Damn, I don't even know...

They CAN'T cancel South Park, they just fucking CAN'T...

Fuck...

Well at least they showed Tweek and a hatless Craig in an episode... that kinda rocked.

But what the actual fuck, I'm really scared ;A;

*cries uncontrollably*

(WARNING!: Minor language and the mention of Canada.)

I used to be love struck

Now I'm just fucked up

Pull up my sleeves and see the pattern of my cuts

Dust now coated every inch of sky and matter that was anywhere near within the five mile radius of the abandoned parking lot of the forgotten building that was once Wall-Mart; sunlight beating down on the headboard of the 1980 Camaro Z28 that left behind its tire marks on what was left of the blacktop concrete. With some sweet vocals and guitar riffs provided by none other than The Rolling Stones recorded on a mix tape that seemed to be balancing with the screeches and gears twisting and turning, choking on exhaust. It sounded so beautiful and better coming from the faulty cassette player than it would on some HD stereo thingamajig. This was fucking heaven and he needed a taste of heaven right now, more than a pregnant women needs chocolate.

Fingernails dug into the protective gelatin like cover on the steering wheel leaving behind a tattoo of crescent shaped marks on it and with a flick of his wrists and a squint of his eyes he jerked the circular metal wheel to the left making the tires scream as they grinded on the ground and sparks flew.

Vroom, Vroom; this was his baby; he made it into the kick ass hunk of metal it was today.

And his baby's was named Sugar.

Sugar was barely a car when he got her, heck he found her on someone's front lawn but he swore it was love at first sight the minute he saw her and all her rusty glory that one glorious summer. She had no tires and no paint job in what looked like years, the oil was long gone and the engine was just as dead as Britney Spears' career, it was a miserable sight but something about her just touched a nerve and he HAD to have her. With the help of the annoying Cartman, whiny Kyle, and the ever so depressing Stan, he was able to sneak the car off of the front lawn and into his garage at the dead of night. He spent all he could on her trying to make her the best, every odd job or money he got from another bet went to her instead of his usual...ahem, daily doings. She was his dirty little secret. A couple of brand new car seats here, a new engine there...the shit was hard to do but all the years of being a life-time NASCAR fan taught him the inside and out of a well-tuned car and how to do it all from scratch. His sweat, blood, and tears were the basically the foundation of the vehicle and there were times he'd be covered from heel to toe in grease, grime, and God knows what from being on his hands and knees cleaning her out and fixing her for hours. There were times were he just wanted to give up because he got so frustrated and was convince it was useless trying to fix something that was already broken but the image of driving lanes and lanes going faster than the speed of light with classics blaring on the cassette player-that he was going to find sooner or later- while the mountains of Colorado faded behind him finally disappearing from his life forever was just enough to keep him going. Hell, it'd make anyone keep going; the thought of finally ridding yourself of South Park was bitchin'.

It took him a year and a half for her to be certifiable of being able to transport a person from one place to another without breaking down and he was so proud of that. His hands created this magnificent beauty, his hands; no help whatsoever it was all him. He finally did find that 8-track cassette player (where he got it from was totally top-secret, he'd never tell a soul), gave her a great paint job dashed in red and orange, and even found a pair of fuzzy dice lying around to hang over the mirror. She was one bad mama jama. The name Sugar came from the Def Leppard tape he found in the cassette player and it just stuck with her being that her stereo virginity was lost to "Put Some Sugar on Me", it was just perfect.

And sure she had her technical difficulties at some points, Kenny was indeed no miracle worker, but he was able to always find the problem and fix her up in a matter of minutes because he was the only one her knew her inside and out. No way in hell would he let a mechanic touch her and her vulnerable car parts, practically raping her of her being... that shit was nasty to think about.

He was usually real gentle with her, only taking her on night rides two times a week just to get away from it all because she was still a work in progress. But right now he really needed to burn some asphalt and you knew the reason why. Sure Stan was going to be pissed (really super fucking pissed) that he skipped out on football practice and yeah he was going to have to make up for it badly on Monday but holy Jesus H Muthafuckin' boom boom Christ he could give less of a shit what the fuck Stan Marsh thinks or his coach for the matter. All that he needed to care about was trying not to hurt Sugar too much with all the black greased donut shaped tread marks he was imprinting in the vacant lot. His heart was beating so fast and his arms hurt so much, but the feel of adrenaline was just to overpowering to give a damn. The sun was burning the very hairs on whatever skin that was exposed and he could feel his skin sticking to the leather seat, the smell of everything was just so intoxicating even if all the dust was making his eyes red and itching up a storm in his nose.

"Doo, Doo, Doo, Doo..."

The song changed, that's a shame. The minute the next song played on the next tape he swore his pupils dilated and he just felt like laughing like a maniac. He revved his engine and prepped Sugar for another round of just killing every living thing in sight. This song was awesome and everyone and their mother knew the words to it. The drums were amazing that you could not resist just hitting anything trying to mimic it, the vocals reminded you of the mid 70's whether you even alive during the time or not, and the notes of those familiar guitar riffs were such a great classic that no matter how many times you heard it playing in a diner's jukebox or rundown bar you could never ever get sick of it.

He was talking about none other than "Hotel California".

The song finished up on the opening and the drums played their entrance, and if you could resist singing those lyrics you were God.

"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair. Warm smell of colita's rising up through the air."

Vroom, Vroom

"Up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night."

Vroom, Vroom, Vroom

"There she stood in the doorway, I heard the mission bell. Then I was thinking to myself this could be Heaven or this could be Hell."

VROOM, VROOM, VRROOOM!

"Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor. I thought I heard them say,"

SCREEEEEE!

"Welcome to the Hotel California!" Ba dum dum da dun dun dun. "Such a lovely place!"

"Such a lovely place,"

"Such a lovely face!"

"Plenty of room at the Hotel California."

"Any time of year!"

"Any time of year."

"You can find it here!"

Okay so Kenny wasn't God, he couldn't resist as much as the next guy; Hotel California was a kryptonite that had an even huger effect on drunken poor guys riding their Camaro's in a parking lot wearing a plain white shirt with the sleeves cut off singing songs by the Eagles. He was practically living every single stereotype that Cartman had called him throughout his entire lifetime in this single moment and yet...

He couldn't give less of a fuck.

"He's on my couch, Token! ON MY COUCH!"

The boy on the other end of the phone sighed, "Calm down, Clyde. Did he at least tell you why he was there?"

"NO! HE JUST KNOCKED ON MY DOOR AND BARGED IN!" his hands were so sweaty that the phone slipped from his palm and he scrambled after it, on his knees holding the phone with both hands and looking hysterical. "MY COUCH, TOKEN! WHERE I WATCH SPONGEBOB AND DRINK GATORADE! MY COUCH!"

"Oh my god, Clyde will you chill the fuck out! It's not like it's the first time he's sat on your couch before!"

"MY...COUCH...TOKEN!" His voice now mildly resembled a five year old girl's as he screamed into the speaker of his phone.

"Goddammit...FINE! I'll be right there...Jesus Christ." And thus the only black kid in South Park hung up on Clyde Donovan. The brunette stared at his phone astonished and appalled that he just got hung up on but this wasn't the first time it has happened so why he so surprised made him even more confused. He blinked and looked out of the entryway of the kitchen he hid in, peering into the living room and onto the couch that now occupied the body of Craig Tucker. He stared until the other boy sighed and flipped him off from where he was sitting.

"I can see AND hear you, Clyde." The boy in the kitchen gulped. "Just get over here already and stop being a pussy." Clyde grimaced before finally deciding to go sit over on the couch next to the other.

"I'm not a pussy..." he grumbled. Craig rolled his eyes and continued to flip through the channels on the television.

"Why are you here, dude?"

"Because you used to be my best friend, though I hate to admit it." He stopped at an episode of Law & Order. Not Criminal Intent, it was the one with the sex crimes that everybody liked. Clyde guffawed sarcastically to the point he started slapping his knee but Craig ignored his retardness.

"Yeah key word there, USED to be your best friend." He sneered. "Then you turned into a total asshole that no one liked. Just like how Stan was that one ti-"Craig made a noise that would make you piss your pants if you ever heard it at night in a dark alley.

"Don't ever compare me to Marsh." He said through his teeth. Clyde rolled his eyes and sighed, now turning sideways on the couch facing Craig who still pretended to fake an interest with the television in front of him.

"The point BEING, Craig" he raised his hands for emphasis. ", is that you have been a total shit head ever since the..." Craig glared at him. "T-The...ahem...you know."

"So?" he sank deeper into the couch. He kind of missed the Donovan's couch; it always had some kind of food hidden under the seat covers. It was some sort of like magical couch that granted you week old candy and spare change. His couch on the other hand only held lint and cat hair. He hated that cat, he really did.

"SO? No one likes a cynical asshole, Craig! NO ONE!" okay, now he was getting dramatic. "I mean yeah you were never the happiest kid in the world in the first place but you really started pissing everyone off with your bullshit. Even me." He placed his hand on Craig's shoulder and Craig instantly felt pissed off.

"You're touching me."

"Craig, I'm being real serious okay?"

"Your hand is literally on my shoulder."

"Being a cynical asshole is a very serious condition."

"Get it off. Now."

"It can't be cured but we CAN help you through this!"

"I'm not fucking around, Clyde."

"The first step is admitting it. Please Craig; help me, help you."

"I will shove your hand up your fucking ass."

"SEE!" the brunette exclaimed raising his hands in the air again for dramatics. "YOU WON'T LET ME HELP YOU! HOW CAN I HELP YOU WHEN YOU WON'T LET ME HELP YOU!"Craig inched his body to the opposite of where Clyde sat on the couch.

"I'm sorry but I can't help to be an asshole when you're all up on my business." He shivers. "It makes me sick." Clyde pouted and with a heavy sigh he slumped into the magical cushions of his magical couch, crossing his arms.

"Whatever. If I can't help you then Token will when he gets here." Just the mention of Token made Craig all smiles, he missed that black asshole.

"So..." Clyde laughed uncertainly "Would you bang that detective chick?" his chubby, baby-like finger pointed to the person on the television. Craig made a face.

"Nah."

"Why not? She's a fucking babe!"

"She looks like she's got a whole dry leather bag collection down there. Her nose scrunches up whenever she sits down."

"Whatever, if she had a dick I bet you'd change your mind."

"Fuck yeah."

"Your gross AND have no taste."

"And you know you missed me."

There was a pause.

"Yeah..."

And the two boys smiled.

"How 'bout the dead prostitute?"

"Maybe after a few drinks and if she's clean."

"Picky, picky..."

The Broflovski household was always clean and proper; everything had to be perfect starting from the specific angle of the menorahs to the tightness of the plastic on the furniture. Everything had to be all in order as said by Sheila herself and of course the rest of the household obeyed every command just to avoid conflict with the red-headed Jersey women. Kyle was doing just this and much more this wonderful Friday afternoon.

"KYLE! Did you remember to help your brother with his homework!"

"He doesn't need my help, Ma!"

"It doesn't matter you still need to work like a family and help each other out, how many times have I told you this, bubby!"

"Argh, fine!" he grumbled, dog-earing his book and leaving it behind on the plastic covered couch. As he was about to take his first step up the stairs the doorbell chimed and rang throughout the whole house. He stood –foot frozen over the first stair step- counting the seconds before Sheila screamed out, "KYLE! Can you get the door!" and with a snort he dragged himself over to the door, doing as she asked. Not even bothering to peer out the eyehole to check if it was Eric Cartman leaving another one of his "presents" at his front door step, the kosher boy pulled at the brass doorknob only to be surprised at what was such an unexpected visitor.

"Tweek?"

"GAH! C-Can I come in?"

He stared at the shaky boy, not even bothering to hide his shock.

"Um, sure by all means."

"Th-Thanks." The blonde spurted out before forcing himself inside the well-kept household. He didn't really remember the last time he was at Kyle's house besides those one or two times back then when they hung out but he did always appreciate how organized everything was. He stood there awkwardly not really sure what he should do next before Kyle raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the shiny couch.

"Uh...sit down I guess." With a yelp Tweek did as he was told, plopping himself onto the couch but not realizing how slidy plastic can be, slipped and fell on his bottom. Kyle bit his lip to hold back a laugh and helped the boy get back up on his feet. "Or we could stand instead. It really doesn't matter much." He said nonchalantly while dusting Tweek off.

"Well I feel –geh!- stupid..." he sighed. "I'm such a mess that I ca-can't even sit down ruh-right!" Kyle frowned, crossing his arms and looking like a spitting image of his mother that it scared Tweek.

"Don't say that." He got after. "Now why are you here? Let's be honest, you don't exactly come to my house everyday so there has to be a strong reason behind your visit." Tweek pursed his lips and fiddled with his glove covered fingers.

"Well...the thing is-"

"KYLE! Who was at the door!" Tweek screamed nearly falling on his butt again at the sound of Mrs. Broflovski's scary voice emitting from God knows where in the house. Kyle pinched his nose and tried to keep his tone reasonable.

"Just a friend from school, Ma!"

"What What? You have others friends over besides that Marsh kid for once!" she chortled. "That's a relief! And here I thought you had no friends! Make sure they don't dirty the carpet, I just got it steamed alright!"

"Yes, Ma!" Kyle yelled in a tone that did not match the anger and embarrassment that showed so evidently on his face. "You fugly, castrating bitch..." he muttered darkly under his breath. Tweek almost started hyperventilating from the pressure of it all.

"H-Holy shit! What if she heard you! SHE'D START A WAR WITH CANADA AGAIN!" he pulled at his hair. Kyle shushed him.

"Shut up! If she hears you mentioning that she'll bust a tit!" he started heading upstairs. "Whatever you need to talk about let's do it upstairs unless you want her to overhear us talking." Tweek nodded and followed after Kyle, careful not to let his boots to dirty the carpet for Sheila just got it cleaned, he remembered out of fear.

Kyle's room was just as neat as the rest of the house. His desk had all his pencils and papers organized and kept, his bed didn't have a single crease or wrinkle in the sheets, and their seemed to be no dust or trash anywhere; it was a mother's wet dream of a perfects son's bedroom. Kyle was just about to plop himself on the perfectly spread out bed until Tweek yelled out in horror.

"DON'T!" Kyle stopped, mid-plop with his butt still hovering over the bed.

"Uh...why?"

Tweek pulled Kyle back up and away from the bed by his shoulders and studied the sheets to see if his butt had caused any permanent damage. Seeing that it was still perfect and creaseless, Tweek let out a sigh of relief and stood back up, face to face with a clearly annoyed Kyle.

"I'm sorry Kyle but I just c-couldn't let you ruin your –geh!- bed sheets." Tweek stood protectively next to the bed. Kyle crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, tapping his foot looking like his mom again.

"Well it's not like the first time you did this. I'm used to you not letting me sit on my own bed because of your OCD like tendencies" Tweek furrowed his brows and mimicked Kyle's stance, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

"I do NOT have OCD!" he hissed. "I just...can't let your hard work on fixing the bed go to waste!" Kyle's annoyed grimace turned up into tight-lipped smile.

"Sure, Tweek." He let his arms rest at his side. "How about we just sit on the floor then? I didn't work too hard cleaning that." Tweek looked at the floor like it just had turned into lava and with a "SWEET JESUS, BACTERIA ALL OVER THE PLACE!" he fell onto the bed, ruining the perfectness of the sheets.

"Oh well so much for that..." Kyle smugly smiled, taking his place on the bed next to Tweek. Tweek looked at the bunched up bed sheets like it was blood on his hands, nearly wanting to cry.

"Oh god...the pressure..." Tweek meekly said. Kyle placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and held back the amusement he felt for the sake of Tweek's sanity.

"I didn't like them all perfect like that anyway so don't go blaming yourself, okay?" The blonde nodded but still looked distant. "So, why don't you tell me why you're here in the first place before you get distracted again." Kyle's voice soothingly said, intentionally trying to calm the other teen. Tweek swung his feet and fiddled with his thumbs, before speaking with a clear voice.

"I broke up with Kenny." Kyle tried not to let his shock show on his face and kept his voice in the same tone.

"Why did you break up with Kenny? I thought you two were going great." Tweek laughed shakily, still fiddling with his thumbs.

"Yeah m-me too but uh...something made me think. If I wanted him to be happy I have to geh-get out of his life." his shaking started to settle down gradually the more he tried to even out his breathing. Kyle's hand still stayed on the blonde's shoulder.

"What made you think that?" he bended his head, trying to meet the others eyes but Tweek still paid all his attention to his twiddling fingers.

"He tries too hard to change himself being with me. He won't be able to act like himself if I stay around and I d-don't want to be the reason if he turns into a totally different person." He spoke with certainty.

"Dude," Kyle grimaced "He wants to change because he wants to be a better person for you. He already thinks that he isn't good enough and it's not a bad thing that he wants to change so you shouldn't see it as that." He struggled to keep his voice in its mellow tone. "He wasn't happy being who he was, Tweek. He was happy being with you." Tweek bit his lip and then Kyle finally saw more to the problem than it was.

"But that's not the only reason you broke up with him...was it." Tweek's posture uncomfortably straightened and Kyle smugly smiled once again. "What else happened, Tweek?"

"Craig and I kissed." He held up two fingers "Twice." The Jew cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So you do still have feelings for him. I see how that can confuse you enough to break up with Kenny." His grip on Tweek's shoulder tightened. "But you two can still work it out. I bet you anything he's totally down in the dumps right now over this whole thing." Tweek frowned even more.

"I'm a horrible person aren't I...leaving two perfectly good guys just because my minds to messed up to grow up and make a decision." He held his head with both of his hands. "I just don't know what to do anymore!" His shaking that was just beginning to disappear was now back and it vibrated the whole bed.

"Now don't say that." Kyle smiled. "If you're still that same kid that threatened Steven Spielberg with a bazooka and told Eric Cartman to his face that you hate him then I know you can get through this." Tweek laughed.

"Th-thanks." He finally looked up and met the boy's green eyes. "That really means a lot." His crooked smile weakened a bit. "B-But what am I going to do about Craig?" Kyle rubbed his chin and sighed.

"Well the guy had his chance didn't he? But that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve a second chance. There must've been a reason why you guys lasted for as long as you did..." He paused as he thought some more before speaking. It stayed quiet in the room besides the sound of the clock ticking on his bedroom room wall and the sound of the headboard meeting the wall with each shiver Tweek made that vibrated through the entire bed. It stayed quiet and for once Tweek didn't want it quiet, he wanted to know what Kyle had to say and he grew weary with his shaking getting even worse.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

Why did Kyle need such a noisy clock for, Tweek didn't know. How could a guy keep from going insane with that loud clock? How did he sleep!

And with a clear of his throat Kyle- catching Tweek's attention from the clock- said something that might possibly change his life as he knew it.

"Why not have both?"

:D

Yup, it's exactly what you think. This fiction might possibly turn into a Creneek (is that how you spell it?)

Let's just wait and see :)

(P.S. The scores are 3 for Creek and 5 for Twenny. Also I almost cried when I saw a Shake Weight at Wal-Mart the other day...sigh October's a long wait...)