Chapter 3: "Outbreak"
Monday. Stan walks into his house.
"Bye you guys."
Kenny and Kyle say bye. Shuts the door. He looks around; his dad is not watching TV.
"Mom."
She walks in.
"Oh, hey Stan. Did you have a good day at school?"
"No. Everyone had masks on and stayed away from each other. Mr. Garrison even had a pink containment suit on."
"Things have been crazy around here. You won't believe what your father bought."
"Where is he?"
"In the backyard."
Stan walks through the house and out the back door. There is Randy, back facing Stan, directing a big crane dumping dirt on top of a structure sticking out of the ground; the top looking like a metal dome.
"Dad?"
"Stan! Hey, I'm glad you're here. Look at what I got."
"Huge debt?"
"No, this is to protect our family."
"From the creditors?"
"It's a Stupidity Bunker. Incase of emergency, we can all get in and wait for the plague to pass."
"This didn't come out of my college fund did it?"
Randy opens up a set of blueprints on a table, "This is the full unit," he points. It is shaped like an erect penis with a pair of balls. "This," points to the left nut, "is the bathroom. And this," points to the right nut, "is the food storage area. There is enough food to supply us for over a year if need be. And this," runs his finger along the shaft, "is the living module. Places to sleep, radio, so forth. This part," points to the penis head, "is the exit. This is for us son, only for us."
There is a moment where he doesn't say anything, but then, "I am not telling Cartman about this."
"Would you like to go in it?"
"No thanks," walks off quickly.
Later that day; CDC HQ. Cartman slaps someone. Smith walks in.
"Mr. Cartman, you have some visitors."
"Oh, geez, I don't know Smith – my wrists are starting to bother me," Eric says melodramatically. "I guess I could see them."
Into the walkie-talkie, "Wellington, send them in."
"Sending them in."
Kenny, Kyle & Stan walk into the room.
"It's okay – he just cured this man," says Agent Smith.
They take the masks they were forced to wear, off.
"Dude," Stan says to Agent Smith, "how about some privacy?"
"I'm sorry, we cannot allow that."
"Fuck it. Cartman – when the hell are you coming back?"
"Do you miss me?" Eric rubs it in.
"About as much as shitting in diapers."
They all laugh, except Eric.
"Seriously – Butters, Tweak, and Timmy – they're the pick-of-the-litter when you're gone. So, are you done playing asshole yet?"
"You guys, I can't leave. It's like I've finally found my calling in life," holds up his right hand.
"Again?" says Kyle sarcastically.
"I get to slap people, all the time. Five minutes ago I got to slap the guy ho runs the A.C.L.U. – it was awesome."
Stan blurts out, "Has everyone here gone brain-dead? All he is doing is slapping them on the face. You can build a machine to do that!"
"Wuw wu wu wuw uw wu uuu," says Kenny.
They all laugh at Eric.
"Ay! Shut up you stupid, poor fag-a-magig!"
"What did you just call him?" asks Agent Smith.
"Fag-a-magig?" says Eric.
"No, before that."
"Stupid?"
"Are you telling me this over-clothed delinquent is … stupid?"
"Oh hell yes! His mom even wears an 'I'm With Stupid' T-shirt!"
"Shut up, fatass!" yells Kyle.
"My god – he has it. Johnson!" into his walkie-talkie.
"Yes, sir."
"Have this kid killed and his body incinerated."
"Immediately, sir."
Doors burst open and Johnson and a guard run over, bag Kenny and run off.
"Oh my god – they're gonna kill Kenny!"
"You bastards!" yells Kyle.
A few seconds pass.
"Dude, shouldn't we go after them?" asks Kyle.
"Why?" asks Stan.
"Agent Smith … these commi homos are starting to make me lose my concentration," he shakes his right hand and lowers it slowly.
"Wellington, get them out of here!"
Wellington starts pushing the kids out.
"Wait! Can I just say one more thing?" asks Kyle.
Cartman shakes his head "yes" to Smith, who in turn does the same to Wellington. Wellington shakes his head randomly.
"Sure slapping people is fun, but it will eventually get tiresome. One day you will wake up and realize you've slapped everyone in town. Then what, Cartman?"
(Dramatic music) "The world. My friend Smith here has contacts in the copyright offices. I've already applied for a patent. While you guys sit around here slapping yourselves, I'll be traveling the world, slapping people in every country, every city, every school. Soon, the whole world will know my name!"
"I'm telling your mom," says Kyle.
"Get them out of here."
They are escorted out.
Hours later. Stan, who has been home for a while, walks up to his dad.
"Dad, why do people do stupid things?"
"I don't know son," says Randy.
"they grow up their whole lives watching people do stupid stuff, then start doing it themselves."
"Well, I read this book Parastupidity, by Dr. Bimbo, who said they just can't help themselves. Once they have the virus they forget things they previously learned."
"But why do people listen and follow clearly stupid people? How could so many people not know better?"
"Well son, people aren't always very-well informed. They don't read a lot and are easily fooled someone who sounds like they know what they are talking about, but in reality are lying. Take the New York Post for example."
"So, there's nothing we can do?" asks Stan.
"I'm afraid not. We just have to shake out heads and try not stare. Hey," he points to the TV, "another hurricane is forming."
"I thought hurricane season ended in November?"
"Me too. Subtropical depression Zeta," reads the TV.
"It's like they keep coming and coming."
"Wonder what causes it," comments Randy.
"I heard in school that global warming has been keeping the seas warmer longer some years."
"Well, I hope no one gets hurt," says Randy.
"Good night dad."
"Good night son."
An hour passes – Randy is still there. Another hour – still there. Another hour – he goes to the bathroom. Half-an-hour later – lies down to sleep. Falls asleep an hour later. Wakes up eight hours, forty-six minutes and twenty-three seconds later. He stretches. He gets out of bed. He walks to the bathroom. He pees. He goes to breakfast. He blissfully eats it. He thanks his wife and kisses her. As he walks to the sink, Stan, who has just woken up, passes him.
"Good morning Stanley," says him mom.
"Hey mom."
"Did you sleep we-"
"OH MY GOD!"
"What ever it is, can it wait until after the a.m.?"
"What is it Randy!"
"Remember a few months back when Global Warming occurred?"
"Yes. It turned out the whole town just over reacting again."
"I fell for it ... I even put all those stupid cloths on. I'm afraid I have contracted .. Stupidity!"
They stand there for a second.
"Yeah, I'll say," says Stan.
CUT TO: Mayor's Office. Mayor McDaniels sits down at her desk. Her aides stand at opposite sides of her. She intertwines her fingers on her deal and speaks.
"I've asked you three here today to help make suggestions on how to keep South Park Stupidity free. I assume you all saw the news and know the severity of the situation. Mr. Bragg, your solution first."
"Well, it's very simple: we collect all known infectants; once gathered, they will be shipped to an artificially created island out in the town lake. There they will slowly starve to death, thusly solving our problem."
"I don't know – what if they swim back?" asks the mayor.
"They will die. The lake will have been concentrated with salt and 50 great white sharks – starved fuckers – will swim the waters."
"Gee, islands cost a lot, don't they?"
"The total expense will be 1.2 million dollars."
One of the aides whispers into Mayor McDaniels' ear.
"Oh … oh. Apparently great while sharks are on the Endangered Species List. Thanks anyway. Mr. Pook?"
"I propose we dig a big, gapping hole, shoot them all in the skull, and deposit their carcasses into said hole."
"Oh, heh heh, yes … how deeply disturbing. Mr. Timmons, you have the floor."
A man dressed, neatly-trimmed blond man pushes out wooden tripod on wheels. He sets a large flip-page paper on it.
To herself, "Lord, let this one not be insane…"
Timmons clears his throat, "This is the Auschwitz complex – named after it's designers: Ausch Tong and Jeremy Witz. Here, Stupidity carries who have been brought in," flips the page to show stick figures with dunce hats on, "by train, will be disposed of," flips the page, "notice the flowers, groomed bushes and beautiful scenery; this will distract them while they are loaded into a purification chamber," flips the page to show stick figures in a chamber with a skull and cross bones drawn on it, "once in the purification chamber, they shall be sealed in and gassed with carbon monoxide until no longer a threat."
"That's horrible!" exclaims the mayor.
"Oh, don't worry, our men will be wearing proper masks and suits."
"I meant for all those poor registered voters!"
"Oh, yes … well, no one said purification would be pretty," flips the page to the nest one, which shows black clouds in the room and stick figures with "X"'s on their eyes, on the floor.
Timmons looks at the mayor. The mayor looks at Timmons. This goes on a few more times. The mayor pushes really hard at something under the desk.
"Damnit, (aide name; sorry fans, I couldn't find the name), why isn't the security alarm working?"
"It is, your mayorness, but budgetary cutbacks have guards on part time."
"Shit. We'll, eh, consider your proposal, Mr. Timmons," she blinks a few times, then leans into an aide, "will someone get him the hell out of here?"
Agent Smith enters a room. In it are toys, a bed, a TV and DVD player, and an X-Box. Cartman is playing video games.
"Mr. Cartman, are you busy?"
"No, just exercising my god-given talent Agent Smith. Can I help you?"
"A couple new cases of Stupidity have just arrived and a few of my men would like to see you in action."
"Hummm … perverted followers – not exactly what I envisioned," speaking up, "okay, they may watch, but no one is allowed to look directly at my face – it inhibits my … abilities."
"Of course."
Agent Smith and Cartman enter a padded while cell, where two men and a woman, in straight jackets, wait. Agent Smith's aide waits, along with a few other CDC personnel.
Cartman snaps a finger and Wellington brings a gold-platted chair – with royal red cushion – for Cartman to stand on. Cartman climbs it. For "show" he holds his hand in dramatic pause. Some of the CDC members point, while a couple take notes.
"No!" slaps the first guy.
The guy rubs his cheek. Agent Smith approaches. He holds up all four fingers, "Sir, how many fingers am I holding up?"
"Ah, four."
"Good. How many contiguous states are there?"
"48."
"Good. Name three of Whoopi Goldberg's last films."
"Eh … I have no idea."
"Excellent! Everything appears to be in order; Johnson, release this man."
"Yes, sir."
"Next," says Cartman.
Wellington brings over the next carrier; it is a hippie.
"Ah! Die you hippie fuck!" grabs the chair and prepares to clobber the hippie as it smiles and gives him the peace symbol.
"Whoa Mr. Cartman! What is the problem?" asks Agent Smith.
"It's a hippie!" whacks the hippie.
"Yes, so?"
Eric thinks for a second, then smiles evilly and replies, "Well, you see, Agent Smith, these types of infectants are incurable."
"So, what do you suggest we do?"
Eric looks to the side and comments suggestively, "…kill him and have his body incinerated…"
"Johnson!" into the walkie-talkie.
"Yes, sir?"
"Have this man killed and his body incinerated."
"As you wish."
"What?" says a baffled Agent Smith.
"Yes, sir."
"…okay…"
Cartman again snaps a finger and Wellington brings the chair over to the next carrier – a fat black lady. Cartman steps up and slaps her.
"What!" shakes a finger in a stereotypical way, "oh no you just didn't!"
"What happened here?" asks Agent Smith.
Stunned for a second, Cartman than thinks; he stretches his fingers, then slaps her again while yelling out, "Stop being stupid, you hear!"
"Talk to the hand you pudgy, umpa lumpa wanna be."
Agent Smith comments, "Hum … it seems to be ineffective on this carrier; perhaps they are mutating. Should we have the body incinerated, Mr. Cartman?"
"No, Agent Smith, I believe this calls for my new technique; it's still in the experimental stages."
"New technique? This hasn't been discussed."
"I call it: kick in the ass. Observe," and with that Eric kicks her on the ass.
"Da'amn!" she exclaims.
"Miss, are you all right?"
"I guess all I needed was a kick in the pants," she replies.
"Really … finish this phrase: Notorious blank."
"B.I.G."
"O.J. is blank."
"Innocent."
"Wayne Brady is blank."
"Funny."
"Well, Mr. Cartman, it appears she recollects all the useless knowledge and demonstrates the improper use of thought – for all intents and purposes, it appears this new 'cure' works. But I'm afraid for now it must not be used until tested properly."
"But … I wanna kick people in the ass now."
"I'm sorry, I cannot permit that," replies Agent Smith.
"Fine," Eric walks off while whispering under his breath, "I'll just patent it myself…"
"411? Yeah – get me Tom Cruise's Agent's number. Yeah, Los Angeles. What do you mean 'unlisted'? Thanks anyway," he hangs up and turns to the Kenny and Kyle.
"Well, what happened?" asks Kyle.
"Tom Cruise's Agent has his phone number unlisted too so he can't be called."
"Well, how do we reach him?"
"Maybe we can google it," says Stan.
Kyle goes to the computer and to and searches, "Ah, here we go: it looks like Paris Hilton has had her T-Mobile hacked again. Here's his number: area code (310) 555-3425. What do we say?"
Stan thinks for a moment, "All right you guys, hush for a second," he dials, "it's ringing. Hello, Mr. Cruise? Ah, tell him it's … ah … Mr. Kyle Broflovski – a jew from Hollywood."
"Dude!" says Kyle.
"Sorry, some chick named Katie answered. I had to convince her to let me talk to him and then I remembered one of Cartman's rants about Hollywood being full of Jewish people."
"Yeah, but still…"
Interrupts Kyle, "Is this Mr. Cruise? Yeah, my name is Mr. Kyle Broflovski. The mayor of South Park, Colorado, would like to invite you over to congratulate you on your recent shooting of Mission Impossible: 3. Ah huh. This Thursday at 1 p.m. sharp. You too, bye," turns to them after hanging up, "Guys! He totally bought it."
"No way," replies Kyle.
"Yes way. In two days, the whole world will know Tom Cruise doesn't have a disease, but actual stupidity."
