South Park With An Older Twist

The characters, events and references to persons, places or things in this fanfiction are nearly entirely fictional. There may be some bits of the aforementioned articles that are reality, however the majority is fiction. This fiction will probably have some qualities that appear to be slanderous, however no slander is intended with these pieces of writing.
Also, serious situations and circumstances may be dealt with in this fanfiction in a sense that may seem demeaning or naïve. All these things have been written with full understanding of the seriousness of the situation/circumstance and have not been taken lightly.
In conclusion, this fanfiction, much like the television show it is based off of has been written purely for humourous reasons. If you don't like it, it is advisable that you do not continue reading.
Due to this, as well as coarse language, possibly sexuality and potentially detailed horrific scenes, reader discretion is advised. :D

Episode 2: Does the Ass Know?

"I'm home, mah!" Kyle called as he got into the house and took off his boots and coat. While his mother had insisted on driving him to school, she seemed to have no issues with him taking the bus home. Oh well, at least he had more time to hang out with his friends.

He picked up his backpack, which he'd set down when he was taking his coat off, beginning to lug it up the stairs. Considering he had both a math text book and a history text book in it, it was pretty heavy.

"How was your first day back?" Sheila called from the base of the stairs, wiping her hands with a dish cloth, probably making some kind of food or another. "Do you have Mrs. Garrison again?" The tone in her voice seemed to imply that she hoped not. In all honesty, she was quite sick of Mrs. Garrison.

"No, mah," Kyle chose to ignore the first question and answer the second, standing where he was on the steps. "We have a new teacher this year."

"Oh, how lovely! Who is this new teacher?" Sheila asked with a grin.

Kyle's expression contorted slightly in disgust as he had an inkling that his mother was thinking of inviting the new teacher to dinner. Repressing a comment about how she shouldn't, he changed the subject.

"Can we talk about it later? I have lots of homework," he said, lifting his back to demonstrate that it was clearly heavy with books.

"Oh, of course, dear. We can talk at dinner," Sheila said with a nod, actually surprised that her son was bringing home homework. With Mrs. Garrison, there had rarely been homework.

Kyle sighed, hearing her slippered feet taking her back to whatever it was she had been doing. He, on the other hand, lugged his bag to his bedroom, dropping it on the floor beside his desk. Closing the blinds slightly to prevent the mid-afternoon sun from blinding him, Kyle took his seat at the desk, pulling out the two textbooks and the two notebooks he had for those subjects. His new pencil case, pencils, pens and calculator were next to come and sit on his desk.

The ten-year-old looked at the two text books and the pages on the notebooks where he'd written what questions he had to do. While the math homework consisted of more questions, the history homework would require a great deal more thinking, he felt. With this in mind, he pushed the history to the corner of his desk and started to work on the forty math questions he'd been given. At least they were easy.

Half-way through his homework, the telephone rang and he let his mom or dad (who'd gotten home not too long before) get it while continuing on with the last few math problems. He punched in the numbers on the calculator, picked the proper sign and then more numbers before the equals button, revealing the answer, which he wrote down on his page.

"Kyle! The phone's for you!" Gerald called from the base of the stairs and Kyle pushed away from his desk and went to get the phone.

"Thanks, dad," Kyle said, accepting the cordless phone from his dad before heading back upstairs. "Hello?" he greeted with question when he put the phone to his ear.

"Hello, Kyle."

Kyle found himself stopping a moment, knowing that voice well, despite that it sounded a bit different on the phone. After that moment, he shook himself and continued up the steps.

"What do you want, Cartman?" Kyle demanded. "I'm doing my homework."

"Well, see, that's just the thing. I want the an – I need your help figuring out question twelve," Cartman phrased carefully, but Kyle knew that he wanted to just get the answers and be done with it. "My calculator keeps saying error."

"Figure it out for yourself, Cartman. It's the same shit that we did in class," Kyle bit back, sitting in his chair again. The phone was between his ear and his shoulder as he picked up his pencil and started to work on the last question for the math problems.

"But, Kyle! I don't get it! I really need your help!" Cartman insisted, though his voice was far from the begging that his words implied.

"No," Kyle said, closing the text book and the math notebook and shoving them in his backpack. "Figure this out for yourself. It's not hard."

"Why do you have to be such a Jew-bag?! Hogging all the answers to yourself!" Cartman snapped. "I'll show you, Kyle! I don't need your god damned help! I'll get better than you!"

"Sure you will. Have fun with that," Kyle hit the 'end' button on the cordless with a roll of his eyes. He set the phone down on his desk, put away his pencil and calculator, and then pulled out a pen. For math, Mrs. Crackhead had been almost Nazi-like in her insistence that they use pencil and pen for anything else. "Fucking idiot," he muttered, taking one last look at the phone before setting to do the history questions.

Had it been Stan or someone else calling to ask for help, he would have helped, knowing full well that they wanted help and not just answers. Cartman, however, he knew was just fishing for the answers.

A while later, his mother bid him come down for dinner, to which he complied easily. His hand was starting to hurt from all the writing.

"So, Kyle. Tell me about this new teacher of yours," Sheila started off right away almost even before Kyle had sat down after washing his hands.

"She's definitely not Mrs. Garrison," Kyle snorted, scooping some potatoes onto his plate.

"Well, what's her name?" Sheila prodded gently as she passed around a bowl of something or another.

"Mrs. Crackhead. I think she's Canadian, too," Kyle said, buttering his dinner roll.

"Canadian?" Gerald inquired, looking up from what he'd been doing. "She's not teaching you English is she?"

"Yeah…" Kyle failed to see where his father was going with this and gave him a calculating look.

"Well we can't have that!"

"Gerald!" Sheila scolded sharply.

"What? Do we want our son coming home saying 'aboot' and 'eh' all the time?" Gerald looked sincerely alarmed by the idea.

Sheila sighed, "I'm sure that won't happen, right, bubalah?" She looked to her elder son. "Does she say those things all the time?"

Having to honestly think about it, he took a second before shaking his head. "Not really. Sometimes, but not a whole lot."

"Maybe she was just born Canadian and grew up here, then," Gerald speculated aloud, cutting the meat on his plate. "Otherwise I'm sure she'd be going on and on with her 'ehs' and 'aboots'." The man shook his head. "I really don't understand Canadian folk. Is it all that hard to say 'about' and not say 'eh'?"

"Well, why don't you ask her yourself? I was thinking of inviting her over for dinner for Thursday," Sheila announced. Of course by thinking she meant that she intended to do it and Kyle tried to suppress a groan, but failed.

"Ah, mah, do you have to?" Kyle whined, receiving a reproachful look immediately from his mother.

"Of course. She's new to South Park and it's a chance for us to meet your teacher," Sheila said matter-of-factly.

"But that's what parent interviews are for!" Kyle reminded.

Sheila seemed to think for a moment, "I suppose you're right about that." Mrs. Garrison had never held parent-teacher interviews except for when someone got into trouble, and then it was mostly a big bitch-fest. "Even still," the large woman continued on, "it'll give us a chance to know her on casual terms. Parent-teacher interviews are always so business-like." Not that she'd actually been to many, but she was assuming here.

Kyle knew that he was defeated and that his mother would find some way to refute his every point… not that he had any more points anyway. He'd hoped that maybe, just maybe the parent-teacher interview thing would work. He figured he should have known better.

"So, Ike, how was your first day back?" Sheila turned to her youngest now.

Kyle sat at the table with his elbow resting on the edge as his hand prevented his head from bashing into his plate a few times. Despite the food he would have all over his face, he really felt like doing just that. Maybe then his mother wouldn't invite the teacher over? Unlikely…

xxxxxxx

When Kyle got to the bus stop the next morning, since his mother was letting him take the bus, he was the first one there. He fixed his jacket, zipping it up more as the cold morning air blew slightly around him. His heavy backpack he let sit on the ground even though he knew that it was going to get wet from the snow. It was heavy though, so he didn't really give a shit. When it came to his back or his homework he was going to choose his back.

"Kyle," Cartman said simply as he arrived at the bus stop, but he said nothing more. He was obviously pissed as he pretended to be interested with something across the street.

The red-head didn't even bother to reply and only shook his head, waving as he saw Stan approaching at a run. Good thing too, since the bus was pulling up.

When the doors to the bus opened, there was yet another unfamiliar face for Kyle. Somehow, he realized, he hadn't much noticed the guy the previous day when taking the bus home, and he guessed that the driver hadn't noticed him either. He shrugged. The man was a scraggly looking thing with his facial hair, but otherwise looked perfectly normal. Yet, the moment Kyle took a step on the bus, the man seemed to have a fit.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wai' jus' a sec'!" he said with an almost hick-like tone. "Jus' whoh migh' yeh be?" The man instantly pulled out a clipboard with a thick stack of sheets on it.

"Uh," Kyle said stupidly, too perplexed to say anything of intelligence.

"Come on! I'm freezing my nuts off out here!" Cartman protested.

"Kyle Broflovski," the boy finally managed.

"Broflovski, huh?" the man questioned, though the way he pronounced the name it sounded more like 'broh-flohv-skih'. He flipped through the papers and nodded, satisfied when he found the proper sheet. "Whay wasn't yeh on der bus yusterday?"

"My, uh, mom wanted to take me to school…" Kyle said apprehensively, suddenly wondering if his mother had just fucked up his entire bus-year. Was the guy going to even let him on the bus?

"Weh, ah righ'. Beht nehx' tayme yeh be tullin' yer mah teh cah'," the man said, motioning for him to come on the bus as he put the clipboard away.

Kyle quickly stepped up the remaining steps and found an empty seat, a moment later joined by Stan with Cartman bitching about his frozen balls as he sat in the seat beside them.

"Christ, I thought the guy was going to murder me," Kyle commented as Stan took his seat.

"Yeah. Mr. Glenfield's a bit weird like that," Stan nodded. "He practically asked us all questions like a cop yesterday. Could hardly understand him half the time."

As they heard Cartman unzip and then rezip his backpack, the pair looked over, noticing that he was taking out a text book; looked like the math one. Stan and Kyle looked at each other and shrugged and looked back to Cartman.

"What are you doing?" Stan asked cautiously, wondering if he really wanted to know.

"Well, since some Jew-bag wouldn't help me with my homework last night, I have to find some way of learning this bullshit," Cartman said after he'd placed the text book on the seat and sat back down, but not beside it…

"By sitting on a textbook?" Kyle cocked a brow.

"That's right, Jew." Cartman nodded, throwing a glare his way. "I figure I can absorb all I need to know by sitting on it."

Kyle snorted a laugh before saying, "So, what you're saying is that you ass is going to suck out all the information and take it to your brain?"

"You catch on quick," Cartman nodded. "And don't you dare say it won't work, Kyle! I'll kill you where you stand if you say it won't work!"

"It won't work," Kyle shrugged.

There was a growl from Cartman before he leapt from his seat. Pushing Stan aside, he made to attack Kyle, but was thrown forward as the bus suddenly stopped, causing any traffic behind them to slam on their brakes and honk their horns.

"Wha' teh hehll yeh theynk yeh's doin'!" Mr. Glenfield's voice shouted back at Cartman and Stan, both of whom were on the floor; Stan from being thrown there by Cartman and Cartman because of the sudden stop. "Yeh git bayck en yeh's sayts righ' naw! I'eh be tahkin' ter dah principeh abah thes!"

He stood there and glared at them, the rest of the children looking at the trio and the three in question stared on in disbelief. Stan quickly got up and took his seat, slinking down as far as possible to try and avoid the bus driver's wild glare. Cartman took a moment longer to get up, struggling with the close proximity of the seats, but finally standing. Unfortunately for him, it was at this time the Mr. Glenfield chose to notice the honking horns.

Storming down the aisle, Mr. Glenfield pushed Cartman forcefully into his seat and disregarded the protest that came from the large boy as he came to the rear emergency exit. He threw the door open, causing the buzzer to go off and began shouting at the drivers in their cars.

"Shet teh heh eup! Thehs a' ehmergenceh hyah!" the man shouted whilst the children all covered their ears because of the buzzer. Slamming the door back up, he stomped back to the front of the bus and sat down. He seemed to almost rip the seat belt off of where it was bolted to the side of the bus and then practically punched a button to make the emergency buzzer go off. As he began driving again, he said, "Naw, jus' set tha an' dun do nuttin'!"

All complied, even Cartman as he sat back down on his book.

xxxxxxx

"I thought we were all going to die," Kyle said, still shaken as he put what he didn't need in his locker, leaving his math book out since that was the first class. History was later in the day.

"I know what you mean. I saw him storming into Principal Victoria's office like a rabid dog," Stan shuddered, leaning against the lockers as he waited for Kyle.

Walking into the classroom, they saw that most were already there, including Cartman, who was sitting once again on his math textbook. As Kyle walked by, he glared.

"Way to go get us in trouble, asshole," Cartman growled. "If I lose my bus privileges because of you-"

"You're the dick who attacked me! All I said was that it wasn't going to work!" Kyle said, slamming his textbook down on his desk. As he sat down, he said nothing more to Cartman.

Stan sighed, quite used to their bickering. In this case, he did hope that he didn't lose his bus ride to school. Though South Park was fairly small, he didn't feel like walking. Especially not if there were textbooks in his bag like there were today.

As the bell rang, Mrs. Crackhead came walking into the room, putting her own books on her desk and then proceeding to take attendance. Cartman cursed. He was so pissed off that he'd forgotten about screwing with the seating plan. Oh well, there was always tomorrow, or even after lunch.

When Mrs. Crackhead turned toward the blackboard to start writing the math problems out that they'd done for homework, Cartman slipped the textbook out from under him and set it on his desk. He took out his notebook, confirming the page number and then opening the text to the right page.

"So, today we're not going to mark our work for grading, but to see where each of us is at. Is there anyone who would like to volunteer the answer for the first question?" she asked, looking around the room.

The class could practically hear crickets chirruping and eyes glanced around nervously. Finally, a sigh came from the front of the room and a hand was raised.

"Yes, Wendy," Mrs. Crackhead said with a nervous smile. She'd been worried that no one was going to speak.

"The answer is 24," she said, resting her chin in the palm of her hand in boredom. In her opinion, this class was far beneath her. Long division was nothing.

"I'm afraid not, Wendy. The answer is 25. You probably just forgot to round up with the decimal point," Mrs. Crackhead frowned slightly, but quickly smiled again. "It's okay, you'll get it."

Wendy, however, looked appalled. "No," she said categorically. "The answer is definitely 24. With the decimal points it's 24.4532. So, there would be no rounding up because the first decimal isn't five or higher."

"You would be right except that it's 24.45, as you said. So you'd use the five in the decimal to round up the four. The four would of course become five. Then the five would make you round twenty-four up to twenty-five," Mrs. Crackhead explained, showing them on one of the blank areas of the blackboard what she meant.

Wendy looked further appalled. "No," she said, again with the categorical voice. She even got up from her seat and took the chalk from Mrs. Crackhead's hand and erased what she'd written to demonstrate her own explanation. "If you use the five to round the four," she said, pointing to the two decimal points with the chalk, "then it becomes 24.5. You don't round twice." Wendy placed the chalk less than calmly back in the little curved ledge at the base of the chalkboard and went back to her seat.

"I don't think so, Wendy," Mrs. Crackhead tried to refute it, but looked doubtful now of her own words, studying the way Wendy explained it.

"She's right, you know." All turned to look at Kyle as he said this, Wendy glaring as if demanding him to say that she misunderstood what he'd just said. "Wendy's right, I mean. It says it right here in the textbook."

"And just what page is that?" Mrs. Crackhead questioned.

"The page that the homework is on. In the explanation, it says it right there," Kyle pointed to the top of the page that the homework was on and everyone instantly looked to their books, including Mrs. Crackhead, who looked at the teacher's answers that she obviously hadn't been using.

Once they'd all read the page, they looked to Mrs. Crackhead, who'd paled before flushing with embarrassment, which she tried to hide.

"Well, uh. I suppose you're right then…" Mrs. Crackhead conceded in a small voice. "Next question!" she quickly ushered on, making sure that it was right in her book before asking someone to answer.

"Good job there, Kyle. Standing up for your girlfriend?" Cartman sneered with a wicked grin.

"Shut the hell up, Cartman," Kyle snapped, throwing a glare at Cartman before returning his attention to the front.

"How about Eric answers the next question," Mrs. Crackhead said more than asked.

Cartman's sneer fell and he was now the one to pale, but he quickly came back from it, and much better than Mrs. Crackhead. "All right then!" He looked at the question on the board, then in his book to make sure the stupid ass hadn't copied it out wrong when she was writing it. "The answer is obviously," he closed his eyes, as if drawing the information from somewhere within him. "Obviously it's fifty," Cartman answered after a moment, opening his eyes again.

"Close, Eric. But you need to round it up one to fifty-one, since the answer is 50.6," Mrs. Crackhead said with a small smile. "Good try."

"Fifty-one is what I meant. I just forgot to say the one," Cartman insisted, ignoring the scoff that came from Kyle's direction. As Mrs. Crackhead went on, he leaned forward, looking past Stan to Kyle. "What you got to say to that, Jew? How else could I have known the answer?!" he demanded in a whisper.

"It was one of the questions you did last night, and even then you got it wrong," Kyle said, pointing with his pencil at Cartman's notebook. "Answer number twelve when we get to it. I bet you'll get it wrong."

Cartman smirked, "You should know better than to make bets with me, Kyle. I always win. So, what do you wager?"

"Half your lunch money," Kyle replied after a second's thought. "Still want to bet?"

"I have nothing to worry about, since I'm going to win, after all." Cartman leaned back smugly in his chair.

"And no figuring it out now," Kyle ordered. "Give Stan your calculator and pencil and shit."

"Wha? Why me?" Stan asked, as he'd been quite happy to stay out of this.

"Then he can't bitch about how I'll curse it or something retarded like that," Kyle said as Cartman agreed and shoved his things on Stan's desk.

When it finally came time to answer question twelve, Mrs. Crackhead once again asked for volunteers, but since people had stopped answering, even Wendy, she was prepared to answer it for herself. She was surprised to see a hand go into the air.

"Eric?" she questioned and when she saw the boy nod, she broke into a grin. "Well then, all right. What do you have as the answer?"

Cartman stared at the blackboard and then at his math textbook. 'Give me the answers, god damn you!' he thought savagely. "It's zero," he said, something clicking in his mind. 'Yeah, that's it,' he thought, 'when the number and zero are divided together you get zero.'

A grin broke out on his face and he looked over at Kyle, who was only shaking his head. Cartman's grin fell and he looked to Mrs. Crackhead with a fury in his eyes. Those eyes begged for her to put Kyle in his place.

"Actually," Mrs. Crackhead said and Cartman's heart beat wildly. "The question is a trick question. It's impossible."

"What?" Cartman snapped, not even noticing as Stan pushed his things back onto his desk.

"If the question had been zero divided by nine-thousand one-hundred and eleven, then yes, the answer would be zero. But it's the other way, and you cannot divide a number by zero," Mrs. Crackhead said, though she seemed to doubt herself. She looked to Wendy and Kyle, who seemed to know the most, and saw both nod and felt relieved.

"No! It can't be!" Cartman argued.

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Cartman. Now, question thirteen-" she began, turning back to the board, but she jumped in surprise.

"Lies!" Cartman shouted. "He put you up to this, didn't he?!" Cartman demanded, pointing at Kyle.

"What? No! Of course not!" Mrs. Crackhead said, alarmed.

"Yeah, right! The conniving Jew probably paid you to tell me that I'm wrong!" Cartman looked about to throw his desk at the wall, if he could lift it.

"Calm down, Eric!" Mrs. Crackhead ordered, though her voice was a little frightened.

"N-!" Cartman began to say no, but then noticed the bubble on her head. The whole class seemed to notice, too, for there was a collective gasp.

"Eric Cartman! You will sit quietly in your seat or else I will send you to the office!" Mrs. Crackhead yelled, the bubble pulsing as she did. Her eyes were very narrow, and it would later be said that they were glowing red, too. Her face had gone beat red, at least.

Cartman weighed his options. Sit in this stupid class or listen to Principal Victoria and Mr. Mackey bitch at him for this as well as what happened on the bus earlier. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, glaring.

"I don't like that look on your face!" Mrs. Crackhead snapped. "You have a very bad attitude! If you don't stop that right now-!" She saw Cartman's face fall to expressionless. "That's better," she said, calming down a bit. "Now! Back to math!"

For the rest of the period, she didn't even bother to ask anyone else for the answers, writing them all in herself on the board. She broke five pieces of chalk in doing so and half of these answers were smudged, considering her stomach and chest rubbed against the board because of her size, but none dared complain. When that was done, she slammed the chalk down on her desk, breaking it like the rest and mutely walked out of the classroom. Some swore they saw tears in her eyes.

"Jesus Christ," Stan breathed out a long breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"No kidding…" Kyle did the same, staring wide eyed at the door she'd slammed as she left. "What in the fuck is wrong with her?" Kyle didn't wait for anyone to answer, in fact, remembering something far more important in that moment. "Oh shit! And my mom's inviting that nutcase to dinner!" He actually let his head slam against his desk.

"Christ, Kyle!" Stan declared in alarm because of the sound the contact had made.

"That's what you deserve, asshole!" Cartman snapped. "I hope your mother pisses her off so much with her Jew ways that the bitch kills you!"

The thing was, Kyle couldn't help but think that that was just what would happen.