A/N: whoa dude I got tons of reviews! About this story being slash…. I don't know. All of my stories have at least a pinch of gayness in them, but this story is not about everyone's relationships with everyone else. The slash was a little sidetrack that I put up. No gay sex, sorry.

While I like slash stories fine, but couldn't write one if my life depended on it. Sexual writing makes me…err, sheepish.

(btw I'm glad you liked it brad)

EDIT 8/31/05 7:34 P.M. fixed spacing issues chapters 1-3


Cartman waddled through the front door.

"Why, how was school, sweetie?" his mom asked, smiling at him from the kitchen door.

"Sucked ass! Can I have some Cheesy Poofs, Ma?"

"Sure, dear." She turned into the kitchen, Cartman closely following as he shed his jacket, boots, and schoolbag. "Here you go."

They both sat at the kitchen table, Mrs. Cartman writing checks for her bills, her son crunching down the snack.


"Stan, your friend is here to see you!" Stan's dad called.

"Is it Cartman?" Stan hollered back, not wanting to see the fatass.

"No, the Jew."

Downstairs, Kyle yelled, "Hey!" Stan smiled.

"Send him up, Dad."

Seconds later, Kyle flung Stan's door open, looking pissed off. Seeing Stan's huge dopey smile, he squinted. "What are you so fucking happy about, blue shirt?"

"What are you so mad about, green hat?" Stan laughed, relieved as Kyle's expression softened. "Good. Now that we're all happy again, what do you want?"

Kyle flopped down next to Stan on the bed. "Nothing. I just don't want to hang around my house all day. Was that algebra teacher as mean to your class as he was to mine?"

"Yeah. Maybe he's naturally a stupid asshole."

"Like Cartman?" Kyle grinned. Looking down at him, Stan nodded.

"Yep. Like Cartman."

Neither teen said anything else for a minute or so, but the silence was not awkward. It welcomed open banter, like a casual study hall. Finally Kyle started a conversation.

"Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"When I asked my mom if I could come over here, she told me not to do anything 'funny.'"

"Like what?" Stan asked, although he was pretty sure he knew.

"I asked her the same thing and she thinks that I like you, like, like-like."

At first Stan looked worried, then grinned. "Yeah, parents do get messed up ideas." He looked away from Kyle, at the wall, and got pissed at his mother.

She told Sheila. She fucking told Sheila.


"Butters, did you like high school OK?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Good. Go finish up your homework."

"Yes, ma'am." Butters marched up the stairs the only way he knew how. With no homework to occupy him, though, he could only think of the algebra teacher and cry. "I-I'll show him. I'll be s-smart…" After wiping away a tear, Butters shuffled to his closet.

Reaching inside, he mumbled to himself until he found it, his instant happy maker: a porno. He frowned at what else fell out of his closet- another of his less happy making porno tapes, a pint of vodka, and Kenny's ninja star that had to be surgically removed from his eye. Also something that spilled a dark liquid all over his hardwood floor fell out.

Pissed off, he threw it all hastily back in, though he had to stop to take a shot of vodka, and stared at the dark puddle at his feet.

"Oh, n-no, I hope Dad doesn't find out about this! Sweet Jesus!" He ran to get some rags and wiped it all up, then threw the rag in the closet where it joined two six packs of beer, fifteen coffee mugs, various pieces of clothing, a knife, a stack of porno magazines, and another stack of porno tapes with a holy Bible on top of them.


Kenny woke up, disoriented. As he looked around, he saw the interior of a richly decorated bedroom around him.

Yes- he'd gone to Kyle's house, but Kyle had gone to Stan's house. He was surprised that Kyle's mom had let him stay in their guest bedroom.

"Dude, Kenny, get your lazy ass up," Kyle demanded sleepily, appearing in the doorway, scratching at his red afro of hair. "We've got school." He flicked the lights on and, in doing so, temporarily blinded himself as well as Kenny. "Fuck… Why the fuck did I do that…" He half fell back to his room.

Shielding his eyes, Kenny slowly lifted himself out of the comfortable bed and into the bathroom. When he went downstairs after combing his hair as best he could with his fingers, Kyle's mom had plates full of toast, pancakes, and eggs spread out over the table. She glanced up at him from her own plate.

"Oh, Kenny, join us!" she smiled.

"Uh, no, I can't I-"

"Please, join us," She said, getting more sinister with every word.

"Mmmm-hmmm," her husband agreed from behind his newspaper.

Uncomfortably Kenny sat down at the table with Ike and Kyle's parents.

"So, Kenny…" Sheila started, pushing a plate of toast towards him, "I don't see you around much." She glanced at his ragged clothes and very thin body. "Kenny, are you getting enough to eat?"

"Uh… why?" he asked, looking up from his still untouched plate.

"Well, you're so tiny… and you don't seem to eat much… are you anorexic?"

Kenny had to snort with laughter. "No…"

"Well then why aren't you eating? My word, Kenny, You're smaller than that Clay Aiken guy! Put some meat on your bones, for goodness sake!"

"Mom, leave Kenny alone," Kyle said, stepping down the stairs. He took a seat beside Kenny and started carefully cutting up a nearby plate of toast. When he noticed Kenny watching him oddly, he asked, "What?"

"Why are you doing that?" Kenny pointed to the plate of chopped up toast.

Kyle shrugged. "I don't know."

The blond stared down at his own plate. He had taught himself how to reject any wanting for even slightly delicious food so he wouldn't both starve and drive himself crazy at the same time. Finally he picked up a piece and nibbled a corner off of it. Instantly his ravenous hunger returned, prompting him to devour all the toast in his plate in thirty seconds. Sheila shoved some pancakes and eggs his way, which he ate so fast he might as well have inhaled them.

Kyle, along with his family, stared openmouthed at Kenny, who was as wide eyed and surprised as everyone else.

Sheila gasped, dropping her fork at the appetite of Kyle's friend.

"Sorry, I guess I-"

"Kenny! My word! You could have told me you were bulimic!"

Kyle and Kenny both started laughing. Choking on a piece of his chopped up toast, Kyle stopped long enough to take a drink and then joined his friend again.

"Boys, it's not funny! Bulimia is a serious problem in both girls and boys! We have to educate the public about bulimia in males! We'll call it 'Male Bulimia Education Week!'"

"I don't have any eating disorders," Kenny chuckled. "And even if I did, it wouldn't be bulimia. Why would I want to waste food like that?"

"So you're anorexic, then?"

"No."

"Sure, you're denying it now."

"I just ate."

"So you're bulimic?"

"No."

"Right. Kenny, why don't you go take a shower and come back down. You have another hour until the bus comes."

"Well, I…"

"Don't worry, Kenny. If I hear you regurgitating, I'll be right up."

"You won't hear it."

"Sure."

"Seriously."

"Uh huh," Sheila winked, signaling to Kenny that she would keep his 'eating disorder' a secret.

"GODDAMMIT MOM! HE DOESN'T HAVE A FUCKING EATING DISORDER!" Kyle exploded, tired of hearing about it.

"Kyle, I'm sick of your outbursts. Go get dressed. The next time you yell like that, it's anger management class!"

Kyle cringed. "You wouldn't…"

"I would and I will. Now go get your MOTHERFUCKING CLOTHES ON, KYLE H. BROFLOVSKI!"

"Mmm-hmm," Kyle's dad agreed.


Stan yawned, standing next to Cartman at the bus stop.

"Tired, hippie? Did you stay up all night making free love to Wendy?" Cartman teased.

"No, fatass, Kyle and I had a drinking contest and I lost." With his head pounding, Stan sat on the cold ground, allowing himself to relax in a vain attempt to soothe his hangover.

"Hey, look, It's Jew Boy and his sidekick Ghetto Kid! Good morning, assholes!"

"Cartman, I'm gonna kick your fucking fat ass!" Kyle threatened, but didn't when he reached the bus stop.

"Dude, what's got your panties in a bunch?"

"Shut your face, fatass!"

Stan winced from the yelling. "Dude… Stop saying things…" He held his head, curling up in a ball at Kenny's feet and falling asleep.

"Yeah, why are you angry?" Kenny wondered, glancing up at Kyle.

"My mom threatened me with anger management classes again."

"HA!" Cartman fell on the ground laughing, which woke up Stan and pissed him off at the same time.

"What the hell, fatass! I'm trying to sleep off my Goddamn hangover! Now shut the fuck up!" Stan staggered to his feet.

Digging in his pockets, he grumbled until he finally found a five dollar bill. Angrily he threw it down at Cartman, glaring at it as it settled on Cartman's forehead. Cartman stared questioningly up at him.

"I'm paying you, fat fuck, to shut your Goddamn mouth!"

Cartman smiled, getting up, five dollar bill in hand. "Okay, Stan. Just don't go Kyle on us again!"

"What's that supposed to mean, asshole?" Kyle growled, gritting his teeth.

"Who gives a fuck! Shut your pieholes so I can sleep!" Stan muttered, rubbing his puffy eyes.

"Well, Kyle gets pissed off about everything, unlike the rest of us," Cartman informed the group.

"I DO NOT, FATASS!"

"Shut up… please…"

"Dumbass Jew! You came here mad! And yesterday you got mad!"

"Godammit, Cartman, why do you have to be such a fucking asshole and point out everyone's flaws?"

"You guys…. Shut the hell up…"

"Oh, I do, Kyle? Okay, then, you're a Jew, you have ugly hair, you have anger issues, and you're too tall. Kenny's poor, a dumb blonde, too skinny, and doesn't talk enough. Stan's a hippie, has a bad fashion sense, has ugly black hair, and his mom's a lesbo."

"What?" Stan only heard the last part about his mom. "My mom's not a-" He interrupted himself by suddenly puking all over the tarred road. "Damn it…" He stumbled to his feet and glared at Kyle. "Fuck you, green hat! Fuck you for having a drinking contest with me!" He punched at Kyle's head, but missed by three feet and fell over. "Sh-shit."

After throwing up all over himself again, he got back up and wobbled towards his house.

"Don't worry, Stan. I'll help you home," Kyle reassured his friend as Stan leaned almost a little bit too much on him.

"Awwww, look at that- the two love birds! Which one's gonna wear the wedding dress?" Cartman laughed.

"Shut up, fatass!" Kyle snorted as he helped Stan down the road.

"You'd look good in a wedding dress…" Stan babbled, then stopped Kyle to throw up.

"Right." Kyle bit his lip in frustration and annoyance.

Finally, even though it was a 'short' walk, Stan was at his house.

"Thanks, Kiiiiiieeellle……." Stan fell down on the front lawn, asleep before he even hit the ground.

Shaking his head, Kyle turned to sprint back to the bus stop, where the bus was already pulling up.


"H-hey, guys," Butters greeted the three boys when they ambled into the lobby

"Hey, Butters," Kyle mumbled back, almost not noticing him at all. Both Kyle and Cartman walked in separate directions- Kyle drifted towards an ostracized, moody-looking bunch of losers, and Cartman made a beeline to the snack bar.

Instead of following one of them, as he usually did, Kenny stood next to Butters, not saying anything. He felt incredibly uncomfortable in the clothes that Kyle had let him borrow. They sagged off of him like curtains; Kyle was much taller than him, but only a little bit thicker around the middle. Nonetheless, Kyle's jeans kept falling down to his tiny hips, no matter what he did.

"S-so, Kenny, how do you like high school so f-far?"

"Sucks," Kenny laughed, pulling Kyle's pants up for the zillionth time.

"K-Kenny? How come you think everything s-sucks?"

"Why not think that way? What good is it to be happy all the time anyway?"

"It's actually p-pretty cool, being happy!" Butters knew from experience. He had given up on Professor Chaos after sixth grade, realizing that he would never succeed in destroying the town.

"Maybe, but happy people can get on peoples nerves faster than people who don't care."

"Oh. S-so you don't care?"

Kenny shrugged. "Sometimes. But sometimes is almost never."

"W-well, how do you do it?"

Kenny sighed, agitated by Butters' questioning. "When you don't have anything to care about you don't care. Bad shit happens when you care." Kenny stared at one of the deep red tiles of the lobby floor. Before Butters could ask Kenny if he was alright, Kevin, Kenny's older brother, approached the two from across the lobby.

"Kenny, mom told me to tell you that she's not going to kill you. She wants you to, um… come…" he squinted at the note he had written to remember his mom's lecture. "Home. I think." He tossed the paper at Kenny and ran back to the other side of the lobby.

"W-what's that?" Butters pointed at the note

"Nothing." Kenny crumpled it up and threw it away, not being able to read Kevin's messy handwriting. Even if he could he knew he wouldn't.

"Hey, where's S-Stan?" Butters asked after scanning the crowded lobby three times over for Stan's distinctive black hair.

"He got drunk last night and threw up at the bus stop. What a dumbass."

"K-Kenny? Can I tell y-you something?"

"Depends." Kenny raised an interested eyebrow. "Is it a deep, dark secret?"

"Y-yes."

"Really?"

"Yes. P-please don't tell my dad!"

"I won't, Butters. I don't even know your parents."

"I have beer in my c-closet! And v-vodka, too! Sweet Jesus!" He looked around suspiciously. "L-last night I drank some! I-I'm a bad kid, Kenny! A b-bad kid…"

As usual, Kenny laughed. "That's your deep, dark, secret? Jeez, everyone in this school has the same one!"


A sound woke him up. As he studied his surroundings, he came to realize that he was on his front lawn. Why- he couldn't say, but he figured it might have had something to do with the vomit all over his Sublime t-shirt.

"Ewww." Not caring who was watching, he ripped it off, revealing an upper body toned well by football and basketball. His head hurt, he needed to shave, he had no idea how he had ended up in such a predicament, and he was late for school. "School- mom, she'll take me!" As he tried to walk, he found he'd forgotten how and fell to his hands and knees to puke again.

Sticking his tongue out as he usually did when he needed to concentrate, vomit-covered Sublime shirt in hand, he forced himself up and across the lawn. After a half an hour of trying and falling, he finally opened the front door triumphantly.

"Mom? Mom?" He yelled, but al he heard throughout the house was some 1980's love song coming from his parents' room. Dropping the shirt under the spot where his hand happened to be, he began his long hung over journey up the stairs of his house.

A long while later, after falling down the stairs on three separate occasions, Stan was at the top. He tripped down the hallway and pushed open his parents door. What he saw was burned in his memory forever.

Sheila, Kyle's mom, had her red head between his own mother's spread legs. He shut the door almost instantly, fell down the stairs and got the hell out of there.

Back in his front yard, shirtless, disgusted, freezing his ass off, with a serious hangover, he fell down. Beside his head, his backpack seemed to welcome him to reach inside it. He did as the backpack told and pulled out a Snickers bar. For a second, as he devoured the chocolate morsel, he forgot about what he'd seen. When the reassurance of chocolate was gone, he remembered, and wanted so badly to stab his eyes out.


OK,

I can't feel my fucking arm. This is crap.

In the next chappy, lotsa people start the story moving. Things change. Oh yes.

(thanx for the casual study hall simile, Brad!)