Two days later. All the kids stand around.
Butters blows the three-note maritime motif on the piccolo and shouts, "Yoho, Commissioner!"
Eric walks up and stands with his back to the shed, "Welcome, Cretans, to the grand unveiling of the Cartman Organization Center! This C.O.C. was only possible with BULL – Built Under Lasting Leadership. As some of you are no doubt aware, some nefarious Hog has been trying to steal from and undermine this Myentology Puddle Org location. But no longer, as this shack is double-boarded, with a re-enforced door from; and a two-sided double-toothed door lock that can't be picked. I'm sure you'll all sleep better knowing the important paper work of Myentology is secure."
"Ow, my back…" Stan says in a low voice.
Butters starts clapping, which spawns copycats who don't want to look bad for not clapping.
"Wow! I love your C.O.C. and BULL story, Commissioner!" Butters exclaims.
"thank you, thank you. Thank you. None of this would have been possible if not for all your Cretans. Soon, all your hard work will be rewarded. Now, today a couple of Hogs will be coming through to inspect the property, so remember the one/two whistle rule. P.E.S.T. work will be divided into two areas today: rock cleaning detail and painting. Painting detail will be laying down coats of paint on the outside of all the sheds, shacks and barns. Post P.E.S.T. work as normal. Chop, chop, Cretans! Important Myentology work to do," Eric quickly waddles off to his shack.
The kids begin dispersing.
"Let's rock and roll," says Stan.
"No. Just … no," Kyle says back to Stan.
.
About an hour or so later; Kyle and Stan supervise the cleaning of the rocks, cleaning as well, but halt when they hear the the whistle blow. They begin hiding cleaning supplies; the kid with paint and painting accessories, too.
Eric waddles up to a county vehicle with the words "Property Assessor" on it.
"Ah, good morning, Mister…"
"Burea Crat."
"Mr. Crat. How is your morning so far?"
"Sufficient thus far."
"Well, sufficient is better than no ficient," says Eric.
"Yes. Has the small talk concluded?"
"Proceed," Eric replies.
"Indeed. Now, as you know, Mr. Cartman, even though there are certain requirements you are required to meet, because of the nature and historical age of your property, some grand-fathering of existing older structures has been allowed."
"And exemptions for religious institutions," says Eric.
"You're done your homework. Have you thought about an unpaid internship in the government bureaucracy?"
"If it doesn't pay, I don't play."
"Oh well. Let's walk, shall we? I've got other people's lives to steal from and wallets to empty in the name of the bureaucracy headed by elites who know better than you and I only even though they're men no better or knowledgeable than you and I."
.
Mr. Crat kneels on the ground, holding the end of a tape measure to the floor and up to the widow frame.
"Hum … four feet from the floor as required by Federal law."
"Oh, yes, sir," says Eric.
"Um hum. But it is precisely four feet?" Crat then removes a laser gun fo0r measuring precisely, from the inside of his business suit; the measuring tool having been inside a holster. He points, pulls the tripper and reads the results, "Hum, precisely four feet."
"I know, I used a laser measuring tool, too," says Eric.
"Oh, so it's a bureaucrat-off you want, huh?"
"No, Mr. Crat, I'm sure you're more than equipped to win that."
"Ah, thank you. You know, I like my ego stroked as much as the next self-important useless government bureaucrat, so I'll just mark this Dumpings' building as 'satisfactory'."
"Have I told you how slimming and manly that suit makes you look?"
"Don't push it."
"Sorry," Eric says.
"Next structure."
.
Mr. Crat stops at the side of a shack and sniffs the air.
"I smell fresh paint."
"Yes, I'm having all exteriors painted."
Mr. Crat walks a little and stops again, "Why is only half this side painted?"
"Oh, well, the painters went on break."
"Good. Are they O.S.H.A. compliant?"
"Mr. Crat, I sure hope you aren't doing the job of a Federal employee; impersonating one is a Federal crime," says Eric.
"Touché. I withdraw my line of questioning. Nest structure."
.
"C.O.C.?" Mr. Crat asks when they pass the Cartman Organization Center.
"Oh, that' an outhouse," says Eric.
"What does it stand for?"
"Ahhh … Crap Out your Crack; it's a unisex outhouse.
Crat tries the door, "It's locked."
"Only Myentology Ranch Seasoning members can use it. Unlike Starbucks, we enforce out reasonable non-racist rules."
"Understood. Structure has a ramp and is wide enough for the handicap. There is a handrail in there, isn't there?"
"Yes, sir; got it from the Wal-Mart ruins."
"Good. Two more structures to go…"
.
Several minutes later; Eric walks with the bureaucrat to his vehicle.
"Well, Mr. Cartman, after careful consideration, I've decided to give Ranch seasoning a passed-inspection box check. Here's your copy. You'll receive more paper work in three to six business days."
"Thank you."
"And remember: even though you legally own the property, you can't change anything without approval; and the changes must meet the city building codes. Your ownership is only a cure formality."
"Go away now," says Eric.
"Bye-bye," the assessor sits in his vehicle and shuts the door. He does a U0turn in the land and heads off.
Butters blows the whistle twice. All the kids come out of their hiding places.
Wendy and Stan pop up from behind some bushes after checking to make sure no one is looking; they quickly walk back to work.
"You think anybody saw us?" Stan asks her.
"I don't think so," Wendy says, straightening out her skirt.
Craig pops out from behind a nearby tree, "Whoa, free show and I didn't even have any popcorn."
"As you were!" Eric commands allowed to them all.
.
Some time passes. Kenny and Clyde stand next to each other, paijting a side of the feeding barn.
"I have a theory, Kenny: painting the sides white is racist, but if we paint it black, they say that's also racist, too. Painting companies know this stupidity and milk it, offering both colors even though they know it outrages a minority of fucktards. I think it's a conspiracy to sell the neutral shade of gray."
"What about extra-terrestrials?" Kenny asks.
"We'll just have to pray we don't get invaded by grays."
"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Breanna says, poking around a corner.
"It's not polite to ease drop. I have another theory: Breanna is a nosey nelly."
Breanna sticks her fingers in her ears, waves her fingers around and sticks her tongue out as Clyde; he does the same.
The whistle blows loudly. The kids scatter to hide.
Eric watches a fancy car pull up. An older husky guy exits the car and walks over to Eric.
"Mr. Dallas Forsythe?"
"That's me."
"Excellent. come on, lets tour the property."
"Boy howdy," the man says excitedly.
"Howdy indeed. Oh, by the way, here's my copy of the property assessment; which I passed."
"Cool deal. Yeah, yeah, yeah, looks good," he hands it back to Eric.
"As you can see, the grounds are kept and being restored. Structures are being refurbished inside and out. Plus, soon a rustic wall of rocks will outline the front of the property."
"Oh, rock walls; just like them old homesteads in Ireland."
"Yes. Only minus the evil soulless redheads. Check out the dining room, slash kitchen barn…" Eric opens a door and lets the man in first.
"Woowee! That's a deluxe hog slopper. My little piggies are gonna squeal for that!"
"And the kitchen is conveniently connected. You can raise them and slaughter them under one roof."
"Ohhh, the deluxe Gaffigan model. I'll sure be bacon it. Ha!"
"Heh heh heh," Eric feigns laughter, "Yeah. Now, I am legally obligated to inform you there's no functioning bathroom, but it'll be worked on. Right now there are only holes."
"Heck, that doesn't bother me; I shit in my back yard all the time – good, strong, free fertilizer."
"I know what you mean; there's nothing like a good early-morning dump in the fresh air. It lets the world know: You see this? I did that, world – fuck you!" says Eric.
"Heck yeah, it's like we're poop brothers," says Dallas.
"Yeah, whatever works for you."
"I think I've done seen enough. Next Friday, how about we meet and draw up the papers?" Dallas asks.
"Excellent! But can we make it this Friday? I need the check to clear and the funds available for next week."
"Yeah, yeah, I can swing that. You, my poop brother, have a deal. Wanna shit together on it?"
"No thanks, I went a while ago," says Eric.
"No problem; tell you what – I'll take an extra shit just for you," says Dallas.
"…swell. Well, I have things to do."
"Gotcha. I got things to do, too. Get it?" Doo?"
"I must go now. Bye bye," says Eric hoping to end the conversation right away.
"Bye bye," the man turns and heads back to his vehicle.
Eric heads over to Butters, who has been lingering just far off enough to not look suspicious.
"C.O.P. Butters, blow twice and go around and make sure they know it's post P.E.S.T. work time."
"Aye, aye, Commissioner!" Butters replies and then blows the whistle twice as he walks away from Eric.
Eric begins singing to himself," I'm in the money. I'm in the money. I'm in the-"
"Hey, Commish," says Craig.
"Wah hoo, Child Craig. What's up?"
"I need to … take the piss, if you know what I mean."
"OH … come this way…"
.
Stan and Kyle clean their hands at the faucet. Kenny and Clyde wait ahead of other kids.
"I have nightmares about potatoes. In them Mr. Potato Head chases me around calling me a murderer. I wake up before he mashes me," says Kyle.
Eric waddles up, "Child Stan, please come with me."
.
They enter the Analyzing shack and go into the S-Meter room.
"No, I've been good!"
"Child Stan, there are three people who know that isn't true – you, me, and the person who tattled on you."
"Oh, man."
"You're a repeat O/H's offender – only the S.E.R.F. needle can determine if you're being honest. Now, put the cups over your nipples."
As Stan does that, Eric cuts the S-Meter on and then proceeds to tune it.
"I'm innocent! I was only getting Skittles! These aren't my pants! Or something!"
"Are you hungry?" Eric asks.
Stan sighs, "No."
"Good. Are you tired?"
"No."
"Good. Is there any reason not to start this invasiveness?"
"Unfortunately, nothing I can think of," says Stan.
"Good. Did you do your P.E.S.T. work to the best of your abilities today?"
"Yes, I think."
"Good. How do you feel?"
"I fail to see the logic in that question."
"Good. Did you and Child Wendy fool around begin the bushes while waiting for C.O.P. Butters to blow the whistle twice?"
"Well, sort of…"
"Oh, oh – your S.E.R.F. needle is going under…"
"Yes we did."
"Good. So, did you two feel each other up?"
"Yes."
"Good. That's a 2B – one demerit!"
"Agh!"
"Oh, no, your needle is fluctuating like a Congressman's stance on an issue during re-election time!"
"What do I do?" Stan asks.
"Better appease the S.E.R.F. needle; what else are you holding back?"
"But I already confessed!"
"Ut-oh, your needle is finding Nemo…"
"Ah, ah, ah, ah … I, ah, I pealed three less potatoes than Kyle.
"Fewer," Eric corrects Stan.
"Three fewer than Kyle."
"Good, good, the needle is rising like an 18-year-old at the Playboy mansion."
"Whew…" Stan wipes sweat from his forehead.
"Do not remove the cups until told to do so!"
"Sorry," Stan puts the cups back on.
"And one demerit for lying and saying you did the best you could during P.E.S.T. work; three more potatoes wouldn't have broken you. You've accumulated a lot of demerits; I'm going to have to count them up – there may be a punishment in order."
"I can do better."
"If you want to help other people, you first got to help yourself. And I hope you can do better, because two more Analyzings, or one failed Analyzing, will get you placed under B.A.L.L.S.; you do not want to be under B.A.L.L.S.."
"Oh no, that sounds bad!"
"It is. Now, since your needle is floating, you're dismissed. When you get back to studies, tell Child Breanna to come over."
"Yes, Commissioner. What did she do?"
"Child Stan, questions are…"
"A burden onto others. Sorry, Commissioner," Stan gets up and exits the S-Meter room.
"Good little S.C.U.M.."