Chapter Seven:
Kyle had just realized that while intermission is a pleasant break for the audience, it's not time off for the director. He'd had to run backstage and get the gallows offstage and Kenny's body packed up somewhere safe. They could tell Mrs. McCormick after the show—no need to worry her now. Then he'd had to peel Tweek off the ceiling: "No, Tweek, it wasn't your fault. No, I promise nothing else is going to go wrong. Tweek, Kenny could have been hit by a bus or run over by cows or squished by an elevator, it's really not a big deal, no one is mad at you." Finally, against his better judgment, he'd given Tweek a huge swig of the thermos of coffee he always carried with him.
That about took care of fifteen minutes. There wasn't any time to talk to the cast. He had the vague impression that Stan looked more cheerful and that Cartman was missing, but figured Cartman was probably in the boy's room and didn't feel like investigating. There was only just time to slip back into his seat, hoping that Tweek wouldn't have to call him on the cell phone again.
The second half got off to a good start, with Clyde again doing a turn as Sam Byck: "Have it your way, have it your way. . . .You know what my way is? Hot. How about a hamburger that's fucking hot?" and hurling hamburgers out the window of an imaginary car. Then the whole cast, including the chorus members, gathered onstage for the big number "Another National Anthem." Christophe stepped forward:
I did it because it is wrong for one man to have so much service when other men have none.
Then Cartman stepped forward. So he had gotten back from the john, Kyle thought; good. He looked furious and his eyes burned:
I did it to bring down the government of Abraham Lincoln and to avenge the ravaged South.
Then Stan, who was glowing, too, but not with rage:
I did it to prove to her my everlasting love.
Wendy:
I did it to make them listen to Charlie. . .
Whoops. No Kenny as Guiteau. Well, the show must go on. Clyde sang bitterly,
Where's my prize? I deserve a fucking prize! Nobody would listen!
Big Gay Al danced onstage. While the lyrics were fairly serious, --"Well, it didn't mean a nickel, you just shed a little blood," Big Gay Al couldn't sing anything without making it sound like "I'm Super, Thanks for Asking!" It had been with great difficulty that Kyle had persuaded him that there wasn't room for his entire gay menagerie onstage in this number. Clyde, as Byck, led off the march:
Well, there's another national anthem playing
Not the one you hear
At the ballpark!
Where's my prize?
The audience was clearly uncomfortable with this.
It's the other national anthem, saying
If you want to hear—
It says bullshit; it says never, it says Sorry
Loud and clear, . . . TIMMAH!
Timmy had managed to insert a golden moment. Clyde confided, taking off his Santa Claus hat, "You know why I did it? Because there isn't any Mr. Hankey."
Kyle had just inserted that figuring that Mr. Hankey would appreciate it, but the audience of grownups roared. Showed what they knew—Mr. Hankey was real.
The chorus marched offstage and the music died away into a country and western song on a radio. Kyle could hear Mr. Stotch saying, "Have you seen Butters yet? I thought he was supposed to have an important part."
Right on cue, Butters came onstage with a lunch pail, sat down, opened the lunch pail, took out a gun, and held it against his head. The audience gasped and Mrs. Stotch cried "Butters, NO!" Kyle wasn't worried. This was part of the script. Cartman came on as Booth, whistling, and said "Oh! I'm sorry. I was just browsing," and Butters put the gun away.
Cartman's and Butters' characters began to argue onstage, although Kyle noticed that Butters couldn't shake the stammer.
"Wh-who are you?"
"I'm your friend, Lee."
"I don't ha-have any friends," Butters said miserably.
"Yes, you do. You just haven't met them yet."
Kyle let out a breath. In spite of the stammer, Butters was good. This was the right role for him, all right: Lee Harvey Oswald. Together they were incredibly convincing, Butters as the down and out guy with no one to love him and nothing to look forward to, and Cartman as the—wait, what was he doing? Goddamn it, Cartman was being persuasive up there. It was part of the show. As Booth, he was supposed to talk Oswald out of killing himself and into shooting President Kennedy instead. But Kyle felt that weird hypnotic lurch as the audience went with Cartman again. He was acting, right?
Cartman smoothed his mustache and went on.
"What do you want, Lee?"
"Y-you know so m-much, why don't you t-tell me."
"You want what everyone wants. To be appreciated. To be valued. To be in other people's thoughts. For them to think of you and smile . . . You want someone to love you, Butters. Right? Isn't that it?"
Had Cartman just said "Butters?" Butters looked startled and said, "Yes."
"Forget it," snapped Cartman.
"What?" asked Butters, genuinely confused and upset now.
"It's never going to happen. It's a fantasy. You've got to give it up."
They were back on script. Cartman, as Booth, was well into persuading Oswald that he ought to shoot President Kennedy. Kyle relaxed a bit. Then Cartman asked Butters:
"What's in the package?"
"Cu-curtain rods."
"You sure?"
"Su-sure I'm sure! Mom—I mean, Marina wanted me to take them to the—"
Cartman/Booth leaned down, slid open the package and took out a rifle.
"That's a Mannlicher-Carcano. 6.5 millimeter. Stopping range, nine hundred yards. The sight's already been adjusted."
Kyle saw Jimbo Kern frown and say something to Ned. He looked at the rifle again.
That wasn't the rifle they'd rehearsed with. It wasn't ---
"Who are you?" gasped Butters/Oswald onstage. "Good question," thought Kyle. He had to get backstage. Had to . . .Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jimbo and Ned slipping out of their seats, too, and following him up the aisle. At the same moment, the cell phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Tweek had noticed something "off" too. He tore out of the auditorium and up to Officer Barbrady, who was seated in the hallway.
"Officer Barbrady! You've got to come quick! There are guns onstage!"
"I know there are guns onstage, Kyle, you filed a permit, didn't you?"
"No, I mean, there's a real gun onstage, there's . . ."
"Of course they're real guns," Barbrady assured him. "You can't shoot blanks in a water gun. They do hurt like hell, though. You boys should be careful."
"Jesus Christ, Barbrady!" Jimbo yelled, and he, Kyle, and Ned raced backstage, where Tweek had gone as white as a snowman and looked nearly as cold.
"I think something's happening out there, I think . . . " Tweek kept repeating.
But by now, all the other assassins—Stan, Wendy, Bebe, Clyde, Craig, and The Mole—everybody but Kenny, in fact—were onstage and surrounding Cartman and Butters. Cartman had got them going, too. Kyle doubted that Stan even remembered that he was Stan Marsh or was in love with Wendy Testaburger or had a dog named Sparky. He was John Hinckley. Wendy was Squeaky Fromme. They had gotten completely caught up in the drama and were fully committed to convincing Oswald—Butters—to shoot the President. But President Kennedy wasn't here, so the script called for Butters to shoot . . .
Into the audience.
Onstage, Cartman was handing Butters the rifle.
"I have seen the future, Lee . . . and you are it."
Butters took the rifle. Did he realize that the gun was wrong? Did he even remember he was Butters anymore? Butters was shaking, almost crying.
"P-people will hate me," he said pathetically.
"They will hate you with a passion, Lee. Imagine people having passionate feelings for Leopold Butters Stotch."
Kyle could finally see Cartman's eyes. They were glowing hot and angry. He wanted to stop everything, but like Tweek, he felt frozen in place.
Then, as scripted, Cartman hissed, "You have the power of Pandora's Box, Lee. Open it."
And all the other assassins came forward to urge Butters on. They looked like robots as they sang: "We're your family. . I admire you. . . I respect you. . . Make us proud of you. . .We're your family. . . "
And Cartman guided Butter's hands along the gun, slowly aiming it toward the audience. What did that sick fat bastard have in mind? Was he trying to get Butters to shoot his own parents? Or Kyle's parents? Or—his heart stopped—Ike? Or didn't he care, did he just want someone to get it, he didn't care who, just anybody . . .
Kyle tried to scream but nothing came out. It was a nightmare; he was going to wake up.
All of a sudden, Butters dropped the gun and it slid out of Cartman's hands, too. He stepped forward.
"L-ladies and gentlemen, I-I'm supposed to shoot President Kennedy now—wu-well, that doesn't matter, cause he's already dead, but anyway—I-I just can't do it. I know Lee Harvey Oswald did it an' I should be doin' it 'cause this is a play and that's who I'm sposed to be . . .but I just think I shouldn't 'cause shootin' someone ain't ever the answer, Eric, no m-matter how m-mad they make you feel or how sad you are . . . an'—an' I just don't wanna shoot someone in school, Kyle, even in make-believe, and I know some kids and grownups don't shoot in make-believe; they get awful angry and they think it's all right . . . but it isn't ever all right, an'. . .an' sometimes some nice people get hurt." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, 'cause I probably ruined the entire play, but I just can't do it."
He turned to where Kyle stood in the wings. "I'm sorry."
He turned back to Cartman, who was shaking—with anger? Who knew? —"I-I'm sorry, Eric. You were a real good Booth, too."
Everyone was quiet for a long minute.
Kyle nodded over to Token, who cued up the next song. Kyle had decided to put the song "Something Just Broke" back into the show. It was the only song from the point of view of people who had just heard that the president had been killed, not the assassins. Some people thought it ruined the black comedy of the show, but Kyle thought it should be left in. And with Butters' little speech, it turned out to be perfect.
She was crying . . .
I'll remember it forever . . .
And I thought . . ..
There are presidents that aren't worth a lot . . .
But still . . .
Something just broke . . .
Something we'll have to weather,
Bringing us all together,
If only for a moment. . . .
Something just . . .
Then, just as he was supposed to, Cartman slapped his evil grin back on, and sang:
Everybody's got the right to be happy. . .
And the entire cast joined in. Kyle pulled Tweak and the rest of the crew onstage. It looked like a giant curtain call as they all sang, "Everybody's got the right to their dreams." No one even noticed Jimbo and Ned quietly smuggling the wrong gun backstage.
"It was loaded, Ned."
"Bzzzt—My God. . . "
As they reached the last chords of the song, the whole cast glanced at each other and nodded.
Everybody's got the right . . (CLICK)
To their dreams. . . .
And instead of firing at the audience, as they were supposed to, they all fired up into the air. They're blanks, remember? They hurt like hell. Butters had no weapon. He just stood in the middle and tried to smile.
Tweek raced backstage and brought down the curtain. Everyone was hugging each other. "Great job! Wow!" Stan hugged Wendy. Wendy hugged Stan. Craig hugged Tweek, who let out a startled "yawp!" Clyde and Token both hugged Bebe, who looked much more cheerful now. Big Gay Al saw Mr. Slave coming backstage, the first to make it, and said "Super!" as they hugged.
Cartman wheeled around on Butters.
"Butters, you little bitch," he said in a straight flat voice that was much scarier than a yell, "you ruined the entire show. I killed myself up there and you ruined it, you ruined the whole point of the thing."
"I'm su-sorry, Eric."
Cartman raised his hand for a slap and hastily pulled it back as Butters' parents showed up.
"Butters! Is that true? I just heard what your little friend Eric said. Did you really not say the lines you were supposed to?"
"Uh-yeah. I'm su-sorry, Mom and Dad."
"You are GROUNDED, Mister."
"Uh, I oughta be ashamed a myself, ruinin' the whole play like that."
"No," Kyle cut in, "you didn't ruin the play, Butters. You saved the play! It was much better because of you. Wasn't it, Cartman? Or would you like to go visit your friends Romper Stomper and Trent Boyett? They haven't seen you in a long time; I bet they miss you a lot. WASN'T THE ENDING BETTER, CARTMAN?"
Cartman struggled with himself for a while. "It was a better ending." He gritted his teeth and said under his breath, "Goddamnit."
Kyle's and Stan's parents bustled up, too.
"Oh, boys, that was wonderful," Sheila bubbled. "I had no idea that this show was going to be so educational. And you were very good, young man," she added.
Cartman looked up, but Mrs. Broflovski was looking down at Butters.
"Wu-why, shucks, ma'am. Thank you."
"Well, Butters, it looks like you didn't ruin the play after all," Butters' Dad said. "You're ungrounded. And we'll be taking you to Bennigan's."
Butters lit up. "Oh, boy! You mean it?"
Kyle said, "You know, I've learned something today. It's important to learn history and you can make it fun if you want. And sometimes people want to look at the violent scary parts because they're the most exciting. Like wars and stuff. And that's ok. But the whole point of learning history is so you don't have to repeat it. So it's a good idea to be careful—" he glanced over at Cartman "—so you know what your motivations are."
Token turned off the soundtrack machine.
"Uh, sorry. That music was from another show."
Mrs. Cartman had at last joined them.
"My little poopsykins! You were the star of the show! Eskimo kisses?"
"But Meeeem. . . "
"Eskimo kisses, Eric," she barked. Cartman gave her an Eskimo kiss.
"Come home, dumpling. Mommy will make you powdered pancake donut surprise."
Kyle followed Cartman's eyes. Stan and Wendy were holding hands, and Stan hadn't thrown up on her yet. Cartman slowly pulled off his mustache.
"Come ON, poopsykins." She turned to leave, and Cartman began to follow her out. "You want Cheesy Poofs?"
Kyle heard Cartman's voice floating back down the hall. " . . . Yeah, I want Cheesy Poofs." He didn't have the heart to make Cartman take off his costume first.
If he wrecked the costume, he'd just make Cartman pay that huge fucking fine.
Kyle relaxed a bit. Thank goodness. The show had gone all right. Nobody had died—except for Kenny, of course—and Stan was happy again, and Wendy was back with Stan, and Tweek hadn't had a heart attack, and Butters wasn't grounded, and Cartman had been shown a thing or two. . . and really, you couldn't ask for a happier ending . . .
Kyle suddenly froze.
"We've got to do it again tomorrow night."
Author's note: I have to admit it. I don't care for author's notes. I figure if it has to be said in an author's note, then the author isn't maing it clear enough. However, I think it's worthwhile mentioning that I do know that Matt Stone grew up in Littleton, Colorado, the site of the infamous Columbine shootings, which puts a certain spin on Butters' speech. I suppose it's pretty tasteless to have the South Park kids performing Assassins at all, but since when has South Park ever been tasteful?