As soon as he got home, Stan collapsed onto the sofa, trying to take in the bizarre world around him. His hand grasped for the remote control, shifting through the channels to see what else had changed.
He didn't recognise a single show. 'Ugly Bob and Saddam' was kinda funny, although it made him even more uncomfortable. 'Dickheadmon' was some weird fad show, kinda like Chinpokomon but with technobabble thrown into the mix.
For a split second, he flipped over to the news- and wished he hadn't. The bulletin shifted through things he really didn't want to see- the discovery of the body of a part-cannibalized Eric Roberts in North Park, some horror story involving Barbara Streisland (which could be anything, of course)...
But then came something even more terrifying. The story started to cover something in the White House- not the President, although Stan thought that deserved investigation too- but then froze on his face.
And the TV started to talk. In President Blair's voice.
"Sssssstan..." it hissed. "I know you're watching this. Only you can hear what I'm saying."
Stan's whole body went rigid. What the fuck was going on?! How could that guy- he wasn't the President, but WHOEVER he was- do this?
"If you don't want me to send oot nuclear missiles to blow up this town, you'd better pull down your pants and fart Hail To The Chief."
Wait a second... farting? 'Oot?' He turned around to see a laughing Ike.
"YOU ASSHOLE!" Stan screamed as his brother- no, KYLE'S brother, this wasn't his world!- ran off upstairs laughing to himself.
Slowly, he shuffled over to the phone and dialled his home phone, guessing that must be how to get in touch with Kyle. "Um... hey, dude?" he asked uncertainly as someone picked up the line.
"What's up, man?" Kyle answered indifferently.
"Well, I've kinda got to talk to you about something," Stan replied, mumbling as he tried to work out the right words for the outlandish situation at hand. "Can we meet up in my- wait, sorry- your clubhouse?"
"What, are you and Bebe gonna try something out again?" Kyle scoffed. "You guys are just weird. Next you're gonna tell me you're gonna bring Wendy along or something!"
"Fuck you, man!" Stan laughed. "But yeah, I'll be bringing Bebe." Given that Wendy in his world was all political, it made sense to assume Bebe in this world must be too.
"Fine," Kyle sighed. "But if you wanna do Truth or Dare, get a God damn room!"
Impatiently, Stan hung up. He didn't have time for anything like that. Nonetheless, maybe it was a good idea to see if he could get Bebe's help with this.
Uncertainly dialling Wendy's number, he picked it up, said hello shyly, and was answered by an ecstatic Bebe.
"Hey, Stan!" she squeaked. "What's up?"
"Well, I've... kinda got something to tell you about. It's... I guess political?" he mumbled.
There was a pause. "You're interested in something political?" Bebe replied uncertainly.
"Yeah. It's hard to explain. Can you meet me in Kyle's clubhouse and I'll tell you about it?"
"Definitely!" Bebe answered, very excitedly and quickly. "Don't worry, I'll be there!"
He headed off to his room and started packing an Ugly Bob and Saddam bag, wondering to himself how the hell that show ever took off.
At the stroke of midnight, he snuck out of the house and slipped round to Kyle's- his?- house, and climbed into the clubhouse.
Bebe was already there. "So, what's so political?" she asked.
"I should probably wait until Kyle gets here," Stan replied.
An evil expression crossed Bebe's face. "Well, I got an idea what we can do 'till he does..."
Stan's eyes widened in shock. "Hey, wait-" he started, but before he knew it, she was crushing him into a hug. "I'm... I'm not a fucking teddy!" he wheezed, cursing his somehow still present asthma flaring up from the dusty wood of the clubhouse.
His eyes only widened further as Kyle's head poked up from the ladder through the doorway. A little startled, Bebe loosened her grip.
"Dude, this is pretty fucked up right here," Stan and Kyle exclaimed in unison.