It's Buttman, Baby!

Summary – After a prophetic dream, Cartman awakes convinced that he must finish what Hitler began. To begin with, he'll have to start the perfect Aryan race, and there is only one boy with the genes for that.

Warning – everything Cartman-related, i.e. extreme anti-Semitism, cursing, offensive language; and now really cute gayness!

Disclaimer – South Park is owned by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, both of whom I idolize and do not wish to profit from their marvelous work

A/N – Sort of a filler chapter; have to give information before plot twists. ;)

When the doorbell rang, Mrs. Cartman was in the middle of baking a large chili macaroni casserole, with sprinkles on top. "Eric, honey? Could you get the—"

"Mom, you know Butters," Cartman interrupted immediately, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a surprised-looking Butters standing next to him. "Butters, you know my mom, just not too well, I hope. Mom, could you bring dinner to my room later? We have stuff to talk about."

"Okay pumpkin. What about?"

"We need to figure out how we're going to make this baby, that's all."

"Aw, how sweet."

"Bye Mrs. Cartman!" Butters called as Cartman dragged him out of the kitchen. "W-why Eric, why can't we stay downstairs with your mom? She seems awful nice."

"Dude, don't you get it? My mom is a slut, you can't stay down there with her. If you do, you'd end up sleeping with her, and that's gross."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you would waste your precious semen on my mom and make some non-Aryan kid! That's disgusting!"

They entered Cartman's room without any more argument. "So, Butters, here's plan A. We rally for our right to create a test tube baby by making a big, public commotion about it. We'll travel around the country, make speeches, probably appear on national television, and we'll need buttons and banners for our cause no doubt. That should give us the seventy-two-thousand dollars from the nation's health insurance in no time. Or at least a helluva lot donations."

"I dunno, that sounds like an awful lot of work."

"It'll be worth it. We'll make Hitler proud."

"Wait, so if that's plan A, what's plan B?"

"We make seventy-two-thousand dollars by selling your body to perverted old priests and upper-class, single men."

"Oh…I like that first plan better, then."

"I thought you would."

A gentle knock came through the door. "Boys! I have your dinner ready."

"Okay, bring it inside, Mom. Butters, don't you dare look at her."

Mrs. Cartman set an enormous plate of casserole in front of Cartman ("with a tall glass of chocolate milk, jeez Mom can't you do anything right") and a considerably smaller slice in front of Butters. "There you go. Will you boys need anything else? Maybe some baby clothes, or some breast milk…"

"We goff if covwered, fanks Mom," Cartman said with his mouth full. "You cahn goh now."

"Alright dear. I think it's just so cute, that you two are playing house."

With that, she left with a little hum, as Butters stared after her and asked, "What's she talking about?"

"I have no clue, man. Hey, you gonna eat that crust?"

When the school bell rang the next day, Mr. Garrison entered looking considerably more tired than usual. "Oh man, was all that really up my ass last night? Anyway kids, today we're going to be learning about—"

"Aryans," Stan said.

"…What?" Mr. Garrison blinked, rubbing his ass cheeks ever so slightly.

"Yeah, Aryans. I don't really get what they are. Cartman keeps saying they're these perfect people, but I've never really heard of them from anywhere else. And what makes them so much better than Jews, anyway?"

"I'm having trouble understanding you," Mr. Garrison frowned.

Stan took a deep breath. "Look, here's how I see it—"

"No, no, what I mean is...shouldn't Kyle be asking this question, and not you?"

"Oh. Earlier Kyle took up more than his fair share of dialogue."

"Hey!"

"Yeah, and he won't admit it," Cartman added.

"Okay, listen children," Mr. Garrison said. "The thing about Aryans is that they are completely unrelated to our current study of the formation of mountains and volcanoes. But if that's what you want to learn about, who the hell am I to tell you any different?

"People believe that Aryans were the original speakers of Indo-European languages, and that their descendents still live today as a sub-race of a larger Caucasian race. Nazis believed that they are actually ancestors of ancient Germanic tribes, furthermore believing that Germans today are direct descendents of Aryans. It is also commonly believed they have blond hair and blue eyes."

It was then when Cartman began to point not-so-subtly to Butters.

"But, it's actually no more than a myth that the Nazis were stupid enough to believe."

"What?" Cartman cried with jaw-dropping horror.

"You don't even have to be blond-haired and blue-eyed to be Aryan. Actually, I'm pretty sure they're Indian. Okay so now we can continue our lesson on—"

"Dude!" Cartman yelled. "Do you even know what you're talking about? You have a fucking Aryan right here in front of you!" Butters waved tentatively from his seat. "You call that Indian? You call that Indian?"

"What's the big deal, Cartman? Mr. Garrison just said Aryanism is just an idea," Stan said.

"It's not just an idea! It's my destiny! Populating the world with Aryans is the job that I was entrusted with! So shut the fuck up, you stupid Jew!"

Kyle groaned and rolled his eyes from his seat. "I didn't even say anything that time."

Cartman stood up suddenly, his enormous weight forcing his seat to bounce back as he did. "I know what I must do," He said solemnly.

"Eric?" Mr. Garrison said as he stormed out the door. "Eric Cartman, where the hell do you think you're going? You get back into your seat and listen about volcanoes right now, mister!"

EXCUSE ME. EXCUSE ME, THIS IS ERIC CARTMAN SPEAKING.

"Jesus Christ, is that him on the loudspeaker?"

I HAVE COME TO SPEAK TO YOU ABOUT SOMETHING. WE INTENDED TO KEEP IT PRIVATE, BUT NOW I KNOW WE MUST NOT QUIET OURSELVES ANY LONGER.

"Oh my God," Bebe whispered to Wendy. "I think he's proposing to Butters in front of the whole school!"

"That's so romantic!"

YOUR GOOD FRIEND LEOPOLD BUTTERS SCOTCH AND I ARE WELL ON OUR WAY TO MAKING A PERFECT BABY, IN VITRO STYLE.

"What the…" Mr. Garrison stared at the loudspeaker, shocked. Then he turned to Butters. "Is he serious?"

BUT OUR INTOLERANT TEACHER MR. GARRISON HAS BEEN CONTINUOUSLY NEGATIVE, DISCOURAGING, AND ALL AROUND A BIG TURD. WE DEMAND THAT WE GET TERRIBLE TEACHERS LIKE HIM FIRED IMMEDIATELY. IMMEDIATELY! THANK YOU VERY MUCH. BY THE WAY I HEAR CHEF'S GOT A GREAT LUNCH COMING UP TODAY. THAT WOULD BE ALL.

Cartman smirked as he turned the microphone off and removed the tape from the principle's mouth. "Thank you Principle Victoria. And with that, plan A is well under way."

"…Are you and Butters really planning on having a baby?"

"Of course we are, what, do you think I'd lie to the entire school?"

"Aw, that's adorable! Do you need any help? Some baby clothes? Or breast milk, maybe?"