Chapter Four: Three Angry Men
Kyle's cell phone vibrated, and he slipped out of the row and into the auditorium.
"Yeah, what is it, Tweek?"
"I've got to electrocute Craig in FIVE MINUTES. OH, MY GOD!"
Clearly, Tweek did not wish to electrocute Craig.
Kyle tried to reason with him.
"Tweek, it's a SPECIAL EFFECT. Craig's playing an assassin. He'll scream at everybody, flip 'em off, sit down in the chair, there will be a lot of scary light and sound effects and then he'll stand up and walk offstage. Everything is going to be fine."
"I DON'T WANT TO ELECTROCUTE CRAIG! GAH!"
"You're not going to be electrocuting Craig, Tweek. I told you. He's just going to sit in a chair. Hey, have you stopped the show? I can't hear any music. Tell Token to cue up the Sousa."
"Too much pressure! Too many things that can go wrong!"
"TWEEK, GODDAMN IT, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER OR I'LL COME BACK THERE AND FRY CRAIG MYSELF."
CLICK.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, everything went exactly the way Kyle had said it would. A voice announced President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Peering into to the auditorium from the hallway, Kyle saw Craig come onstage as Giuseppe Zangara, yell, "You think I care who I kill? Pull switch!" and flip everyone off. The lights flickered, there was a loud buzzing noise and the audience gasped. Kyle quickly dialed Tweek.
"Everything ok back there, Tweek?"
"Yeah," Tweek sounded a bit muffled—subdued, maybe. "It's ok. That was pretty scary, man."
"I told you it was just a special eff-" Kyle felt a hand on his shoulder and a soft menacing voice said, "That was some Italian stereotype you had up there, wise guy."
Kyle spun around to find himself face to face with Luigi, the nine-year-old former tooth fairy crime boss. "Oh, crap."
Luigi sounded gentle, even thoughtful. Kyle wasn't fooled. Luigi could have his balls cut off. "Some people might even say—offensive."
Kyle forgot to be scared and got annoyed. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Luigi," he heard himself saying, "this is an offensive show. Presidents get killed in it. People say fuck and shit. Hell, Cartman just said the N word in there about ten minutes ago and nobody threatened to kill him."
"Are you disrespecting me?"
"I don't know. Maybe yes. Nobody gets any respect in this show, Luigi, that's just the way it is. It's not personal."
Luigi frowned. "You mean, it's just business."
"Yeah. It's show business. Honest to God, Luigi, if you get back in there you'll see about twenty more things that will seriously piss some people off. I promise you, you're not alone."
Luigi appeared to be thinking about this. "Well . . . ok." He slipped quietly back into the auditorium. Kyle followed him and slid in next to his mother and father again.
"Everything all right, Kyle?" his father whispered.
"Uh-huh," he said.
"This is so good, bubbe, your mother is so proud of you," Sheila said, slipping an arm around Kyle, and Kyle could see Ike bouncing happily on the seat. Craig's electrocution didn't seem to have disturbed him any.
They were now well into the Mole's big scene as Leon Czolgosz, an unhappy frustrated anarchist. Discontented, disillusioned with the state of the world, convinced that God hated him, Christophe didn't even have to act to play the role. Bebe, Kenny, and Cartman joined him in a barbershop quartet about the wonders of guns. They were all armed and pointing their weapons at the audience.
And all you have to do
Is
Squeeze your little finger back--
They squeezed the triggers. There was a "click." Kyle relaxed slightly. Jimbo seemed to have set the guns up safely.
You can change the world.
Whatever else is true,
You
Trust your little finger,
Just a single little finger
Can (CLICK)
Change the world.
All of them, except for the Mole, seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was more than a little spooky, especially Cartman's evil grin as he took aim, but Kyle reminded himself that it was supposed to be spooky and dark. They all exited, and the Mole continued his anarchist song:
A gun kills many men before it's done,
Hundreds,
Long before you shoot the gun . . .
Men in the mines and in the steel mills,
Men at machines who died—for what?
Something to buy—
A watch, a shoe, a gun,
A "thing" to make the bosses richer,
A gun kills many men before it's done . . .
Just one more . . .
And off he went to shoot William McKinley in the stomach. The applause that followed his exit was cut short by Christophe's swift return and glare.
"You think I am joking? You think, this little boy is fort amusant, non? Let us see if you laugh when the revolution comes, when the streets of South Park run red with the blood of the bourgeoisie, let us see if you will laugh then. Vive La Resistance!"
There was a pause, and then the audience laughed heartily and burst into applause. Gerald turned to his son.
"Kyle, that was really clever! That almost had me going there! Was that your idea?"
Kyle decided not to tell his father that the Mole never joked.