A/N: I don't own South Park. Duh. No I mean I'm *actually* Trey Parker and I'm writing fanfiction about the comedy cash cow I invented almost twenty years ago. Not. *eyeroll*

So yeah if you're reading chapter two, thanks 3 I hope you're reading until the end c:

Okay, so maybe I don't wake up every single day thinking that I'm the sexiest piece of ass in the whole universe. Some mornings are like this morning. Some mornings I wake up and say things, "I should just splatter the walls with my brains so I can get it over with."

You see, two days ago I cut class. The day after that, I found out I was failing. All. Of. My. Classes. But Craig haven't you been a failure your whole life? No. The answer is no. I am a senior in high school. I am almost done. Who the fuck do I have to blow to get a passing grade?

I lay in bed with the blankets up to my ears, staring at the eggshell-colored walls blankly. This is not happening to me. There is just no way that this is my life. I've always been a smart kid, even though I didn't look like it. Plus, I'm no Broflovski kid. I just happen to have a lot of know-how on a lot of things. Turning in assignments is not one of those things. I sometimes do my work, but I rarely turn it in. I always have class, but I often skip it. I want to skip today. Today, I'm miserable. I roll over from my position in bed, from 'tiny curled up fetal position of misery' to 'face first into the pillow to hopefully smother myself'.

I heard two knocks at the door, and before I could say "Fuck off" Ruby barged in anyway.

"Mom says get up and go to school, asshole," she deadpanned.

"Ruby get out." I mumbled through my face-pillow.

"Get up," she repeated dryly.

"Godammit," I yelled, pulling myself out of bed along with my blankets. I usually slept in the nude. What? It's comfortable. Not to mention it saves laundry time, although I love doing laundry. Ruby rolled her eyes like the little bitch she was and left my room, leaving my fucking door wide open. Frustrated, I leaned over and slammed the door shut and went back to my mirror.

Today, I looked like ass. My hair was greasy, I had bags under my eyes, my nose was still bruised, I had a leftover black eye (even though it wasn't really black anymore, just a weird reddish light purple). I looked at the clock. I had like an hour. I didn't know what Mom was thinking. I stared at my thick, greasy hair. An idea popped into my head. I looked down at my dresser. There were clippers and shears. I've always cut my own hair. It's cheaper, and I'm pretty good at it.

I had been growing my hair out, but now, I decided, I'm cutting it off. Grabbing the shears, I reached for the back of my hair that touched my shoulders. I gathered it into a sort-of ponytail and cut off the big portion. I cleaned up the area around my ears, making it all shorter and leaving the sideswept "bangs" in the front. Exhaling slowly, I put a guard on the clippers and took them to the back of my neck, gently moving it upward, blending it all in.

The process took about twenty minutes, and I was done. I shook my head, running my hands through my much-shorter hair. My plugs were more visible now, without long black hair hiding them. Mom would love that. I think she probably gave up when I got my first illegal tattoo at sixteen. It was the gay anchor.

"RUBY!" I yelled, pulling on some pants, although I was still shirtless.

She opened the door, "What?"

I pointed at my hair, "Does my hair look okay," I asked, turning around.

The thirteen-year-old sighed. "Yes, Clementine, it looks fine."

I rolled my eyes, "Fine, Rufus. Leave."

"Whatever," she said back, flipping me off and shutting the door. Stupid bitch, I thought. I threw on a pair of jeans and a Lady Gaga t-shirt and got ready to leave. I gave myself one last look in the mirror, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck. It looked decent. I headed to my door, curling my fingers around the gold-painted doorknob, sighing heavily. I wasn't ready to deal with this grades issue, but I had to.

I mumbled goodbye to my parents, went to my car, and drove to school. I picked up Kenny, like usual. The drive was boring. I was early, mostly because of my bitch sister bitching at me until I left. It seemed like he was in a better mood though. Of course he was in a good mood when I felt like dick. We passed a Dunkin Donuts on the way.

"Do you want food," I 'asked' nasally.

"Was that a question? I don't have any money, dude," he shrugged, turning out the pockets of his parka.

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you want food," I said.

"Sure, but you're paying," he laughed.

I didn't feel like laughing today. I pulled into the parking lot and parked my car, silently getting out. The two of us walked inside, ordered our food and coffee and sat down at the booth that was the least disgusting. I unwrapped my chicken biscuit only after making sure any and all crumbs were away from my food.

The Dunkin Donuts was fucking sweltering inside. I was pretty sure the owner wasn't from Colorado or basically any place that was ever cold inside ever. I pulled my chullo off by the yellow puff ball on top and sat it beside me in the neon orange seat and took a sip of the my caramel latte.

"Dude," Kenny said with his mouth full. "Did you know that… your hair is gone?"

I snorted, "Yeah, asswipe, I cut it myself this morning." I ran my hand over the back again. "Does… does it look okay." His staring made me self-conscious about my hair, so I tried not to look up.

"Your hair looks fine," he paused. "It's your face that's a wreck."

I laughed a little and flipped him off. "Shut the fuck up, McCormick."

The blond took another massive bite off his bacon egg & cheese biscuit. He had enough courtesy to chew a little before opening his mouth again. "Dude are you really wearing a Lady Gaga shirt? Don't you have like," he swallowed, "some kind of 'cultured' music taste?"

I rolled my eyes. "Uh, fuck you, Lady Gaga is amazing. I'm more cultured than your redneck ass."

"Hey, I sang opera as a kid. I just happen to really like Kenny Chesney."

"Is it the name thing?"

"No he just has the voice of an angel."

I chuckled. "Faaag."

"I'm not the one wearing the Lady Gaga t-shirt."

"Eat your food, bitch."

Shortly after leaving Dunkin Donuts, we made it to school on time to meet up with the guys. I left my hat and my jacket on. I stood there in the semi-cold weather, looking around at all the other senior guys I'd grown up with. Token looked miffed as Clyde babbled about his dinner the night before. Stan and Kyle were… well they were just gay. Kenny winked at the girls walking by, occasionally whistling. He flirted more than I could ever dream of flirting. Besides that, he actually followed through with the people he flirted with more often than I did. He's charming, I'll tell you that. Tweek drank his coffee and picked at the scab on his lip. I tried not to look too much. It grossed me out just thinking about it. I just stood there silently. I had gotten used to being silent from three years of braces since freshman year. At least now I have straight teeth, but back then I never wanted anybody to see my teeth.

I looked around, and the students were all going inside. I didn't feel like talking to these assholes today, so I pushed through Stan and Kyle just to piss them off and went inside. I'm still a little bitter about Peru. I made a right turn and went up a set of stairs to get to English IV. I was failing that you know, I should probably bother to show up. I came into the classroom and it was only half-full, since the bell hadn't rung yet. The crusty old bat they liked to call a teacher eyed me suspiciously as I sat in my seat in the back. I gave her a look like "what?" with one eyebrow raised and my lip slightly curled.

I bent over sideways in my seat to pull out some lightly crinkled paper and a pen, so I could be prepared, for once. The old bat's name was actually Mrs. Plemmons, but everyone called her The Hag behind her back. Her hair was long and that yellow gray, always pulled back in a clip. She was sort of skinny, in that weird grandma way. Fucking Hag.

I doodled on the notebook paper for about five minutes until everyone was in class and the bell rang. It wasn't even a bell. It was a loud, three second beep that played over the intercom. I guess "bell" was easier than "obnoxious loud interruption"

I was in regular English, not Honors, like Kyle or Token. I didn't have the ambition to be a real Honors kid, not that those dickheads don't cheat off of each other. Stan, Kenny, Clyde, and Tweek were all in this class. Honestly I thought Kenny and Clyde should have been in remedial English, but I guess they're not complete fuckwits. Not even ten minutes into class, and The Hag was halfway through a monologue, and Clyde was asleep on his desk. The Hag levitated over to his desk, upon which he was drooling. I swear to God, that woman never walked. She just levitated wherever she went.

The Hag was old school. She always carried around a yard stick. She slowly raised it over her head, stopped, and slammed it down hard on the desk. The poor bastard jumped about two feet off of his seat, and screamed like a goddamn girl. I really wish that I was kidding. I'm not. Clyde blushed and looked around sheepishly.

Mrs. Plemmons furrowed her eyebrows so her forehead wrinkles were even more prominent. "NOW LISTEN UP, YOU LITTLE SHITHEADS." She was not, by any means, a lady. She swore at us. She would certainly smack the back of our heads with the Yardstick. The Hag was infamous for a reason. "Donovan! If you fall asleep again I will bust your ass. Marsh!" Stan looked up like a deer in headlights. "If I see that phone out again, it's going out that window." She pointed to the dusty window for emphasis. "McCormick! Stop blowing spitballs at Mr. Stoley!" Kenny shrugged, slumping down into his seat and crossing his arms. He didn't break eye contact with The Hag. "Tucker!" she whipped around at me, "Take off your stupid hat; I am not telling you twice." I sighed and pulled my hat off my head, staring at the white board. I pursed my lips and crossed my arms.

"Hag," I mumbled. Normally, the elderly folk are hard of hearing. The Hag had dog hearing. She stopped what she was doing and calmly, slowly turned around, folding her hands in front of her.

"Mr. Tucker, would you like to grow a pair and tell me out loud like a man what you just said, or are you going to pout and mumble under your breath again like a child?" The Hag raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips, waiting for my response.

Goddammit.I stood up, "You're a fucking hag, a miserable old cunt, and a god damn bully." I picked up my bag and swung it over my shoulder, heading for the door. Stopping, I turn around and flip her off with both of my middle fingers before leaving the classroom. Yes, I was going to the office. I knew the drill.

On the way to the staff office, where Mackey was, I stopped at a smoking spot. I fucking needed one. The Goth kids were there, and I crouched on the cement, pulling out my pack of Marlboro menthols.

"You look pissed," Henrietta said flatly.

I clenched my jaw, not answering. I don't talk to the Goth kids because they're huge dicks. I looked at Henrietta and huffed a little, and then I looked away again. Holding my cigarette between my lips, I put my chullo back on. Everyone has worn hats inside the building since the dawn of time! The Hag just hates everything that's nice and good in the world. I didn't even make an effort to make the cigarette last. I smoked and then got up and went to Mackey's office.

"Craig Tucker are you kidding me? I know The Ha- Mrs. Plemmons- is strict-"

My eyes widened. "Mackey, she's a fucking bitch!"

The bald man rested his head on his hands. Whatever dude, I was angry, like lesbian feminist level angry. Mr. Mackey breathed in deep. "Craig, I know. It's not my problem, though. You're just gonna have to grin and bear it, m'kay? You have real bad grades, and you just can't afford to fail your last year of high school, m'kay." I clenched my jaw and flipped the useless old man off. "Seriously, Craig?" he sighed. "Go to class. Having that b…" Mackey stopped himself and started again, "Having Mrs. Plemmons is difficult enough. I'm not punishing you." I relaxed a little. "But the next time you're in this office," he pointed a finger at me, "you will regret it, Mr. Tucker."

The bell rang and I got my shit and left. My next class was art. I could handle art. The first face I saw as soon as I walked out the door was of Clyde Donovan. "Bro, that was awesome," he said, grinning, "but did you get like, a year of detention? Or did you get 100 lashes? What happened?"

"Nothing," I told him.

"Bro, you are so lucky! The Hag lost her mind after you left she like started yelling at everyone and then we just had silent packet work and some of us had sentences."

"Really," I non-asked as we walked.

"Yeah man I had to write um ' I will not fall asleep and drool on the disgusting desk ever in my forceable future or possibly as long as I live' like eighty times. My hand is cramping like a bitch, bro. Can we go to Taco Bell after school? I want like ten Doritos Locos Tacos and I'm gonna eat them all because they are so good oh my god I think jesus himself came up with the recipe."

"Foreseeable," I said.

"Huh?" Clyde stopped salivating over cheap tacos and looked at me.

"It's foreseeable future," I sighed, "not 'forceable', Clyde."

He laughed, "Oh, right, right. So can we go to Taco Bell and watch Red Racer like we used to do? Maybe we can go to Token's house and like, watch old Red Racer episodes in his kickass theater and maybe make more food after and stay up all night like good old times? Come ooooon we can bust out the sleeping bags!" He was all but on his hands and knees, pleading.

"Token has like six guest rooms why would we sleep in sleeping bags."

"Why wouldn't we?" Clyde half-yelled.

I smirked a little and said, "Sounds like a plan, kid." I had to toss him a bone some time.