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.

Thoughts are in Italics

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

**DIP**

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My head is killing me.

I groan, dragging myself into a sitting position and clutching at my throbbing head. I grit my teeth as a small Neanderthal whacks his stone club against the insides of my skull every few seconds, contemplating the many and varied ways of murdering figments of my imagination.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph this fucking hurts.

Note to self: next time Damien's off gallivanting about multiple dimensions, tell him to take the key to the alcohol cupboard with him. Maybe that will serve to hinder my consumption of two bottles of vodka… a day…

Oh God I think I'm gonna be sick.

I drag my sorry arse out of bed and stumble towards the nearest toilet bowl, heaving the alcoholic content of my stomach into the white porcelain basin. The white – damn blinding white – is making my head hurt.

I'll ask Damien to paint the toilets. Maybe paint them black, or possibly a dark green? That'd hurt less.

I lean back, wiping my mouth and flushing away the evidence of my night. I stagger to my feet to wash my hands and face in the sink, refusing to look into the mirror hanging in front of me. I know that the sight will give me nightmares, and rather I like sleep – too much to ruin it for myself.

Fucking hell, my mouth tastes like I tongue-fucked a constipated mule. Before licking the road clean. Disgusting…

I brush my teeth vigorously, almost pouring half the tube of toothpaste into my mouth to expel the awful bile that seems to have lodged itself between my tastebuds. I spit, rinse and repeat – twice – until I feel that my mouth is clean enough to smell like a garbage tip.

An improvement, I assure you.

Now that my mouth no longer feels like an old horse drowned in a septic tank, I think the next step to an almost productive morning would be coffee. Yes, coffee sounds good.

Pulling on a pair of pants, I stumble downstairs and throw on the coffee machine. The smell of caffeine wafts through the kitchen, making my nose twitch and I drag my hand through my shaggy hair, wincing as a few knots and tangles catch my fingers.

I need a haircut.

But first I need to be awake.

And for that I need coffee.

I pour most of the pot into a large mug and smother the hot black liquid in sugar and cream, sipping at the sweet lukewarm concoction with relish. That's much better. Much, much, much better.

I slump at the kitchen table with a groan, taking my coffee with me. I can't believe he's done it again. He's bloody well gone and left me again, and I don't know when he's coming back.

Ever since he came of age, he's been called off on more and more of those stupid otherworldly acts of business, and he keeps leaving me here with nothing to do to but drown my sorrows. I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to do?

I have no job, I have no friends, I haven't even finished my high school education, seeing as I kinda wasn't allowed back in once it was rebuilt. Burning the first one to the ground tends to leave a bad reputation, don't ask me why…

All I have now is Damien, and when he buggers off I fill that void with alcohol. At least it doesn't nag you to clean your room.

I look at my arms, where the ugly scars that the Fat Fuck Cartman left were on display for any pervert voyeur peeking in my window to see. I grimace at the insulting word, before draining the rest of my coffee and tossing the mug into a sink full of dirty dishes.

This place is a nuclear warzone.

I should probably clean it.

First I should probably put on clothes.

Now that's a plan.

With my day laid out before me, I trudge up the stairs and toss on a shirt and my jeans. I glance at my reflection as I go through the bathroom, tugging my hair into the vague resemblance of a ponytail – yes it's that long – and ignoring the haunted look in my eyes.

I wander through the house, absently cleaning here and there. Scrubbing the dishes and sweeping the floors and polishing the mirrors and dusting the tables and bookshelves and chairs and ornaments…

Dull, monotonous work that successfully distracted me until the house was spotless a mere seven, eight hours later. I search the fridge for acceptable foodstuffs to make some tea, but all I can find is some vegetables and an egg or two.

I need to go shopping…

Eh, I'll go tomorrow.

I pull out a frypan and make myself a vegetable omelette before flopping down in front of the television with my dinner and a beer. I swig at the beverage, feeling the faint buzz of alcohol lift my spirits already.

I think I'm going to wake up with another headache tomorrow morning.

I channel surf all the way through my meal, finding nothing remotely interesting on the telly. I sigh as I finish my beer and wash up after myself, unwilling to let the day's work go to waste.

I stand in my crappy little kitchen, eyeing my surroundings with a stern gaze. Everything is clean and tidy, in its place and out of the way. I have nothing to do now, and I find my thoughts automatically twitching towards the alcohol cabinet.

No.

I mustn't, I need to stop that.

Eh. I'll do it tomorrow.

I walk to the corner of the living room, towards the promise of a heady buzz and no more pain… at least not until tomorrow morning.

I hate this routine I've found myself in. When Damien is around everything is beautiful, wild sex, random gift and outings, stealing kisses in the park and scaring the crap out of Kyle's Mom with our PDA… It's pure Heaven together with the heir of Hell. Funny that.

But with Damien gone for days, if not weeks at a time, I'm left here all alone in this house with nothing to do and no one to talk to. I feel like I'm slowly going insane.

I just hope Damien comes back before I do something stupid.

AN~

Jesus Mary mother of God I am so sorry you guys!

I meant to have this up, but a mixture of writer's block and real life got in the way - I apologise.

I am uber massively grateful to anyone who still reads this after so long, and you can all have internet cocktails. with little umbrellas. and bubbles. yeah.

so, this is mainly a filler chapter, but the whole Damien disappearing thing is kinda important, as is the boredom and excessive drinking. so it's important, just not incredibly interesting. And I apologise.

Next one up soon.

This time real life is leaving me alone from next week onwards, so I should keep that promise.

until next time

Zanchev