The Return of Faith +1
South Park and its characters belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. "Ain't That Peculiar" is by "Smokey" Robinson and originally performed by Marvin Gaye.
Once again, I refer you to Seaouryou and oneirogenic for a visual on what Butters looks like here. And a thank you to KyleTheSkeptic, the author of "Unintelligent Design" on for a reminder on some things that needed to be included.
See endnotes for specific references.
Chapter Six: Ain't That Peculiar
Stan was homesick.
It had been almost two weeks since the concert, and the time had passed in an exhausting blur. Every day was almost the same. A long bus drive in the cold. Off the bus, Wichita, Green Bay, Duluth, wherever it was. Sound check. Some kind of food. Concert. Back on the bus, maybe to a cheap motel, or maybe on the bus all night long, depending on where the next concert was. It was only two weeks before the holidays, and he couldn't wait to go home. But this was the last one, the last one until January at least.
What was worse, he was sick. He had never managed to shake that stomach flu he'd picked up in Hollywood. The bus fumes didn't help, and more than once he had barfed all over Kyle, who was getting tired of it.
Stan wasn't the only one who was sick. Token seemed to have a head cold. He could still sing, but he looked tired, his eyes were red-rimmed, and he kept sniffing all the time.
Kenny and Butters were the only ones who didn't seem to be burning out. Butters was flexible, and Kenny was a survivor, in spite of dying all the time. And while Butters could sometimes get annoying, Kenny seldom did. That was why Stan and Kyle were spending the precious few hours before the concert sitting in the motel room Kenny was sharing with Cartman, flipping through the channels.
The door to the room slammed open.
"GODDAMNIT!"
"Language," Kyle said automatically, but he wasn't really paying attention.
"You guys, serioushley! Goddamnit!"
"Mmmphmmm?"
"Yeah, what the fuck is up with you, Cartman?"
Cartman glared at all three of them. He was in a worse mood than he'd been in for weeks.
"This is up," he snarled, slamming a magazine down on the bed. They got up to look at it.
"Baby Band Beat? That's the magazine you were interviewed for, right? What's wrong with it?"
Cartman's response was not so much a word as a sound, the kind of sound a bear makes when you tell him he can't have your picnic basket.
"It's an article about the band—isn't that what you wanted?" asked Kyle. "It looks like they gave you a lot of space—a feature article, even. 'New Teenage Christian Rock Sensation Reaches All Hearts.' "
With another inarticulate snarl, Cartman stabbed a pudgy finger down at the beginning of a set of paragraphs. Stan began to read at the spot he had indicated.
"Easily the most intriguing member of the band is thirteen year old Leopold Stotch, known as 'Butters' to his friends and admirers. We caught up with the shy blond at the small but pleasant home he shares with his parents."
"It's all about Butters!" Cartman raged. "Fucking Butters! That Hollywood bitch is in fucking love with Butters! She oughta be arrested."
Stan continued to read the article that was pushing Cartman to the edge of a stroke.
"Modestly disclaiming any extraordinary musical talent—'I just play because Eric made me do it'—he was eager to show our reporter the back yard and his room, where he keeps all his most prized possessions. Chief among these are his four hamsters: Plague, War, Famine and Death. He explained his choice of names to us: 'See, War's the red one—and Plague's the kinda whitey one—and Death, he's kinda special, because Mom and Dad got me an albino hamster.' Obviously, his choice of such biblical names for ordinary pets shows better than words his commitment to his religion."
Stan looked up, confused. "Butters has the Four Hamsters of the Apocalypse?"
"Just read it, dildo," Cartman growled.
"He confided in us his future career plans. 'I don't know how long I'll be playing,' he said in his delightful trademark stammer, 'but Kyle Broflovski's really helping me with something important. You know, my parents are the best parents in the whole world, but every kid isn't as lucky as me. So Kyle's helping me put all my money into a special fund, I think it's called.' The Stotch Foundation for Abused and Neglected Children will help already-existing programs and also build a multi-million dollar facility in Park County. It will include a shelter, an educational wing for parents to learn better parenting skills, and of course, a playground. 'I'm hoping they'll let me use the slide sometimes,' he added."
It was a little bit sugary, Stan thought, but if you added in the stammer and the way Butters chopped off words—"'cause," "playin'," "hopin' "---it did sound like authentic Butters.
"And the pictures—my God, will you just look at the pictures!"
Stan had to agree that Cartman might be legitimately upset there. While there were one or two group pictures of the band, there were several of Butters: Butters showing the reporter his hamster, Death; Butters on the swings; Butters sitting behind his drum set, looking nervous; all of them taken wearing his Hello Kitty hoodie with a light blue shirt underneath. The caption read, "Teen Rock Sensation models for Baby Band Beat his new trendsetting fashion, Baby Chic."
"What is wrong with those Hollywood hos?" fumed Cartman. "They all want to make Butters into a fucking housepet!"
"Butters can't help it that he's cute," Kyle said. "They look at him and they see a little baby."
"EY! I'm fucking cute!"
There was no really tactful way to respond to this. "UNbefuckinglievable," Cartman muttered.
Kyle pulled Stan and Kenny over. "Kenny, you stay here with Cartman—you know how to handle him. Tell him he's adorable or that you'll have that reporter iced or whatever you need to do to chill him out. And Stan, you'd better warn Butters that Cartman's pissed off at him. Tell him to lie low until show time—grab a burger or something and stay in his room with the door locked." Stan nodded and slipped out the door.
He tried knocking on the door of Butters' and Token's room, but no one answered. Where was Butters likely to be? Then Stan remembered—the stairwell. Butters loved the stairwell. Sometimes you could find him jumping up and down the stairs, and sometimes he just sat and hummed.
He walked to the stairwell, opened the door, and was just about to walk down it looking for Butters, when he heard:
"Everyone comes an' talks ta me sooner or later. They just do."
It sounded like a conversation he shouldn't be interrupting. He could just make out Butters' and Token's backs.
"It really hurts," said Token bleakly.
"Yep," said Butters. "I know. It sure does hurt. I'm sorry."
Wow, thought Stan, Token sounds really heartbroken. He ought to be able to understand this. He vaguely remembered that it did hurt to have your heart broken by Wendy Testaburger, but he couldn't remember what it felt like. He also thought that maybe he shouldn't be listening, but he couldn't figure out how to get out of the stairwell without making a lot of noise.
"I think it was my fault. I should have known she'd be upset by all the political stuff—she told me she would be. "
"Well, I dunno if that's true, Token. I'm not sayin' she's lyin'," Butters added hastily, "but maybe you didn't really do anythin' wrong. She just doesn't like you back, is all."
Stan noticed that Butters didn't seem to be stammering very much. Maybe it was because talking to Token wasn't making him nervous.
Token sniffed. "Well," he said, "what can I do? What will make her like me back?"
Pause. "Nothin'. I'm sorry. But there ain't nothin' you can do if she don't like you back."
"But why doesn't she like me back?" asked Token.
Stan heard Butters sigh. "I dunno," he said, "why does anybody like anybody? 'Cause they just do. There ain't no reason, and it ain't your fault. Why are Stan an' Kyle super best friends? 'Cause they just are. Token, you're smart, an' cool, an' you're talented, an' lotsa girls'll like that. Only not Wendy. 'Cause that's just the way it is."
Stan couldn't hear anything for a long while, and all he could see was Butters' arm looped comfortingly around Token's back.
Finally, Token said, "I wish I didn't have to sing that song."
"It's a great song."
"I know, but it hurts to sing it. Why does Cartman always make me sing it?"
"Well, maybe. . . maybe Eric doesn't like singin' it either. He only comes in on the chorus. Or maybe it's just because you're so much better at it, only he'd never say so. C'mon, Token," Butters said, "let's go clean up an' get somethin' for dinner."
Stan slammed the door behind him. "Oh, hey, Butters," he said, as though he'd just gotten there, "Cartman's really mad at you about some article, so try to stay out of his way until the show, ok?"
Butters jumped. "Aw, Je-Jesus!" he stuttered. "What'd I d-do?"
"Nothing, he's just really pissed off, so lie low."
Stan turned around and walked back to the room he shared with Kyle. Why was Kyle his super best friend? He didn't know. He just was and always would be. Like Butters said.
Kyle was sitting on the bed and waiting for him. "Kenny's calming Cartman down," he said. "Where's Token?"
"He's with Butters. So Butters should be ok."
"I read another article about the band," Kyle said, waving a clipping from a newspaper. "This one was in the Denver Post. Mom sent it to me. It talked about how the band supports anti-gay marriage legislation, teaching intelligent design in school, getting shows pulled—you name it."
Stan's jaw dropped. "But the band's never said any of that stuff," he managed finally. "Not even Cartman's said any of that stuff, except for that Family Guy thing, and that was years ago. He doesn't care what gets taught in school. It's not as though he's going to learn any of it. He's a Terrance and Philip junkie. He doesn't agree with Robson on anything."
"I know, dude," said Kyle. "But look at where we've been playing. Look who introduced us. People are going to assume that unless we say otherwise. They interviewed Wendy: sounds like she went ballistic. Said all the same stuff about how she was surprised and disappointed in us, said Cartman was a mega asshole—I'm paraphrasing here--and that she's organizing some political rallies about separation of church and state. And my Mom is helping her. You know how Mom can get," he added unnecessarily. "But what really sucks balls is that I think they're right. I'm really beginning to be ashamed of running the band. But I can't just walk out, either: it's not fair to Token or Butters or Kenny. I don't know what to do."
Stan tried to think of something helpful to say. Kyle, it's not your fault, dude, it's not about you, we're going home tomorrow, it's all gonna be cool. But all he said was, "You want to get something to eat, just you and me?"
Kyle smiled and put on his jacket. "Sounds good."
This concert seemed like all the other ones, Stan thought numbly. Same kind of people, same songs, same light and sound effects that Kenny always used, though they'd gotten rid of the big boom at the end.
"And now," the announcer said, "you've been waiting for them and here they are—Faith +1!"
Lights up. Music. "Y'know, Jesus . . ." began Cartman, but he was almost drowned out by squealing girls. They were squealing something new now, too. In addition to the "AIEEEEEE!"s, Stan thought he heard. . . .
"EEEEEE! BUTTERS! OMIGOSH BUTTERS! EEEEEEE!"
Onstage, Butters looked confused for a minute, but he must have decided that he'd heard wrong, and continued to play.
Except for what sounded like the occasional random shriek of "BUTTERS! EEEEEEK!" the concert proceeded as usual.
"And now," Cartman announced, "I'm turning the microphone over to our bass player, Token Black."
This was one of the songs Token had insisted they add, and now, ironically, it was the song he didn't want to sing. Stan could easily understand why. It wasn't a religious song, but Token thought maybe the audience would like it anyway, and so far he'd been right. They loved it. And now he was stuck singing it every night.
Token stepped up to the microphone as Butters did a snappy little backbeat with his foot and started a handclapping rhythm that eventually, infectiously, spread through the audience.
Honey, you do me wrong, but still I'm crazy about you, Token sang,
Stay away too long and I can't do without you:
Every chance you get you seem to hurt me more and more,
But each hurt makes my love stronger than before.
Cartman joined Token at this point, and they sang together:
I know flowers grow through rain,
But how can love grow through pain?
Ain't that peculiar?
A peculiarity?
Ain't that peculiar, baby?
Peculiar as can be.
Stan wasn't sure why the audience ate this up so much: maybe because it and the few other songs Token had added stood out like emeralds in a toilet.
Token continued, solo:
I cry so much just like a child that's lost its toy
Maybe baby, you think these tears I cry are tears of joy
A child can cry so much until you do everything they say
But unlike a child, my tears don't help me to get my way.
The entire band joined in.
I know love can last through years,
But how can love last through tears?
Ain't that peculiar?
A peculiarity?
Ain't that peculiar, baby?
Peculiar as can be.
The crowd went nuts, clapping and screaming. The band finished up the concert, and Stan and Kyle went backstage to pick them up.
This time they had to push through a huge line of eleven and twelve year old girls, all clutching copies of Baby Band Beat.
"Good job, guys," Kyle said.
Kenny was carefully packing up his equipment. It was cold backstage, and he must be exhausted, but he was the only one who didn't look it. Butters kept rubbing his eyes and yawning. Token looked depressed. Even Cartman looked tired and subdued.
"C'mon," said Stan. "Let's get on the bus. Next stop, home. Hanukkah. Christmas." No one looked enthusiastic. "Presents?" he added. "Pie?"
Cartman picked up the case with his keyboard in it. "Don't tease me," he begged. "Unless there's pie on the bus, I don't want to hear about it. Let's just go."
They all headed for the door and opened it. . . .
"EEEEEEEEE!" The crowd of pre-teen girls surged forward.
"JESUS!" they yelled, as one panicked guy, and slammed the door shut.
"EEEEEEE! BUTTERSSSS! EEEEEEEE!"
Butters turned pale with fear. "Je-Jesus s-son a Mary a-adopted by J-Joseph!" he quavered, completely unnerved.
"Unbefuckinglievable," said Cartman wearily.
Author's note: YouTube has footage of Marvin Gaye performing "Ain't That Peculiar." I highly recommend it. Chocolate Genius did a slow, sweet cover that probably sounds more like an older, sadder Token, but unluckily, you can only find it on the end credits of the movie American Splendor and the soundtrack. For Butters' hamsters, see The Book of Revelations, Chapter Six.