Chapter Three: "Everybody's Got the Right to Be Happy"

Kyle slipped into the seat his parents had been saving for him. From his seat between them, he glanced around at the audience. Everyone in town seemed to be there—Mrs. Garrison, Principal Victoria, the mayor, Mr. Slave, Jimbo Kern—seated next to Ned and telling him something, probably about the guns in the show--the Stotches, the Marshes, and Mrs. Cartman. Some of them were glancing down at the program with a dubious look on their faces, but most just seemed anxious for the show to start.

The lights dimmed. Tweek had just crossed the first item off his list, and Kyle hoped that it gave him confidence.

Two—lights came up on the curtain. Three—a drum roll, and the music for the show began. Kyle wasn't worried about that part. Token was backstage running the electronic track for the show. There was no way they could afford all those musicians, and Token was good with sound equipment.

Then the curtains parted to reveal a carnival barker's booth. Guns hung from the rafters, and targets moved across the back of the stage, looking like ducks in a shooting gallery, only these looked like—

Presidents.

Kyle could hear the audience gasp. If there were going to be a protest, it would happen now. But everyone seemed ready to wait and see what happened.

Jimmy Vollmer stood in the booth, dressed like a carnival barker, as a sullen-looking kid slouched onstage. Luckily Jimmy—like most stutterers—hardly stuttered at all when he sang, and Kyle knew he was very excited to be in the show—opening it, in fact. He pointed his crutch at the new arrival and began to sing:

Hey, pal, feelin' blue?

Don't know what to do?

Hey pal, I mean you . . .

Yeah, you!

C'mere and kill a president!

The audience gasped again, but Jimmy sailed on. His sunny presentation was perfect for this.

Some guys think they can't be winners

First prize often goes to rank beginners!

Christophe, aka "The Mole," who was playing Leon Czolgosz, an angry revolutionary, glared as Jimmy sang about the good points of the gun he was trying to sell him. "All right," he grated. "Give me."

Kyle wished he hadn't insisted on smoking onstage.

As Jimmy showed The Mole the gun, Stan wandered—apparently aimlessly—on stage. He still looked depressed, but luckily that was in character for the lovesick and unhappy John Hinckley.

Jimmy sang on:

Hey, pal, fail your test?

Dream girl unimpressed?

Show her you're the best,

If you can shoot a president!

You can win the prize with the big blue eyes . . .

Kyle winced. He hadn't meant to cast his friend as a luckless loser who couldn't get the woman he loved to give him the time of day. At least, he had, but he hadn't meant for life to imitate art like this. No doubt about it, this seriously blew chunks for Stan.

Everybody's got the right to be happy

Don't stay mad, life's not as bad as it seems,

If you keep your goals in sight,

You can climb to any height,

Everybody's got the right to their dreams . . .

Stan and the Mole fought over whose turn it was while Jimmy warned them "no violence," and turned to Kenny, who had just come onstage in the role of Charles Guiteau. His outfit was nearly as fancy as Cartman's, but shabby, because Guiteau was supposed to be broke.

Hey, fella, feel like you're a failure? . . .

C'mere and shoot a president!

"Mmmm-HMMM!" agreed Kenny. Goddamn it, Kyle thought, Kenny had applied his beard so tight that you couldn't understand a word he was saying. He might as well be talking through his parka!

Craig came onstage as Giuseppe Zangara, then Wendy and Bebe as Squeaky Fromme and Sarah Jane Moore, each of whom had tried to shoot Gerald Ford. All of them were clamoring for guns.

Jimmy paused dramatically, and went on:

Hey gang, look who's here,

There's our pioneer,

Hey, Chief, loud and clear. . .

And Cartman simply swanked onto the stage, silver-headed cane in hand. And took over. Completely.

He hadn't been miscast; Kyle could see that now. He was egotistical, oily, charming, a megalomaniac—in short, he was perfect for Booth.

Well, maybe a little bit fat and short for Booth, but still. The important thing was that the audience was eating him up. The good part—the scary part—was that Cartman had this effect on his fellow cast members, too. They got carried away and into the world of Assassins. It was like watching him imitate Hitler or General Lee all over again. Kyle cast a nervous glance over at his mother, but she appeared to be completely swept up by the play. Kyle figured that this must mean things were going well. Right?

The opening number ended, and a projection of Abraham Lincoln appeared on the backdrop. The strains of Hail to the Chief could be heard.

"Ladies and gentlemen . . . the President of the United States . . .. Abraham Lincoln!"

"Excuse meh, pardon meh, " Kyle could hear Cartman saying. He pulled out his gun, and with a completely unscripted "RESPECT MAH AUTHORITAH!", he fired. The shooting gallery lit up and dinged wildly.

"You dumbass," Kyle muttered. "It was supposed to be Sic Semper Tyrannis." Weirdly, though, "respect mah authoritah" seemed like a perfectly logical thing for Booth to say.

"Johnny Booth was a handsome devil," sang Big Gay Al as the Balladeer. Somebody snickered.

"EY!" Cartman snapped, and glared at the audience. Whoever it had been cut it out. Cartman then proceeded to lay out Lincoln's supposed crimes, and once again, Kyle could feel the audience getting carried right along with him.

Hunt me down, smear my name,

Say I did it for the fame,

What I did was kill the man who killed my country . . .

What I did, I did well,

And I did it for my country . . .

Cartman's strange accent—and Kyle had never been able to figure out what it was—somehow made Booth's song more convincing. He knew that Cartman wasn't trying to say "countreh," that that was the way he always mispronounced it, but it didn't seem to matter.

Let them cry dirty traitor,

They will understand it later,

No, the country is not what it was. . .

There was a dramatic BANG! and the stage went black. All around him, Kyle could hear sniffing. "Goddamn it," he thought irritably, "it wasn't that touching." He knew without even seeing it that somewhere backstage Wendy was also sniffing, and that while Cartman was lying on stage pretending to be dead, he was smugly muttering "Sweeet." He was relieved to hear a deep musical voice behind him saying softly but clearly, "That little fatass cracker is just too goddamned convincing."

Big Gay Al finished up the song, pointing out that Booth was, in fact, an angry madman: Angry men don't write the rules/and guns don't right the wrongs . . . Damn you, Booth. He added, "and how is everyone tonight? Super!" Big Gay Al had broken Booth/Cartman's spell. Kyle could feel the audience coming to its senses. He even heard his mother saying "Whatwhatwhat?" And backstage, in the dark, Eric Cartman muttered, "screw you guys."