The Return of Faith +1

South Park and its characters belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. See endnotes for specific references.

Shuggie (on deviantart and here) has got a nice picture of Cartman and Wendy in Phantom of the Opera costumes. I thought I'd come up with this idea myself; now I'm not so sure; but as you'll see, it's not exactly the same Phantom.

Chapter 7: Popularity and Pitfalls

The holidays were something of a relief. No matter how popular the band got, in South Park they were still just Token, Butters, and Cartman, while Kyle, Stan and Kenny were still nobody special at all.

The album was quietly climbing the charts. A lot of people had probably pre-ordered them through the Institute or bought them after that first concert, but still, it was surprising how well it was selling—it went myrrh before Christmas and was well on its way to double myrrh. Some of it must have had something to do with the article in Baby Band Beat and Butters' subsequent popularity. The album sales were probably the only positive result of Butters' sudden and unwanted fame. Otherwise, it was nothing but trouble.

For one thing, Butters was frankly scared of the preteen girls who kept sending him fan mail. His email crashed shortly before he arrived home. The living room was filled with dolls, stuffed animals, pencil cases, backpacks, and other stuff from Sanrio: it looked as though Puff the Magic Dragon had been over and vomited Pepto-Bismol. There were now Butters fansites, Butters fanart; there was even Butters fanfiction. He quit playing the interactive part of Hello Kitty Island Adventure, asked his Dad to unhook his computer from the internet, and finally took to hiding under his bed for most of the day, singing "loo loo loo" under his breath. This was ok as long as the band was home for the holidays, but as January approached, it was going to be necessary to get him to go back on tour, and Butters didn't want to go.

Kyle and Stan tried to get Mr. and Mrs. Stotch to help, but their attempts didn't seem to be very, well, helpful. Their first suggestion was to ground Butters, and Kyle had a lot of trouble explaining that it wasn't any use to ground someone who wouldn't come out from under the bed. Next, they took Butters to the mental institute, but the very sight of the place made Butters even more panicky, and he refused to get off the chair in the waiting room, saying stubbornly that his butt was fine, thank you very much. They came home with a prescription for Xanax. This calmed Butters down, but it made him fall asleep on top of his drum set, so that was no good. Butters was also wetting the bed, and Token, who usually shared a room with him, strongly objected to this. Cartman came over only once, on Christmas Day, and Stan heard him screaming, "Merry fucking Christmas, Butters; now quit acting like Tweek, you little faggot!"

It was Kenny who finally persuaded Butters to come out from under the bed and go on tour. Stan and Kyle went with him to the Stotches' and saw him go upstairs. They must have had a long conversation, but neither Kenny nor Butters would discuss what they talked about. When Kenny came back down, Butters followed him, and apologized profusely, scuffing his foot on the floor and staring down at it.

"I-I'm really awful sorry, fellas," he said. "I d-didn't mean to be su-such a cryin' little pussy. I-I oughta behave myself." He hugged Kenny tightly around the neck. "Aw, thank you, Kenny," he said fervently, "thank you su-so much. I ain't never gonna forget this."

Stan thought he heard Kenny mumble, "No problem, dude."

In fact, Kenny had a lot of responsibilities. When he wasn't checking over pyrotechnic charts, Butters wanted to talk over whatever it was he'd promised to do for him. And once, when he was downtown with Stan and Kyle, Wendy grabbed Kenny, talking about something he'd promised to do for her. Kenny was a pretty cool guy, but he was starting to look a little harassed.

Token's cold improved a lot over the holidays. His parents hadn't been particularly excited about the band in the first place, but they were proud of his accomplishments. After all, when a track was played or downloaded from the new album, it was almost always Token's vocals on "Ain't That Peculiar," and this seemed to make him feel better. Butters was the fangirls' idol; Token was the acknowledged musician. And this left out the only member of the band who had really wanted fame in the first place.

Cartman didn't like the situation, and Stan thought he might really, finally, be losing his marbles. As soon as they had gotten home, he had locked himself into the basement with his Great Grandmehm's old recordings and done something with them, only he wouldn't say what. Now he was practicing the keyboards by himself for long stretches at a time, improvising bizarre passages that had absolutely nothing to do with what the band usually played. Sometimes he seemed to be doing a complex, freakish theme and variations on "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child," which was ironic, because come to think of it, he actually was. Sometimes he seemed to be practicing something else that sounded fast and angry, but the only words Stan could make out were "Shoot me." Over and over and over. It was spooky, and reminded Stan of the Phantom of the Opera; not the nice romantic one, either, but the old one with Lon Chaney Sr., where the Phantom was a psychotic mutilated freak scary enough to make you crap your pants.

Mrs. Broflovski and Wendy were everywhere, leafleting, holding rallies, raising Cain. It was impossible to go anywhere without running into one of them or someone they had recruited. There was always someone outside the grocery store, handing out literature, no matter how cold it was. The pamphlets and direct mail materials were in the Broflovski's basement, and more than once, Stan found Kyle reading some of them and looking unhappy. He wouldn't say what was bothering him; only that he was having trouble with his principles and felt like a hypocrite. Stan looked through the pamphlets himself, which covered a lot of separation of church and state issues, from gay marriage to education to censorship. He guessed Kyle meant that he felt weird running the business operations for a Christian band that had a right-wing reputation when he himself was Jewish.

Kyle had had to tell Cartman about the negative publicity the band was getting from his Mom and Wendy. This had been a bad idea. Cartman blew his stack. He'd told Kyle to put a goddam muzzle on his bitch of a Jewish mother, and then gone over to Butters' house and stolen a pile of chocolate covered Oreos that some fangirl had sent. He then went over to the Testaburger's and started hurling Oreos through the windows and breaking them, screaming, "Take that, you ACLU ho freak! I hope you choke on 'em! I hope you die!" Wendy had come to the window, screamed back, and returned fire; Officer Barbrady was called; and it all ended in shattered glass, pulverized cookies, and bitter mutual recrimination.

No doubt about it: Cartman was acting even more unbalanced than usual. This could not be good news. All things considered, it was probably a good idea to get back on the road.

When they arrived at their first gig in Dubuque, they stopped off at the motel first, and then Kenny, Kyle, and Stan went ahead to the theater to set up. They carried the boxes off the bus one by one and began to place them according to Kenny's usual plot.

"Say, fellas," said Kenny, "where does Kenny usually put this one?"

Stan and Kyle turned around. Why was Kenny asking where he put stuff?

Butters untied the hood of Kenny's parka. "Boy howdy," he added, "it sure is hot in there. I dunno how Kenny stands it."

Kyle gaped. "Butters?" he said finally.

"Fooled ya!" said Butters happily, lifting his arms in a little cheer. "Kenny was su-sure ya wouldn't notice. He said one blond looks p-pretty much like another. I wasn't so sure myself, but if you can't even tell I'm not Kenny, then I b-bet things'll be ok! He did make me p-promise not to touch any of the explosives, though."

"But if you're here," said Stan, "where's Kenny?"

"Oh, he's gonna get here early," Butters began, "he needs to—"

He was cut off by screaming from the front of the theater.

"EEEEEEK!"

"Oh, b-boy," said Butters, looking nervous. "I'll see you fellas later," and he hastily pulled up Kenny's hood.

Stan and Kyle raced for the front of the theater. There was Faith +1, getting out of the bus which had gone back to pick them up. Out came Token, then Cartman, and then. . . .

"BUTTERS! AIEEEEE!" screamed the fangirls.

There was Kenny, wearing Butters' Hello Kitty hoodie and looking particularly angelic. He signed autographs, posed for pictures, even graciously allowed his fans to hug him and kiss him.

Stan shook his head and went back into the theater with Kyle. They went backstage and found Butters, who peeked anxiously out through the opening in the orange hood. "Is he doin' a g-good job?" he asked.

They assured him that he was, and Butters seemed relieved.

"Ain't this nice of Kenny?" he said. "I'm aw-awful grateful to him."

Kenny's ruse worked well. The fangirls truly couldn't tell the difference: Kenny in a blue shirt was Butters, and Butters in an orange parka was some anonymous roadie, and they were both very pleased with the trade-off. The band continued touring less and less frequently, until by the end of February they were at home most of the time. The album had begun to cross over and was selling rapidly. Butters and Token both enjoyed the return to normal life and Butters even began adding on to the hamster trails he had running all over his room.

Cartman, however, did not get time off, because he kept being called in to appear at the Institute and at the Church-A-Rama with Robson, at events where it was very difficult to tell where the religion ended and the politics began. One of these was a large rally in Denver and the entire band was supposed to play. Kyle, Stan and Kenny thought they had better go, too. Kyle's mom said that he could go. In fact—

"I'd be happy to drive you and your friends, bubbe," she said, "especially since I was going to go anyway."

Stan saw Kyle's jaw drop. "Mom? You were going to a Christian rally?" he said incredulously.

"No, darling, a political rally," she corrected. "It's on the statehouse steps, isn't it? Well, a group of us are going down there with some signs and banners of our own."

"Wait," Kyle said, frowning. "So—the band is appearing, and Robson is speaking, and I thought it was some religious thing. And you're going to be protesting on the other side of—whatever it's about?"

"That's right, bubbeleh," she said firmly.

Kyle looked horrified. "Mom, you can't do that!" he said. "I'm supposed to be running the band. You're my mother. How embarrassing is that?"

"Well," she said, "maybe I'm not the one who ought to be embarrassed. Do you know what this rally is about, Kyle?"

"No," he admitted.

"You ought to. Never mind. There's plenty of room in the minivan for all of you. And it will save on gas. We'll meet up after the rally."

But when the day for the rally came, only Kenny and Stan were at Kyle's. They had already climbed in and fastened their seatbelts when Cartman's mom dropped him off.

"Where's Butters? Where's Token?" demanded Cartman as he puffed up to the van.

"Token's mom called last night," Stan explained. "They have to go to a cousin's birthday party out of town. And Butters doesn't want to go. His parents don't want him to go, either," he added hastily, seeing that Cartman was already looking angry. "You know how nervous he was. We don't want to start all that up again." Cartman climbed into the van.

"Are we ready to go, Mom?" asked Kyle.

"Just a minute, Kyle. We've got one more of your little friends coming. Ah, here she is," she finished, as Wendy came running down the street with a big stack of posterboard under her arm.

"Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Broflovski," she said. Everyone else, including Kenny, stared at her.

"Wendy?" said Stan at last, breaking the silence. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" retorted Wendy. "I'm going to the rally."

"Wendy's been very active in the campaign," said Mrs. Broflovski, "especially for such a young lady. I'm very impressed."

"Thank you, Mrs. Broflovski," said Wendy. She jammed the stack of posterboard in before getting in herself, jabbing Cartman in the leg.

"What the hell is this shit?" he snapped.

"They're signs," Wendy said. "For the rally."

"Well, there's no fucking room for them. Get them out of here," he growled.

"Language, young man," said Mrs. Broflovski, "and it's my van. I'll decide what there's room for, thank you very much." Cartman rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Stan knew he wanted to say a lot more, but even he didn't dare do it while trapped with Mrs. Broflovski in a small space, especially when she was driving. Instead, he muttered to Wendy, "Fine, bitch, just keep them on the side of the van you're on—on the left."

"There'd be more room for them if you weren't taking up your space and spilling out into the aisle, too," said Wendy.

"I've got long legs."

"You have wide legs."

"I'll put one of my legs right through those goddamned posters if you don't keep them on your side and shut up," Cartman threatened.

Mrs. Broflovski turned around, red beehive quivering. "Don't make me come back there!" she said.

"What-ever," said Cartman. The drive to Denver passed in a tense silence.

Mrs. Broflovski parked the van in a parking deck near the Capitol.

"Now, Wendy and I are going to meet up with the rest of the group," she said. "You boys know where you're going?"

"Yes, Mrs. Broflovski," they chorused.

"Good," she said approvingly. "We'll see you later, then," and she and Wendy walked off, carrying a pile of banners and signs.

"Well, I can see where the sand in the vagina comes from, Kyle," said Cartman conversationally. "It's probably genetic."

Kyle turned around to face Cartman. "In case you hadn't noticed, fat-ass," he snapped, "I am standing right next to you as your manager, looking after the band's interests. I should never have allowed this event to get on our schedule in the first place, but now we're here and we're stuck. Don't ask me to enjoy it, and don't push me, you big shaygetz."

"OoooOOOOooo, it's a big Jewish insult," Cartman said mockingly. "I'm soooo wounded, whatever the hell that meant."

"Knock it off, you guys," Stan said uncomfortably. "Besides, Kyle's right—he's here. It's Wendy who's off with his Mom and that pile of signs."

"Don't remind me," growled Cartman. "That bitch is driving me absolutely fucking out of my goddamned skull, serioushley."

"Oh, yes," Kyle reminded him, as they approached the Capitol. "No profanity. I shouldn't let you use it at all, but we haven't got Token here to kick you in the shins and remind you. So just cut it out."

Stan thought Cartman couldn't possibly look any more enraged until they turned the corner and saw the crowds in front of the Capitol. The steps and the space in front of them were completely jammed. There was a large sign reading:

SAVE THE FAMILY—REPEAL GAY MARRIAGE

Standing under the banner was. . .

"Mrs. Garrison?" gasped Kyle.

"Oh, for cry—" Cartman said, and cut himself off.

Stan looked at a smaller crowd near the front of the steps. There were Kyle's Mom, and Wendy, and Big Gay Al, and Mr. Slave.

SAVE THE FAMILY—PRESERVE GAY MARRIAGE

--read the signs.

Kyle had stopped completely. "I can't do this," he was saying. "I am not going to go up there and put myself in the middle."

"Yank yourself together, you wuss," said Cartman. "You don't even have to go onstage. I'm just singing some sh—some stuff about Jesus. I don't give a rat's—ah—oh, whatever, it's an act, you guys, it's an act." He moved off towards the stage.

"But Cartman," Stan yelled after him, "what side is the band on? What side are you on?"

"Right now?" Cartman yelled back. "You're all really pissing me off."

Robson had his technique down, Stan noticed as the rally went on. A couple of quick whacks on the back of Cartman's head, disguised as a friendly hug, and Cartman got that sweet, stupid, I-love-everybody look on his face.

"Jesus is against gay marriage," Robson stated. "Can I hear an amen? This country is about Jesus. Isn't that right, Eric?"

"I love Jesus," Cartman agreed, nodding his head. "I am so in love with Jesus."

"You see?" Robson said, waving his arms. "Out of the mouths of babes. Of SAVED babes. You love Jesus, don't you, Eric?"

Cartman nodded again. "Jesus is, like, so incredibly hot." Robson looked a bit worried.

"Um, yes, but not as hot as the flames of DAMNATION!" he said loudly—and quickly. "God wants us to repeal this evil law because it is not a law at all, it is against God's law, and a law against God's law has the law itself against it!"

A lot of people seemed to be having trouble with this. Stan heard someone muttering, "So, a law that's against a law isn't a law: so what's this law again?"

"Gay marriage," Robson said firmly. "Gay marriage."

"Ohhhhh," said the crowd. "OK."

"We're against it," added Robson.

"You're gosh darned right we are!" shouted Mrs. Garrison.

"No, we're not!" shouted Wendy and Mrs. Broflovski.

"Who asked you?" yelled Mrs. Garrison.

"Oh, Jesuth Christh!" yelled Mr. Slave.

"That's enough!" yelled Robson, louder than everybody because unlike everybody else, he had amplification. "I think it's about time for a song about the love of Jesus, what do you think?" He handed the mike to Cartman.

Stan thought that perhaps "I wanna get down on my knees and start pleasin' Jesus/ I wanna feel his salvation all over my face!" didn't exactly clear things up.

It felt like a very long walk back to the van. Neither Cartman nor Kyle seemed altogether there. Kyle had been very quiet during the rally and afterwards one of the recording executives had pulled him to one side. As for Cartman—

"Jesus loves you," he insisted. "I mean, Jesus really, really loves you, Stan. Did you ever think about that, Kenny? I mean, Jesus really, really, really totally loves you. I am sooo blessed out right now. Blissed out. Blessed out. Whatever. What's wrong with you, Kyle?" he asked, suddenly stopping them. "Are you burdened? Well, you can lay your burdens at the feet of Jesus and his yoke is easy and his burden is light and," he put a large meaty arm around Kyle, "he truly really totally loves you, Kyle, right down to the snippy bits on your wee-wee, which is kinda freaksome, but he loves you anyway. Just give those nasty old burdens to Jesus and he'll—"

"No thanks," said Kyle bleakly, "I think I prefer hell."

Wendy and Mrs. Brolovski were already waiting for them. Mrs. Broflovski began to ask politely how things had gone for them, but she was interrupted.

"Why thank you, Mrs. Broflovski," said Cartman, "I never thanked you for the ride down here. It was a big help to my Mehm." And he actually hugged her.

"Umm—that's nice, Eric," said Mrs. Broflovski dubiously.

He turned to Wendy. "And blessings to you, Wendy; even if you are an unwitting instrument of Satan, I'm sure you must mean well." He walked slowly over to her.

Wendy looked suspicious. "What the hell are you talking about, Cartman? Are you being an idiot again?"

Cartman was staring at her with huge unfocused eyes. "Thou art beautiful, Wendy, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners."

"What?" said Wendy, confused. "Of course I've still got the banners. We're gonna re-use them."

"Thy lips, oh Wendy, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon."

"Huh? I smell like Lebanon?"

Cartman leaned in very, very close, his mouth in close proximity to Wendy's. Stan was sure he didn't want to see what would happen next, but as it turned out, he was glad he did. Wendy took the banners, which had been rolled up into a thick, hard roll, and without any warning, let Cartman have it on the side of the head.

Cartman blinked and rubbed his head. "Ey, bitch," he snapped, "What the hell was that for?"

"It was for your own good," she said briefly. "And you, Kenny—I was counting on you."

"Mmmphmm," apologized Kenny.

"Just don't let it happen again," she added.

"What the hell is everyone talking about?" said Cartman. "Whacking me on the head is good for me? What the fuck is going on?"

"We—we think you're kinda brainwashed," Stan said. "Not totally, but when Robson had you on that talk show, he really whaled the heck out of you. Now he just smacks you upside the head, and—"

"And you start acting like some alien pod person version of Cartman," added Kyle. "You keep talking about being blessed. You start being nice to me. You start being nice to Token."

"And," Wendy said, "you start quoting poetry at me. You tried to kiss me. Ew," she added.

Cartman scowled. "When was this?"

"Just now," she explained. "Obviously, there was something wrong. So I hit you."

"If I was trying to kiss you," said Cartman, "then clearly I was serioushley out of my gourd. Usually bitches who slap me upside the head get what's coming to them, but Robson did it first, so he's the primo bitch on my list. Just don't get any ideas." He started to climb into the van.

"Excuse me," said Wendy, "but I don't believe I heard a thank you."

"No," said Cartman blandly, turning around, "I don't believe you did."

"Time to leave, children," said Mrs. Broflovski, "and I don't want to hear any fighting in the car. It's been a long day as it is." They all took their seats. As they pulled out of the parking deck, Stan could just hear Cartman say, "Ey. Wendy. 'Ew' to you too, ho."

Kyle looked wiped out, Stan thought. "Kyle. You ok, dude?" he whispered.

Kyle sighed. "Yeah," he said, "but I'm really stressed out."

"What did that producer want?" Stan whispered.

"Oh, that. He was from Faith Records. The album's doing well. He thinks it might go platinum."

"You're kidding!" Stan exclaimed.

"Shhhh," said Kyle. "I don't want Fatass back there to know any sooner than necessary."

"You'll owe him ten bucks," Stan pointed out.

Kyle laughed softly. "That won't be a problem," he explained. "You wouldn't believe how well we're all doing. There's just one catch," and Kyle looked uncomfortable again, "we're going to have to play the Hollywood Bowl."

"Wow," said Stan.

"I know it sounds great," said Kyle, "but I'm not feeling so great about it right now. I kept looking at Mr. Slave and Big Gay Al, and I know they're both a little strange, but I felt sorry for them."

"I think I know what you mean," said Stan slowly. "Like, what if there were a law so we couldn't ever be Super Best Friends anymore."

"Yeah," said Kyle.

"Lucky for us there isn't," said Stan.

"Yeah," said Kyle. "The whole thing makes me feel tired. I ought to quit. Maybe after the Bowl concert. I don't know anymore."

"Forget about it," said Stan, patting him on the back. "We'll get home, you can come over to my place, and we'll blow up some aliens."

"Cool," said Kyle, and fell asleep, his green hat pressed on Stan's shoulder. Stan left his arm around him. The van was very quiet: Kenny slept, curled into his parka; in the back, Cartman slept, sprawled out in his seat, while Wendy had dropped her signs and was sleeping turned toward the aisle, facing Cartman, her arm around the seat. It was weird how people don't look angry when they're asleep, thought Stan; you'd never know they hated each other.

Stan himself didn't sleep. He was too busy thinking: about the Hollywood Bowl; about how everyone seemed to want to quit but no one had the nerve to do it; about what life would be like if Kyle couldn't be his Super Best Friend.

Author's notes: As of this writing, same-sex marriage is not legal in Colorado, but it is on South Park.

A "shaygetz" is the male equivalent in Yiddish of "shikse," a non-Jewish woman. It's not a nice word; Kyle has essentially called Cartman "you dirty NON-Jew." Some might feel it's about time.

Cartman is quoting from the Song of Songs, chapters 4 and 6, King James version. It's pretty racy stuff.