South Park

Dip

Ungodly Addiction

Characters: Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

Rating: M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.

**DIP**

Silence. Again.

Darkness. Again.

Two things I seem to be getting a hell of a lot of in this dirty underground prison.

Since my capture, I've not seen outside of this disgusting basement. I don't know how long I've been here, whether it's been hours, days or weeks. I don't know if its day or night, or even if I'll see the sky again. All I know is that I'm here, huddled in the corner of Eric Cartman's disgusting basement, and I'm alone.

Well, most of the time, anyway.

Once in a while my solitude is interrupted, either by Eric to verbally abuse me or his mother to unwittingly add insult to injury.

At least she feeds me. I'm not entirely sure her son has realised that she's been helping me, but I'm still grateful, despite her extraordinary ability to overlook the obvious.

'Well done, dear," She'd whisper conspirationally, pushing forward a tray of soup and bread towards me. She'd giggle, seemingly happy that I was still there, in the bloody corner. I wondered if she could see the chain wrapped around my ankle.

"You're a master at this hide-and-seek thing, Eric is completely clueless!"

He's not the only one, it seems.

However, I cannot bring myself to loathe, feel angry at, or really be bothered to feel much more than bland pity for Mrs Cartman. She really does try her best.

This, of course, leaves me plenty of emotional capacity to damn her son to GYM (1) and back. Twice. Any and all hatred I don't force upon the kind hearted – if simple – mother can be turned hundred-fold upon the bastard son.

He thinks himself invincible, strutting – well, wobbling – smugly in front of me like a morbidly obese and pitifully ugly peacock, loudmouthing about his self-acclaimed brilliance and stealth, full of ego-boosting self-congratulation and Brit-bashing.

Speak of the Devil, and the Devil shall appear. Who should decide to come oozing through the door at this very moment, but the Fatass himself. I sigh wearily when I hear his jaw – the only well-exercised body part that boy has – is already gaping wide, spurting random crap about intelligence and my apparent lack of it.

"I can't believe you were so stupid, so trusting, to get yourself caught so easily. I could've done it anyway, of course, but seriously, what kind of retard goes walking down the street in the middle of the night? You were practically begging to get hit over the head and dragged to some dingy hole. You should be thanking me for giving you an entire room…"

I tune out the annoyingly nasal tones of my captor, having already heard this particular spiel before. The man's script-writer must be on strike or something; he's been saying the same thing since I got here.

"Why?" I ask suddenly, scathingly, rudely interrupting him mid-rant, much to my own amusement and pleasure. He paused, glaring at me in confusion.

"Why did you kidnap me? All you've done to me so far is give me a headache. What are your motives, if you do not want my money or my brain for some twisted experiment, then what? I'm just the bastard British kid with an attitude problem. What could you possibly have to gain? No one cares about me." I expand bitterly, smiling grimly at the boy's momentarily crestfallen expression.

Pip: One
Fatass: Zero.

Of course, he quickly pulls himself together (as much as one can when missing vital body parts. Like guts, muscle, brains and dick) and attempts to retain his falling control.

"Why? That's easy, Frenchie. It's to piss off your boyfriend." He sneers in what I'm sure he thinks is a threatening manner. Naturally, I burst into a fit of open, loud laughter.

"Oh, so that's how it is! Well, if you have a death-wish, I guess that's alright by me. Of course, most suicidal pansies slit their wrists, so points go to you for originality."

Eric splutters at my lack of denial, or caring, as well as the added insult.

Pip: Two
Fatass: Zero.

"You fucktard, this is all part of my plan!" Cartman insists, struggling to keep a hold of the situation. "Now that freaky-eyed son of a bitch will be wrapped around my little finger."

I raise one eyebrow, feeling no need to respond to such a ridiculous notion. Eric – in a brief spell of wit – sees my silence as the insult it is, and growls.

"If he wants you back – which isn't likely you scrawny French fuck – your precious Damien will have to do everything I say, and give me whatever I want."

Eric tries to regain his composure, and fails miserably when I laugh again.

"And how, pray tell, will he know your demands? I assume you've left a nice little note in the mail box. 'Hi Damien, How are you? By the by, I have your boyfriend locked in my basement. Send one million dollars cash to Eric Cartman's house by Friday if you ever want to see him again. Love Eric' Made sure to add all the hugs and kisses, I hope!"

I laugh again, my cracked voice echoing through the suddenly silent room.

Pip: Three
Fatass: negative several million.

The silence reigns longer than I thought is possible. I glance towards the frozen form of Eric Cartman. He's not moving, not speaking…

…

I think I broke him…

…

"Aye! You stupid French fuck!"

No, wait. It lives…

AN ~

Oh wow, the cynicism is freaking tangible…

Poor Fatass just can't get it right, can he?

I was asked if having Cartman kidnap Pip would mean he was going to get sexually harassed. In answer; I'm honestly not sure. I'm leaning towards not, purely because that's just so clichéd and overdone. However, that doesn't mean I'm completely against it.

We shall see.

(1): GYM. This is a reference to my theories on the afterlife, which are explained in my other South Park story, 'Dead'. If you don't understand, or can't be bothered reading it, review and I'll explain next chapter, ok?

Until next time!

Zanchev.