even if he was a ginger, I still have SOME guilt. I'm not completely soulless; I'm not all ginger after all.

"What's that?" Scott asks, as he walks over to the giant box. He opens it up and he doesn't hold anything in. "Dad?" he says to the box, and starts rummaging through it. He pulls out the shit and starts staring at all of it.

We're going to be stuck here for a while. He pulls out a video tape and reads the label.

"I was at this game!" he exclaims loudly, and he's having fun going back into memories I don't care about. "Mom took me out of school for this game. She spent the day buying me all sorts of junk food and introduced me to the team and everything. I thought it was the coolest fucking thing," he says, and I don't think he's even talking to me.

"I don't really care," I say, and he looks at me.

"This is the only shit you have to remember your-our dad by, and you don't care?"

"Not really, nope," I say emotionlessly.

"You should care. Dad later confessed that he wanted to be a part of your life. He visited you once or twice in the hospital, but under a false name so no one would recognize him. He wanted to get to know you, and said that one day when you knew who your father was, after all the chaos of football season wearing off, he'd confess and make it up to you."

I looked into the box again, seeing if anything was worth selling, even though I know I couldn't do it. I saw some things that weren't even football related in the bottom of the box and picked them out. One was a package with a card taped on it. I pulled off the card and read it. Happy First Birthday! It read, along with a bunch of typical birthday card shit. The end of the card had I guess what his handwriting was. Happy Birthday Son! Love, Daddy.

I could feel my heart pounding, but I chose to ignore that emotion and ripped open the package that was almost eleven years old. It was a brown stuffed horse, a bronco, probably. It was all musty and old, and when I saw no one looking, I gave it a quick hug. It was weird knowing that I was hugging something that was last touched by my dad.

The last thing I picked out of the box was a fading yellow envelope. It was addressed to me, and even if it wasn't, that wasn't going to stop me from reading it. The lines of the cheap notebook paper were fading, and the ink was a little smudged from being in an attic for over twelve years.

Eric,

If you're reading this letter than you probably know by now that I am your father, despite what your mother has told you. If not, then well, I'm your father. My name's Jack Tenorman, and I play for the Denver Broncos.

I didn't want to have to hide any of this from you, but your mother said it was best. We were in one of our best years ever, and we couldn't afford to have anything keep us from winning, or have anything that wasn't football occupy our minds.

I can't say I was in love with your mother, because I wasn't. The boys and I on the team went to a lot of parties during that season, and mistakes were made. Just because I made the mistake of sleeping with your mother, doesn't mean I regret having you as a son.

I always wanted two sons, but my wife Linda said that our Scott was enough. You have an older brother, Eric. I hope one day you two can meet and have that brotherly bond I always wanted my sons to have.

I really hope you're still young as you read this, and that your mother didn't give you this letter when you're on your death bed or something. If you are still young, then I hope to meet you some day, and learn all about you.

I would love to be that father figure in your life, if you haven't already got one. I would love to learn everything about you, from your favorite color to your biggest aspirations in life. I would love to know if you still have that dark brown hair and chocolate eyes you were born with, or if you perhaps changed along with them.

I would love to make an appearance at one of your little league games, or soccer matches or whatever after school activity you're involved in. Just send me a list of dates and times of your event, and I'll try my best to make an appearance at as many as I can, if you want me there.

If you didn't get this letter until you're older, or about to bite the dust, I'd still like to meet with you and learn about you, and your past. I would love to meet your family and children, if you had any, and learn about your life and experiences you went through growing up.

I never wanted to be completely absent from your life, and even if I may have never been there physically, you are still my son, and I still love you, no matter what your mother has said.

Love,

Daddy.

I looked at the wet spots on the paper thinking they were already there as I felt my eyes.

Fuck, they were running. I shoved my hand up to my eye and starting wiping away my tears, not wanting anyone to know I was ever crying.

Scott came up to the attic to put that box in his truck and stopped and stared at me. "Are you crying?"

"No," I said quickly, hiding the letter.

"What's that in your hand?"

"Nothing," I said, putting it behind my back.

"Yes there is," he replied back, pinning me down and grabbing it. He read the first line. "Awwh, wittle Ewic misses his Dada?" he teased in baby talk.

I should be the one teasing him; I don't have a fit every time someone mentions football or the Denver Broncos.

"No, now give it back, Scott!"

"Why?"

"It's mine. Dad wrote it for me."

"So, I own you, so I own it."

That side of me I fucking hate came out. "Please Scott," I whined. "It's all I have of him. You knew him, and I never did." I looked at the floor, trying to blink back the tears. I hated the words that came out of my mouth, how pathetic I sounded at the words.

I hated how I was breaking down over my one real weakness.

Scott lowered the piece of paper. "You seriously care that much about this piece of paper?"

I bit on my lip, something that was so out of the ordinary for me. "Yes," I whispered softly.

"Fine." He handed the paper back to me. "I don't see why it means that much to you, but whatever." He put the tub in the back of his truck, still noticing the note clutched in my hand. I was holding onto that thing for my fucking life.

"Hey…" Scott said to me softly, "Do you, Do you want me to put that in a frame or something so it doesn't get ruined…?"

I moved my head slowly, nodding, and held on to the paper as Scott put the truck in drive and drove away from my old house one last time, and I drifted off to sleep.

Reviews? Reviewers get their own Jack Tenorman football :3 Or any embarassing picture if Eric Cartman. -giggle-