Chef, AKA Jerome McElroy, was known throughout South Park as two things: A ladies man, and a cook. His funeral was packed with many beautiful women and grieving family members, but there were also five young boys present at the service. They were Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, and Butters Stotch. Butters was mostly there to provide comfort, but his presence was a nice gesture all the same. The boys hadn't seen Chef much since leaving elementary school a few years back, but they did stay in touch with him. His death hurt them, especially since all the young men in question were now struggling through the awkward teenage years of life. Unfortunately, Chef died during a time when the boys needed him most. He was more than just a cook to them. He was a friend.
"I can't believe he's gone." said a frowning Stan.
Butters nervously spoke up. "Fellas? I know I wasn't as close to Chef as you guys were. Uh, b-but I just want you to know that I'm here for you. I'm gonna do my best to help you through this."
There was a slight pause.
"Fuck you Butters." said Cartman.
"Oh. Uh, all right then."
"Does anybody know what happened to him?" Kyle asked.
"I…I do…" said a trembling voice.
The boys turned around simultaneously. Standing directly behind them was the woman Chef was in bed with that fateful evening. With tears in her eyes and her body slightly shaking, she told them the story.
"We were at Chef's house…and…And someone came into the bedroom. The police said he got in through the back door and…took one of the knives from the kitchen…He just…just stabbed him for no reason! It was horrible!"
The woman became too upset to continue. The boys saw this, thanked her, and moved on. It was time to view the body and say goodbye anyway.
They went up one by one. Each group member had his own unique way of dealing with the situation, though inside they were all feeling about the same. Butters went first, since he was the least connected of the five to the dead.
"Gee whiz, Chef. I'm awfully sorry you died. From what the fellas told me, you were a really nice person and all…I hope you're happy wherever you are now. Oh, a-and you should know that the fellas miss you a whole lot. A bunch of these ladies do too, b-but I reckon the fellas miss you for more important reasons. Uh, but don't worry. I'm gonna do my best to help them deal with-"
"Hurry up, Butters!" Cartman barked.
"Oh. Sorry Eric, i-it's your turn I guess."
Cartman sighed deeply and approached the casket, his head hanging low.
"Chef, I…I just want you to know that…I'm going to be okay…I got most of your food recipes from your mom. I told her I wanted them for personal reasons, but I actually wanna open up my own chain of restaurants. Don't worry Chef; your legacy will live on through me. I'm gonna name a sandwich after you. I figured it's the least I could do after you make me my first million dollars…Anyway, uh, I-I'm not really good at, like, showing emotions and stuff…That's for fags…So, I'll just say take care of yourself…Bye Chef."
Kyle approached the coffin next. He placed a small flower inside of it.
"I made sure to come up here after Cartman. Look, whatever insensitive things he might have said, you should know that he really is hurting inside. We all are. We just have trouble showing it since we don't wanna look like pussies. You know how it is…I don't actually know if you can hear me right now…If you can though, just know that we love you, and that we miss you a lot…Even though we didn't have the same religion, I'll pray to my God tonight that you're happy wherever you are. Maybe someday we can meet up again and talk about stuff…The other guys still need to come up here, so I'll just say goodbye now…Bye…"
Now it was Kenny's turn. Despite the setting, Kenny couldn't help but smirk a bit as he began his one-sided conversation.
"So you died fucking that chick, huh? Personally that's how I'd like to go too…Um, I really don't know what I'm supposed to say here to be honest. I've never had any experience with death before…Well, my own, but that meant I wasn't around to hear what you're supposed to say at the funerals. Heh…In a way, you were kinda like my hero. You got the same amount of ass Ron Jeremy did, but your girls weren't paid to fuck you…I'll try to remember everything you taught me…Anyway, rest in peace and all that good stuff…I hope the angels put out in Heaven."
Stan headed up. Unlike the others, he couldn't contain his emotions. Once he actually saw the motionless body of the man he had always considered his one true adult friend, he started to cry. The hell with getting called a pussy, he had a right to be upset.
"It isn't fair. It just…isn't right…You aren't supposed to be here! You aren't supposed to die now! You're supposed to die when you're old and in pain! ...You didn't hurt anybody. You didn't do anything wrong. Some fucking lunatic just stabs you for no reason…"
Stan trailed off, eventually choosing to just cry instead. It was all he could seem to do. Through tears, Stan attempted to say a few other things to his deceased friend. His sobbing message was incoherent to those around him, but perfectly understandable to himself and probably also to the Heavens above. A goodbye message must have been somewhere in those sad ramblings, because Stan reluctantly walked away from the casket and back over to his friends.
"I'm gonna find out who did this." Stan said to no one in particular.
Cartman scoffed. "Yeah, okay Dick Tracy. I don't think-Ow!"
Kyle had nudged Cartman's large side. "Not now Cartman."
"I'm serious." Stan said. "I'm going to find out who did this. I'm not letting Chef die in vain."