Daytime Television Is A Menace

Randy Marsh was not exactly what one might consider a consistent person. His flip-flopping nature coupled with is fervor for whatever was his current cause (though "cause" could easily be interchanged with "issue") only served to further his son's fairly accurate belief that his father was not only annoying and nigh impossible to deal with, but that he was also completely out of his gourd. As such, Stan preferred it when his father's issues had little to nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately for Stan, Randy had other ideas.

"Stanley?" Randy knocked on his son's bedroom door, and opened it without invitation. "We need to talk."

Uh oh. That phrase never brought anything good; even before he turned from his computer desk, a grimace had worked its way onto his sweating face. "Yeah dad?"

His father entered the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, motioning for Stan to come sit beside him, though he was reluctant to do so. "You're old enough now, so your mother and I decided it was time for... well..."

"For me to get my own car?" Stan supplied.

Randy blinked and scratched his head. "No." It seemed Stan's question had thrown him off, so his son offered more options.

"For you to drop my curfew? To give me a credit card?"

"Er... no, Stan. Nothing like that." For a moment it looked like he was ready to bolt from the room, anxiety so plain in his features, and Stan couldn't honestly say he would have minded. But then he continued, "It's time that we have a talk about, well... sex."

It took all of Stan's willpower not to groan or pinch his nose. "Dad. We've had this conversation before, remember? In fourth grade, after that flop of a Sex Ed class..."

"No no," Randy shook his head, "Not that. Not the, uh, mechanics of it."

Then what the hell do you want? Stan wanted to ask, but thought better of it.

"Your mother and I are worried about you. You never seem to have a girlfriend anymore, not since elementary school, and... you're not selling your body, are you, Stan?"

Stan could only gape at his father for several long seconds before his violent reaction could burst forth. "What? No! Jesus Christ, dad! I'm not some kind of gigolo! What the hell?"

"Oh. Um. Well, good. It's not very healthy." Randy cleared his throat and looked around the room, seemingly ignoring the utter awkwardness of his question. "So you're not sleeping around? You haven't impregnated any girls or anything like that?"

This time, Stan did pinch his nose. "Dad, no, I'm-- I couldn't possibly have knocked anyone up. Why are you asking me these things?"

"It's important to establish an open, honest connection between parents and children," he replied, obviously quoting something he'd seen on daytime television. Oh God, he'd been watching daytime TV again. This couldn't possibly end well.

"Um... yes. Yes it is," Stan agreed slowly, as if unsure if this was the correct answer. "I'm glad we had this talk. Could you, uh, go now, please? I'm kind of busy."

"Not so fast, son!" Randy frowned. Was he hurt that Stan was trying to rush him out? "There's just one more thing."

Oh God, please don't let it be what I think it is, Stan begged silently.

"You're not... gay, are you, Stan?"

Stan just stared at his father as if he'd suddenly grown three heads. "Uh... what?"

"Because it's okay if you are. Hell, even if you do gay things, that doesn't make you gay. Nope, it sure doesn't. Not even jerking off in Mr. Mackey's jacuzzi in front of another guy, that doesn't make you gay..."

Randy was starting to get that neurotic look in his eyes, so Stan spoke up. "Uh, dad, you okay there? Maybe you should get a beer or something."

"Yeah... yeah, a beer. A beer sounds good. I could use a beer..."

Stan easily guided his dad to the door and patted him on the shoulder. "Glad we had this talk." Let's do it again never, he wanted to add, but he was satisfied to shut the door once Randy was gone.

"It's clear."

Kyle climbed out from under the bed with a huge, cheeky grin. "Shit, dude! Mackey's got a jacuzzi? We need to sneak over there sometime."

"What we need is a lock on my goddamn door."

"True enough." Kyle stood and brushed himself off, making an extra-disgusted face at few expired chips that fell from his curls. But soon the contents of the underside of Stan's bed were forgotten and he smirked. "So, what was that about honesty, hm? You sure you're not whoring yourself out? Not anyone's baby daddy?"

Stan made an unimpressed grunting noise and pushed Kyle onto his bed. "Not that I'm aware of. Unless you've been popping out ass-babies and not telling me." Kyle just laughed at that.

So much for dad's TV-inspired "connection," Stan thought, somewhat bemused. But at least he didn't lie. Not exactly.