Disclaimer: I don't own The Wedding Singer, just like I don't own South Park.
Chapter Five – A Helping Hand
It is early the next when we rejoin Kyle. He is heading to Kenny's house, which we have not yet seen, so we are going with him. We go through the familiar residential area of town, then cross the tracks into the most run-down and miserable neighborhood imaginable. The first house to our left is in terrible condition, with an overgrown lawn covered with various rusted car parts and tires.
Kyle turns, walks up to the house, and raps lightly on the door. It opens a moment later and a dumpy looking woman in very dirty clothes stands there.
"Who's there?" a drunken male voice calls before she can say anything.
"It's one of Kenny's little friends, you drunk bastard!" she screams back.
"Don't get smart with me, bitch!" comes the reply.
"Burn in hell, you lazy motherfucker!" she shrieks before looking down warmly at Kyle. "What can I do for ya?"
"Is Kenny here?"
"I think he's up in his room. Come in."
As we follow him into the crumbling shack and through the living room, we catch a glimpse of the owner of the male voice. He is a scruffy looking man with a blonde mustache who wears a hat simply labeled "Scotch". He slouches lazily in a ratty old armchair and glares at us as we go by. He is obviously very drunk.
The interior of the house is just as miserable as the outside. The wallpaper is peeling off the walls, with is riddled with holes that look like they were made with someone's fists. Rats scurry about the place, as do cockroaches and other vermin. We can tell that Kyle is trying very hard to be polite, but the place is completely revolting and smells of garbage and rotten eggs.
Kyle sees a door at the far end of what we can assume is supposed to be a dining room and hurries toward it, with us in hot pursuit. As we near it, we hear the woman and her husband yelling violently at each other. Vulgar phrases like "no good alcoholic cocksucker" and "crazy nagging leg-licking bitch" fill our ears.
"Jesus!" he swears under his breath as he knocks on the door. It opens and we see Kenny standing there with the hood of his parka removed. Without his face covered, this boy is actually rather good looking, with blonde hair and warm, friendly eyes.
"Hey, Kyle," he says, smiling.
"Hey, Kenny," Kyle replies, "got a minute?"
"Sure," he says, beckoning his friend in and closing the door behind him.
Kenny's room consists of very little but a foul-looking bed and some dirty clothes scattered on the floor. There are just as many holes in the walls here, and an unsettling number of rats.
"What's up?" he says when they're both seated side-by-side on the bed.
"Look, Kenny," Kyle begins hesitantly, "I came to you because I know you're the one person I can trust. Stan isn't talking to me right now, and I don't trust Cartman enough to tell him what I had for dinner last night."
"I take it Stan not talking to you is the problem?" the blonde boy asks.
"Y-yeah," the other says, "but there's a little more to it than that. See, Stan thinks that when I couldn't tell Mackey how I really felt about the two of us, I meant that I wasn't sure if we're best friends. But that's not it at all, Kenny! I…"
He stops suddenly and seems quite interested in his own feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Kenny puts a friendly arm around his shoulders and smiles at him.
"Come on, dude," he says, "it's okay."
"No, it isn't!" Kyle cries, jumping from the bed and turning to face his friend. "Don't you see, Kenny? I couldn't say how I feel about Stan because I…because I love him, not because I don't want to be friends anymore!"
Kenny doesn't say anything right away. His face registers absolute shock. Had Kyle just come out? It had sure sounded that way to him, and he knew more about sex than all three of his friends combined.
"My God, dude," Kenny says finally, "are you telling me that you're…gay and that you have a thing for Stan?"
Kyle suddenly looks desperate. He crosses the room and puts his hands firmly on Kenny's shoulders. Kenny is alarmed by this, as if he thinks the Jewish boy is going to kiss him.
"Listen to me," he say, "I don't have a thing for Stan. I love Stan!"
He takes his hands from Kenny's shoulders when the other boy gulps and nods.
"Okay, Kyle," he says, hopping from the bed, "you came to me for help, so I'm going to give it to you. Feel like having a sleepover tonight?"
It is later that evening and Kyle has taken Kenny (and us) back to his house. They are holed up in his bedroom, eating Cheesy Poofs and talking. They have a DVD of The Wedding Singer playing on Kyle's computer to muffle their conversation.
"Okay, so the plan so far is for me to talk to Stan first to get him to at least listen to you, and then let you take over. Then what?"
"I don't know," the other replies, holding his head, "I don't know! I've tried talking to him before, even after people talked to him for me, and all I got out of it was a busted nose."
Kenny shakes his head.
"You came on too strong. People are stupid when they're angry, dude, and you telling him he couldn't leave unless he talked things over was definitely a bad idea."
Kyle glances over toward the door. We follow his gaze and see immediately what he's looking at; flecks of dried blood still mark the carpet where the incident occurred, a vulgar reminder of a bad situation made worse. The voice of Adam Sandler suddenly declaring that since he has the microphone, the angry old man will listen to every word he has to say brings our attention (and that of the boys) back to the computer screen. They watch as Sandler makes an ass of himself and eventually gets his ass beaten.
"See?" Kenny says, smirking a bit. "It didn't work for him, either."
Kyle rolls his eyes and throws a handful of Cheesy Poofs at his friend, who laughs and tackles him playfully.
An hour or so later, the movie is nearing its climax, though neither of them notice. They have had way too much fun for their own good, and they are both yawning and looking longing at the bed.
"I'm burnt out, Kyle," Kenny says in a drowsy voice. "What do you say we call it a night?"
"You go ahead, Kenny," Kyle replies. "I'd sure like to sleep, but I can't do it until I figure out what I'm gonna do about Stan."
"Suit yourself, dude. We've got all the rest of the weekend to figure this out, though."
Kyle shakes his head and turns his gaze toward the computer screen. Kenny climbs under the covers and is asleep within minutes, as is evidenced by his soft snores. Still, the troubled young Jew sits alone, staring vacantly at the computer long after the movie ends and starts over.
"Please God," he prays as the sun begins to rise, "Send me some kind of sign. Show me the way. Please."
He begins to rub his tired eyes, wondering what caused him to suddenly start praying, and then stops. A smile spreads across his face as the answer to his problem becomes obvious. It's there, on his computer screen, as it has been several times tonight.
"Thanks, God," he says.