A/N:

Hello, hello! I hope you enjoy! (Fun fact: the list in this chapter was the second list I came up with, and it's one of my favorites.)

"You know the part that gets me?" Kenny looks up from the bottom of the front step of Tweek's house.

Tweek locks the door, gives the handle a pull for confirmation, and turns around. "What?" he asks as he carefully makes his way down the three concrete steps, eyeing the paper in Kenny's hands the entire time. His heavy backpack slips off his shoulders a bit and he hoists it further up, stumbling a little as he does but managing to catch his balance before he falls.

Kenny points to a place near the bottom of the page as the two begin the short walk to school. "Clyde being thirteenth," he says. "No matter which way you look at it, it doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean?" Tweek shivers as an icy blast of wind rushes past, blowing a cloud of snow dust with it. He tucks his thermos full of coffee into the crook of his elbow and retracts his hands inside the sleeves of Craig's hoodie to shield them from the cold. His own jacket is crammed inside his backpack; he has every intention of returning the hoodie today, but Tweek just couldn't resist wearing it one last time while he could. Who knows when he'll get the chance again?

Kenny lets go of the list with one hand to pull his hood up over his head. The paper rustles in the wind and Tweek tenses, almost reaching out to snatch it before it can blow away. The last thing he wants right now is to lose something he's pretty sure Craig had never intended for anyone to see.

"Okay, well, look at it this way." Kenny finishes adjusting his hood and returns both hands to the paper. Tweek lets out a small sigh of relief that's lost to the frigid October air. "Say the girls only based this off of looks, right? You're going to tell me that they all thought these twelve guys were all better-looking than Clyde?" He runs his finger down the page for emphasis. "Not counting you and me, of course. I think it's an absolute travesty that we're not higher, I mean, look at us." He does a little spin on the sidewalk, and gestures to Tweek with a flourish to illustrate his point.

Tweek doesn't bother protesting. He'd already tried that last night, after he had let Kenny in through his bedroom window at almost three in the morning and shown him the list.

"Look!" he'd half-shouted, thrusting the piece of paper in Kenny's face almost the second his feet hit the carpeted floor. Now that someone else was around, all the anxieties Tweek had kept under control, all his feelings earlier about not being good enough, came bursting out of him. "He was number one!"

"Who?" Kenny had asked, turning to close Tweek's window before all the warmth of the house escaped into the night.

When he'd turned back to the situation at hand to see what it was that had made Tweek Tweak of all people wake him up from the most pleasant dream he'd had in a while, Kenny had surveyed the room to find that Tweek's bedroom was somehow both the messiest and tidiest room he'd ever seen. Piles of stuff were littered everywhere around the room, spread across the floor like land mines; but every pile, no matter what it was – clothes, papers, or whatever else – was meticulously straightened and organized.

"Craig!" Tweek's cheeks had turned pink just from saying the name. He gulped down a lungful of air and cast a worried glance at the bottom of his bedroom doorway. The light had gone off about five minutes before Kenny had crawled in through his window, which meant that his parents had finally both gone to bed. Tweek did not want to have to explain to them why Kenny McCormick was in his room at three o'clock in the morning, and so he tried to control his volume as best he could.

"Number one for what?" Kenny stopped trying to figure out what exactly Tweek's process was for cleaning his room that had made it look the way it did, and focused on what Tweek had been waving around frantically in the air.

And then Kenny had actually looked at the piece of paper. "Shit," he'd said with a huge grin, and Tweek couldn't understand what there was to smile about when it was obvious that Kenny had been wrong about Craig's feelings. Because how could Craig possibly want someone like Tweek when he was number one on a list like this and could have anyone he wanted? "Tucker beat me? My poor little fourth grade heart is bleeding." He laughs. "Where'd you get this, Tweeky?"

"Ngh!" Tweek jerked his head and Kenny had instinctively looked in that direction before realizing that it had just been a twitch. "It was in his hoodie pocket! I didn't mean to look but I thought it might be math and then it was too late and–" His next words come out almost in a wail. "–what do I do?!"

Kenny's eyes had widened just a little, finally realizing that Tweek was legitimately upset about his discovery, and that it was this piece of crinkled notebook paper that had been the reason behind the phone call. He'd put the list down on Tweek's nightstand and made Tweek sit down on the bed, shoving aside the blue comforter and tangled bedsheets – appropriately printed with small mugs of coffee, courtesy of the Tweek Bros. online merchandise shop – to make room. "Okay, first, Tweek, breathe so you don't pass out on me."

Inhale the coffee– No, that's not right. Tweek had lifted his shaking hands to grasp handfuls of his hair, the pain the only thing keeping him relatively grounded at the moment. Inhale. He took a deep breath, his eyes lingering on his pajama pants, the same pattern of mugs printed on them as his sheets – before moving to the carpet, focusing on how the deep, rich, dark brown color looked just like a perfect cup of freshly brewed coffee. Coffee. Cool the coffee. He let the breath out as slowly as he could manage, having to repeat the process three more times before he finally felt his heart start to slow itself down.

"You good?" Kenny had asked, having, at some point Tweek can't recall, sat down beside him.

Tweek had nodded, and Kenny had cautiously picked up the list again, like he was worried just seeing the paper would send Tweek into another panicky spiral.

"Okay," he'd said, smoothing the paper out against his knee. "Walk me through what's going on in your head. Why's a ridiculous list from fourth grade giving you panic attacks at three in the morning?" He offered Tweek a grin. "Not that I mind the late night crisis counselling, but you have to give me a little more to go on."

Tweek had released his iron grip on his own hair, yanking a few strands out unintentionally, and said, his voice shaky but much less hysterical than before, "Craig's number one."

"And?" Kenny had raised one eyebrow. "I'm number–" He gave the list a quick glance. "–eight. Wait, eight? Seriously?" With a shake of his head, he continued, "It's just a number, Tweeky, a number that the girls decided on when we were nine. What's the problem?"

Tweek had squeezed his eyes shut before responding. He took another deep breath, and tried to force himself to speak slowly. "He's always been out of my league, Kenny. And now there's proof that everyone knows that. Craig knows that."

"Tweek."

Something in Kenny's voice had compelled Tweek to look at him; he opened his eyes to see Kenny giving him the same kind of look Craig had given Clyde after Clyde insisted he could single handedly win a krumping competition. Tweek pulled at the edge of his shirt nervously. Kenny's tone was uncharacteristically serious, and whenever Kenny was serious, it meant something significant was about to happen.

"Listen to me." Kenny held up the sheet of paper in one hand, counting reasons on the fingers of his other hand as he spoke. "One, it is absolute garbage that you're tenth on this list, because not only do you have the greatest natural hair color on the planet, you're one of the best people I know, and anyone would be lucky as fuck to have you."

Tweek had opened his mouth to deny every one of those claims, but Kenny kept talking before he could even get out a, "But–"

"Two, Craig being number one on a list from fourth grade says nothing about your chances with him now. You think Craig Tucker gives two shits what a bunch of nine-year-old girls had to say about him? He likes you, Tweek, and if I wasn't sure before, everything that happened at Raisins tonight just confirms it even more."

"But nothing happened at Raisins!" Tweek had blurted out.

Kenny had shaken his head. "Tweek," he'd said with a sigh. "Everything happened at Raisins. You just didn't see it." He held up a third finger. "Third, don't you ever tell me Craig is out of your league again. If anything, you're out of his league, and he knows it. Do not let this dumbass list make you think you're worthless." Metaphorical mic dropped, he'd folded the list back up into its original square and tossed it beside him onto Tweek's bed.

"But then why did he have it in his pocket?" was the only thing Tweek had managed to say, taking a good five minutes to respond after trying to process everything he'd just heard.

Kenny had only shrugged. "That I don't know. But I'd be willing to bet he's been hanging onto it for a long time. Anyone else would have plastered that shit all over Facebook or Tumblr or whatever if they had it, because nobody in this town knows how to move the hell on."

Tweek nodded; once again, Kenny wasn't wrong. Sometimes it seemed to Tweek as if no time at all had passed and they all were still stuck in elementary school. He looked down at the folded sheet of paper on the bed. Kenny had made some good points about Craig, too. Maybe he'd overreacted before, about Craig being first. Maybe it really didn't mean anything.

Suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious and ridiculous about dragging Kenny out to his house in the middle of the night, Tweek had mumbled, "Sorry, Kenny. I shouldn't have woken you up for this."

"Hey, like I said." Kenny had grinned at him. "I don't mind being a late-night therapist, especially if it's going to help get you and Craig to finally profess your undying love for each other." Tweek sputtered a little bit on the air he had been in the process of inhaling and Kenny waited patiently for him to recover before continuing. "You can call me anytime you need to talk."

"Thanks," Tweek had said, offering him a small, grateful smile. "It's almost time for the gnomes, and I don't think I'm going to get much sleep tonight anyway, but if you want, you can sleep on the couch so you don't have to walk back home."

"Killer." Kenny hopped up from the bed and gave Tweek a salute on his way to the door. "Tomorrow we're going to amp up the flirting, by the way. I'm gonna get you and Craig together by that Halloween dance if it kills me." He flashes another grin. "And you know that's true."

After making his nightly sacrifice of underwear to the gnomes, Tweek had been up all night thinking about what exactly "amping up the flirting" was going to involve. Doing it at Raisins on a Sunday night was one thing, but at school? In front of everyone? He shivers, now, in a way that has nothing to do with the freezing cold wind and thinks to himself, once again, that he really hopes Kenny knows what he's doing.

"But all right," Kenny is saying, still trying to puzzle out Clyde's list placement. "I can actually see Craig being first, he's always had that asshole bad boy appeal going on. And I totally get why you want him so bad, Tweeky." He grins at Tweek, who feels his cheeks heat up, the temperature contrast all the more noticeable considering the weather. "But, I mean, Jesus Christ, really? Butters was always cute as hell, but I don't know if I'd rank him higher than the Taco King."

Tweek smiles, the reference unearthing a memory that he'd somehow forgotten: Clyde, in sixth grade, having just eaten thirty-three tacos and earning the title of the first ever South Park Taco King, courtesy of Freeman's Tacos. Clyde, a huge plastic orange and yellow crown on his head, standing on top of a table inside the restaurant, proclaiming his love for all of his loyal subjects while Cartman sulked in the corner, having lost the competition by four tacos. Clyde, pausing in his speech, his face contorting in discomfort, the only warning before he let loose a stream of thirty-three tacos' worth of projectile vomit in every direction.

There has never been a second Taco King, and to this day, Clyde's reign remains unchallenged.

"I don't know," Tweek says, trying to follow Kenny's line of reasoning. Since first reading the list the night before, he's only been able to focus on Craig being number one, and what the implications of that fact might be. He feels a slight twinge of guilt at not taking the time to wonder about Clyde's placement too. They are friends after all; and while Tweek has never in his life been attracted to Clyde in that way, he is the Cute One in their nonexistent boyband for a reason. "Maybe they were considering personality too?"

Kenny shakes his head. "No, see, that doesn't make sense either, because then logically – and I'm sorry, Tweeky, but it's true – Craig shouldn't be first. I know you're all about that Craig Tucker 'fuck you and the douchebag horse you rode in on' attitude, and that's great, you guys are actually pretty perfect for each other. But I can't name a single girl in our school that Craig has ever been even halfway pleasant to."

Tweek doesn't answer, too stuck on trying to analyze the meaning behind the words 'perfect for each other' to have the mental capacity to formulate a real response to Kenny's declaration. Not that it would really matter if he said anything at all; Kenny is still speaking. The two of them reach the street corner, the intersection all that separates them from the high school campus.

"Meanwhile," Kenny is saying. "I don't think I can remember a time when Clyde has been an asshole on purpose." He steps out into the street, and immediately is yanked back onto the sidewalk by Tweek, who has just pulled Kenny out of the path of an oncoming SUV in the nick of time.

"Jesus!" Tweek stares wide-eyed at Kenny and clumsily transfers his thermos from the crook of his elbow to his shaking hands. He unscrews the lid and brings the container to his lips, letting the steam from the coffee warm up his frozen face for a few seconds before tilting it back and taking a drink.

"Huh," Kenny remarks calmly, watching after the SUV as it turns into the high school parking lot. "I didn't even hear that car. Must've been a hybrid." He waits patiently for Tweek to finish gulping down caffeine and then, once the lid is back on the thermos and it's tucked safely back into Tweek's arm, Kenny says, "Can I ask you something?" He hands the list back to Tweek, who hastily folds it back up and slips it into the hoodie's pocket before it can blow away.

"What?" Tweek checks both left and right for more traffic three separate times before he starts to cross the street, Kenny beside him.

Kenny gestures to Tweek's thermos. "Why do you carry that around all the time? You never used to."

Tweek pauses in the middle of the crosswalk and looks down at the thermos with a smile. It's a smile Kenny has never seen on Tweek's face before, and that only makes him more interested in the answer to his question. He nudges Tweek with his shoulder, a gentle reminder that they are standing in the middle of the road, and Tweek lets out a squeak and scurries across the remaining space, stopping once he's safely back on the sidewalk in front of the school.

"So?" Kenny says. He hops up onto the curb, using the edge of the sidewalk as a balance beam, his arms held out to the sides. "There's definitely a story behind that thermos, isn't there?"

"Craig got it for me," Tweek says. His cheeks are bright red, and not just because of the Colorado weather. "For Christmas last year."

"That makes sense." Kenny frowns as a fire hydrant blocks his path, seemingly debating the best course of action before just springing up onto it with one foot. He leaps off of it, performing a surprisingly graceful triple axel that would make Brian Boitano proud, and somehow manages to land on his feet right beside Tweek just as they reach the entrance to the parking lot. Giving a small bow to anyone that may have witnessed his once-in-this-lifetime achievement, Kenny says, "No wonder you treat it like it's literal treasure."

"Hey, guys!"

Tweek and Kenny turn to see Clyde jogging across the parking lot, waving at them. Behind him, Craig and Token are standing next to the SUV that had nearly run Kenny over two minutes earlier. Tweek watches as Craig flips off Token and then they both start walking in his direction. All of sudden he is very aware of the fact that he has Craig's hoodie on.

"Mornin', Clyderiffic!" Kenny says, holding out his hand. He and Clyde do a complicated series of high-fives, fist bumps, and some variation of spirit fingers that remind Tweek an uncomfortable amount of a video of tentacles Clyde had shown them at movie night a couple of weeks ago. He shudders at the memory.

"Sorry about almost hitting you," Clyde says, a little bit breathless from the run over from Token's SUV. He points behind him with his thumb. "They were yelling at each other and none of us saw you guys."

"I was not yelling," Craig mutters, having reached the trio just in time to hear Clyde's statement and needing to refute the accusation. It's an absolute lie, of course; on the way to the school, Token had been outlining the first step of the genius plan he'd dubbed "Operation Just Fucking Do it Already". And Craig was having none of it.

"No," he'd said before Token had gotten all the way through his first sentence. He was still slumped in the backseat of the Honda, his eyes closed, but he'd already lost any hope of getting any rest on the way to school.

"You didn't let me finish." Token had rolled his eyes at him in the rearview mirror; and though his eyes weren't open to see it, Craig could just hear it in Token's tone, so he summoned all the energy he could and lifted his arm to shoot a 'fuck you' finger at him.

"I'm not going to that fuckin' dance," Craig had said firmly. "I'm not going to give up a Saturday night to hang out with a bunch of people I can't stand."

"Would you shut the hell up and just listen?" Token pulled the Honda to a stop at a red light and glanced behind him. "I'm not saying you have to dance at the dance, God knows you wouldn't be able to do that if you tried–"

Clyde had interrupted with a snicker and Craig had thrown a blind middle finger up in his general direction too. "Fuck you," he mumbled, although he had to admit, if only to himself, that Token was right. He's definitely not a dancer. He'd much rather punch the hell out of things than set foot on a dance floor of any kind. Including, to Clyde's eternal disappointment, a Dance Dance Revolution machine.

"–but," Token continued, hitting the accelerator as the light changed to green. "I mean, really, all you have to do is show up. Once you're there, Nichole can handle the rest."

That had made Craig open his eyes. Sitting straight up and leaning as far forward as his seatbelt would allow, he had practically growled, "The fuck you mean, 'Nichole can handle the rest'?"

Clyde shrunk himself as small as possible in his seat, scrunching himself against the passenger door. "Uh," he said nervously, almost able to see the steam shooting out of Craig's ears and hoping the infamous eye lasers he'd heard about didn't make an appearance. "I don't think that's a good idea, Token."

Token had sighed, spinning the steering wheel smoothly in his hands as he turned the corner. "Okay, look. Clyde can teach you how to act confident, and you can totally learn from him every method of flirting you shouldn't do–"

"Hey!"

"–and I can be here to try to keep you from making an idiot out of yourself and deflecting attention away from you when you do, but at the end of the day, all our advice doesn't mean shit if you don't have a good place to use it. Nichole is on the dance committee. She has access to a lot of things we don't. I'm thinking, we get you and Tweek both at the dance, Nichole can work some of her dance atmosphere magic and create some kind of space where you can both have a real talk with each other and–"

"No!" Craig had shouted, startling everyone in the car, including himself, with his outburst. He tore his hat off his head and ran both hands through his hair, not realizing until he felt the sting of pain on his scalp that he'd been about to yank a fistful of it out. "Fuck, Token, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm trying to help you!" Token had nearly shouted back, risking another glance backwards to glare at Craig. "You know Nichole, you can trust her just as much as you can trust either of us!" He motioned to himself and Clyde.

Clyde sat straight up. "Hey–" he started, pointing frantically at the road ahead of them, but Token and Craig both ignored him.

"If helping me means telling your fuckin' girlfriend about this, then I'm done!" Craig threw himself back against the seat. "I'm done with this whole fuckin' thing!"

And he'd meant it, he really had. There was no fucking way he was going to bring more people into this than were already involved. Nobody should have ever been involved in the first place. This whole thing should never have gotten started. Craig had gotten out of that SUV this morning with every intention of shoving every single one of his emotions back inside the black box in his mind, locking it, and throwing it back into the depths of his subconscious, never to be seen again.

And then he'd seen Tweek. One look at him standing there with Kenny, holding that thermos, wearing Craig's hoodie and looking somehow even more adorable in it than he had the night before, and Craig's resolve had completely melted away. Fuck. He couldn't handle the way his emotions kept spiraling out of control like this. It was like every time he was sure of what he was feeling, something immediately came along to fuck it all up.

"Look," Craig had muttered to Token, while Clyde bounded off across the parking lot. "I'm– I didn't get any fuckin' sleep, okay."

"Apology accepted," Token said sarcastically with a shake of his head. "Do you think you can trust that I'm not going to do anything to ruin your life now?"

Craig had flipped him off in response as the two of them started walking to the parking lot's entrance. "Before you fuckin' tell Nichole anything," he said. "You let me know what you're going to say. And if I tell you not to, you don't say a fuckin' word."

"Jesus Christ, fine." Token raised both eyebrows. "Remind me to never let you go a night without sleep again."

Craig just scowled at him.

"I'd hate to hear what you consider yelling if that wasn't it," Token says now. "Just let me know before you do it so I can invest in some decent earplugs." He gives Kenny and Tweek a nod in greeting. "Hey, guys."

"Hey," Tweek says, trying not to let his gaze linger on Craig too long while also making a real effort to avoid eye contact. If yesterday was any indication, eye contact right now only caused problems that Tweek didn't think he could emotionally handle this early in the morning. He focuses on some point past Craig's left shoulder and lifts his arm in a small wave, fighting to keep his voice level. "I can give you back your hoodie now."

The shadow of what could possibly be a smile hovers on Craig's lips for just a second. "Don't worry about it," he says, even as he is internally having an anxiety attack about Tweek having possibly read the list. "I'll get it whenever."

Tweek pulls his arm back; reaching into the hoodie's pocket he touches the folded up piece of paper. Craig doesn't seem to be very concerned about it. Once again he thinks that maybe it really isn't a big deal.

"Top o' the mornin', chums," Kenny says brightly. "What's got the Craigster so fired up on this cold as fuck October day, and can I borrow any of it? I'm freezing."

"Nothing," Craig replies as flatly as he can manage. He looks down, notices he's still clutching his chullo in one hand and shoves it back overtop of his hair.

"Always good to know I almost got run the hell over for nothing!" Kenny chirps with a grin. "Seriously, though, Craig, you don't look so good. I know you like space and shit but it looks like you've got black holes under your eyes." He looks pointedly at Craig's outfit. "And I'm pretty sure those are the same clothes you were wearing last night, aren't they?" He throws his arm around Tweek's shoulders and leans in conspiratorially, stage-whispering, "What do you think, Tweeky?"

"The fuck does it matter to you?" Craig growls, instinctively taking one step forward before he can stop himself. Now awkwardly standing in the middle of the group, he looks to the side, at Clyde and Token.

"We slept at Token's last night!" Clyde says. Craig closes his eyes for a second, thanking God that he's actually coming to the rescue for once. "We didn't wake up on time for Craig to go to his place to change, and he wouldn't wear my spare shirt because it was orange–"

Goddammit, Clyde. Craig takes back his earlier gratitude and obnoxiously, completely conspicuously, clears his throat harshly. Clyde looks at him, eyes wide and innocent.

Kenny gasps, a loud, fake, overly dramatic gasp. "What's wrong with orange?" He leans his head on Tweek's shoulder. "You like orange, don't you, Tweeky?"

If they weren't on school property, and if Craig hadn't already been to the counselor's office four times for 'behavioural issues', he would punch Kenny right into the fucking street right now. He realizes a split second before doing it that he's about to take another step forward and forces himself to stay where he is.

"Um," Tweek says, his lack of sleep coupled with the awkwardness of the situation making it increasingly hard to think straight. "I like– Oranges! They're full of vitamin C!"

Kenny laughs, straightening up and poking Tweek's nose. "You're full of vitamin C – Vitamin Cute, that is!"

Tweek wrinkles his nose. Craig, as much as he would like to take off his disgusting skull shoes, leap over, and beat Kenny senseless with them, can't help but freeze and just stare at him, because Jesus fucking Christ, it can't be physically possible for Tweek to be that cute, can it?

"Oh, God." Token makes a face. "That was bad, even for you, Kenny. Are you feeling okay?"

"Now that you mention it, I am pretty tired." Kenny yawns dramatically. "Your couch is comfy, Tweeky, but totally too short for me."

"You slept on Tweek's couch?" Clyde asks, his eyebrows coming together slightly in confusion.

"Well, I hadn't planned on it, but someone called and woke me up at two thirty in the morning wanting company. How could I refuse?" Kenny punctuates his question with a wink, and each one of the four other teenagers standing near him has a different reaction.

Tweek looks down at his shoes, his face burning.

Token mutters, "Oh no," under his breath.

Clyde's eyes immediately fill with tears, but he blinks them away almost as fast, looking extremely confused.

Craig turns his head to the right, leans over, and pukes his guts out onto the sidewalk.

"Jesus Christ!" Tweek shrieks, flinging both arms into the air in alarm.

"Shit!" Clyde exclaims at the same time. "You okay, Craig?"

"Fine," Craig mumbles, all of a sudden so dizzy he can barely see anything. He sways in place for a second before dropping to his knees and dry heaving a few times."Ugh," he groans. "Fuckin' gross."

"Dude, you're not fine, you basically just Mount Vesuvius'ed all over the place," Token says. "Maybe you should go to the nurse and get some sleep."

"I don't fuckin'–" Craig starts to say, a split-second before he throws up again. He feels like his entire body is on fire, despite the fact that the wind is currently blowing snow directly into his face. "Yeah, okay." He wipes his mouth with the bottom of his t-shirt. "Maybe."

"Come on," Token says, coming over to grab one of Craig's arms. "Clyde, help me."

"I got it." Kenny takes Craig's other arm and Craig tries to protest, because how fucking dare Kenny McCormick treat him like a friend when he's trying to steal away the most important person in Craig's life, but he doesn't have the energy to fight him.

Kenny and Token position Craig's body between them and start moving, practically carrying him in the direction of the front doors of the school. Clyde and Tweek flit around them like anxious butterflies the whole way there.

The morning wind picks up significantly just as they make it inside the school. It's now strong enough to swirl around the piece of paper that had fallen out of Craig's hoodie pocket when Tweek panicked, and lift it up, carrying it across the front lawn – and right into Cartman's face as he slams the door of his mom's car shut.

The paper falls to the ground with barely a sound, and Cartman, utterly offended by the audacity of this thing, snatches it up with a, "The fuck is this?"

He unfolds the paper, reads two lines of what he sees, and lets out a loud, "Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me!"

Top Ten Things Clyde Is Never Allowed To Say Again

1. "Swiggity swooty, I'm coming for the booty!"
2. Any reference to the "Dick-ter Scale". You do not have the power of an earthquake.
3. Fetch. It's never gonna happen, Clyde!
4. Referring to disappointing pizza as "afterbirth on toast".
5. "Look at me, I'm Thicc-olas Cage!"
6. Call Craig a "Craigamuffin" one more time and you'll lose a limb.
7. Whatever that shit was you read out of the Necronomicon.
8. "I'm gonna bust a cap in yo ass." Who the hell do you think you are?
9. "Someone order a package for same-day delivery?" We got banned for a month because of this.
10. "Why do you guys all hate me so much?" We don't. Shut up.