Author's Note: Back on track and we're almost done. Sort of a short chapter here. Not much else I can say about it so enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.
Warning: language, suggestive themes
Chapter 4
Damien could hear the gurgling of his stomach though now he was starting to feel the pressure in his guts. Maybe Kyle was right, a laxative would be the best thing for this.
It wasn't that he was suffering this much from eating a piece of poo. He'd done it before when he was much younger and to no ill effect. No, this poo was special. This poo was Mr. Hanky, the Christmas poo. All the good feelings and positive crap that made up this representative of Christmas was what was causing this discomfort. His unholiness was reacting with all the positive crap, no pun intended, and that was why he was having indigestion problems.
Fortunately, he had a little something here that would mask some of the symptoms. He had been skeptical at first when his father had insisted he have it but now he was grateful that he did. Sure his father used the hypothetical situation where he drank a bucket of holy water, which would never happen, he wasn't that stupid, and maybe that was where much of his skepticism came from.
Too bad the stuff tasted foul. Well, here goes, let's get the Hell equivalent of Pepto Bismol in his system. Through the lips and past the gums, look out stomach, here it—bleh! Oh that was foul, even for him! Let's try to wash this taste out with water. Aw, it made it worse! He shuddered, waiting for the aftertaste to go away.
Alright, it was over. Now…he paused as he thought about it. Should he or shouldn't he take that laxative? With his inhuman metabolism, who knew how long it would take for the stuff to work? It could be immediate, it could be days before he felt a bowel movement. Or it could be it worked the same way as it did with humans.
Eh, he'd do it later. Already he was feeling better.
Out of the bathroom, he headed downstairs. He had spent too much time away from Kyle already; he was feeling a bit deprived. There was a giddiness in his step as he trekked down the stairs, looking every which way for his best friend. Where was he? He didn't go wandering off, did he? Because that would be bad.
Oh wait, there he was. Hmm, what was with that face? It looked like Kyle had seen something horrifying, terrifying, life altering, anything else among those terms.
"Something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Damien asked.
"Did you know there's a portal to Hell in your basement?" Kyle asked.
"So that's what that is," Damien said, choosing to play dumb. Of course he knew about the portal. That was how he got home whenever he wasn't staying over at Kyle's. Yeah, this whole place around them was little more than cover. A portal out in the open on Earth was a bit noticeable, you know.
"You're not in the least bit worried about it," Kyle stated.
"It hasn't caused any problems," Damien shrugged, still trying to play innocent. He would admit that he was a bit worried. What if Kyle found that he was more than an ordinary mortal and that made him want to leave him? What mortal in their right mind would want to be friends with—no, don't think about it Damien. Entertaining that thought would make it more and more possible that it would happen. "You're not going to leave, are you?" Damien asked, some of his uncertainty leaking into his voice. He wished that he could say it was deliberate but he wasn't that good yet.
"Uh…no?" Kyle said slowly though his eyes drifted back in the direction of the basement uneasily. "Why would you think that?" Kyle returned his eyes to him.
"I'm worried that you'll be scared off," Damien admitted, making himself vulnerable. Oh, if only everyone at home could see him now. He'd never hear the end of it. "I don't want to lose the first friend I've ever had."
"I'm not going to stop being your friend because of some weird stuff in your house," Kyle said, rolling his eyes at him while sounding more like the Kyle that Damien knew. "I mean, it's going to take a lot more than a portal to Hell to do that." Then that hesitancy was back in Kyle's posture as he glanced back towards the basement again.
"That's good to hear," Damien said, smiling. Reaching out, he pulled Kyle into an embrace. "You have no idea how much that means to me." Hesitantly, Kyle returned the embrace, awkwardly patting Damien's back. Then, Damien quietly added while tightening his hug, "If you were, I'd have to hunt you down and make you be my friend."
"What?" Kyle pulled back a bit, looking at him incredulously. "What'd you say?"
"Did I say something?" Damien blinked back at Kyle innocently.
Kyle stared back at him intently before sighing. "I think I'm hearing things again."
"Okay," Damien smiled warmly. "Want to play video games?"
"Sure," Kyle said as he pulled himself out of Damien's arms.
The following day was a long and arduous one for Stan. Well, longer than yesterday and he personally had thought that that day had been long. It had been nothing compared to what he went through today.
All he did was watch Kyle. That was pretty much it. Oh, and he watched Kyle with that douchebag Damien. He watched Kyle and that douchebag Damien have conversations with one another. He watched Kyle and that douchebag Damien laugh at jokes with one another. He watched Kyle and that douchebag Damien when Damien pulled Kyle into a brohug while they were eating lunch together in the cafeteria.
And did he mention that he was watching Kyle and that douchebag Damien? He was watching Kyle and that douchebag Damien.
The only times he wasn't watching Kyle and that douchebag Damien was when they were in class and separated so that all he could do was watch Kyle without that douchebag Damien.
Even now as he embarrassed himself in the middle of class when he was unable to answer a question Mr. Garrison had asked him and ripped on him for not paying attention, he could not take his eyes off Kyle. Except when Mr. Garrison had called on him to answer that question that he had been unable to answer because he wasn't paying attention.
Now his head was starting to hurt. Was anybody else's head hurting right about now?
It was beginning to become a bit much so he asked to be excused to the restroom.
"I don't know Stanley, should you be allowed to go to the restroom?" Mr. Garrison asked as well as pondered. "You weren't able to answer that real easy question about the logistics required for Superman to shave off that beard of his. It sounds to me like you don't deserve the privilege."
Stan knew he needed to use the big guns if he was to get out of here. "I had burritos for lunch."
"And that's my problem how?" Mr. Garrison retorted.
"I am prohibited by the U.N. from releasing any farts outside of a secured restroom facility as the fumes are toxic enough to be classified as a biological weapon," Stan answered. "It becomes nastier after I eat burritos."
Mr. Garrison blinked at Stan. "I have no idea of what you just said but it sounds serious enough. Go on Stanley before you fart out anthrax and shit."
And that was how he ended up in the restroom, even after Cartman's complaints. He had to thank Kyle for that one. He'd been saving it up for an emergency and…and…Kyle had been the one to suggest that excuse, saying that most of it would fly over Garrison's head. Now he was depressed again.
Damn it, why was he still thinking about Kyle when he couldn't see him? Placing his hands on the restroom sink, Stan glared into the mirror, seeking whatever answers he could find but getting nothing. What was he missing? What was he doing wrong? Every day was a new torture as Kyle was not his best friend, excuse him, super best friend anymore. It was taking its toll on him.
At this rate, he might as well call it quits and let Kyle…go. What else could he do? What more could he possibly do to get his super best friend back? He couldn't think of anything and everything else had sucked balls so far. And that dumb Peter Gabriel bit failed again! Why did he still have that CD anyway?
A wet fart interrupted his train of thought but what surprised Stan was that it didn't come from him. It came from one of the stalls. For a moment, he wondered who it could be but he dismissed that thought. It wasn't any of his business and it distracted him from more important things like bemoaning the sad state of his life right now. Some people were so inconsiderate that they kept messing with his priorities here.
However, he was having a hard time feeling sorry for himself when the asshole in the stall kept farting and…wow, he could hear the shit going into the toilet. Sounded a lot like water for some reason. Was that guy all right in there? He was starting to get worried, his priorities forgotten.
There were some wiping noises, probably wiping his ass, and then a flush. Stan waited, hoping to check on this person and be a good Samaritan. Hey, maybe this would get him back into Kyle's favor. He could be kind and sweet and friendly and all that shit.
The stall door unlocked and—oh hell no.
"Hello Stan," Damien greeted, wincing a bit from an odd noise coming from his stomach. The douchebag who was responsible for this whole mess strolled up to the sink next to him and began washing his hands as if there was nothing wrong with the world. Because obviously there was a lot wrong with the world, like Kyle not being his super best friend anymore damn it!
"Don't 'hello Stan' me!" Stan snapped, glaring at the other boy.
Frowning, Damien stopped washing his hands, letting water continue to spray on his hands as he asked, "Should I have said good afternoon?"
"How can you even be like this when you know what you've done," Stan hissed, trying to intimidate Damien. "I want my best friend back. No, my super best friend back!"
"Ooh, what's a super best friend?" Damien asked, eyes wide and child-like.
"Something that me and Kyle were—" Stan began explaining heatedly.
"Kyle and I," Damien corrected, interrupting him.
"Don't correct my crappy English asshole!" Stan bellowed, pointing rudely at his archenemy. "Kyle and I were super best friends until you came around and messed it up! Give me Kyle back now you asshole!"
Oh yeah, he was definitely in rage mode.
"No," Damien said simply.
Stan's rage mode deflated.
"Why not?" he whined. "Can't you steal someone else's super best friend?"
"It's not my fault that you weren't giving him what he needed," Damien said as he resumed washing his hands and looking away from him. Smug prick. Before Stan could ask what he was talking about, Damien beat him to it by answering it before the question was asked. "He needed a friend when everybody else was too busy with Christmas. It's hard living in a town when you're the only person who doesn't celebrate that Goddamn holiday."
Something about what Damien said didn't sound right to Stan. "You celebrate Christmas, right?" he asked.
"I'm not a Christian," Damien answered as he finished washing his hands, shaking his hands and flicking water droplets off them. "Of course I don't celebrate Christmas. It's one of the million reasons why Kyle and I get along so well. You know, he taught me how to say that right. Kyle and I instead of me and Kyle. He's such a great friend."
He knew that, dickwad! He didn't need you to tell him what he already knew!
"So what if you're Mormon, that still doesn't excuse you from being a friend stealer!" Stan accused.
"I'm not Mormon," Damien said slowly.
"Then Jehovah's Witness," Stan snorted. "Whatever you are. I'm getting Kyle back if I have give you a taste of your own medicine and steal him back!"
Rectus… Dominus… Cheesy Poofs…
Damien's brown eyes began to glow red, the lighting in the restroom darkened, and Stan had a very bad feeling about this. "You dare to take my best friend away from me, mortal? I warn you, I will send you to the bowels of Hell if you try it. Kyle is mine."
The mirrors in the restroom cracked, the toilets began to overflow with boiling water, and blood dripped down from the ceiling. Stan remained frozen in place, horrified at what was happening all around him. This was some pretty fucked up shit here.
"We'll be best friends forever," Damien continued, his voice deepening somewhat. "No one is taking him from me." Then, as quickly as all this weird shit happened, it vanished as if it had never been there. "Do we have an understanding?" Damien asked pleasantly, his eyes returning to a friendly brown that dared him to reply in the negative.
Stan did not answer, continuing to stand there petrified.
"That sounds like a yes to me," Damien said as he walked around him, leaving Stan behind. A second later, the restroom door opened and closed and Stan was now all alone.
It took a moment but Stan eventually got his motor skills, along with what little wits he had, back. What the fuck had that been about? Now he was more than just angry at Damien. He was scared. Scared for himself but more importantly scared for Kyle. What kind of unstable douchebag had Kyle made friends with?
This was different, more serious than it had been before. It wasn't about getting his super best friend back anymore, though it was quite the perk. This was about saving Kyle from an overly possessive best friend. What else was Stan supposed to get out of all that?
He couldn't do this alone, though. He was going to need help. As much as he didn't like it, there was only one person he could go to for this. He needed help, he needed to save Kyle, and…he needed a new pair of pants.
Crap.
One change of underwear and pants later, along with the end of school, Stan was on his new mission. He had spent an hour after school psyching himself up for this because, for who knew how long, he was going to be in the company of somebody really unpleasant until this was all resolved.
He couldn't help but feel that he was losing something the moment he rang the doorbell. What could it be? His integrity? His dignity? His soul?
There was no more time to ponder on it as the door opened and revealed to Stan the leviathan within.
"What do you want hippie?" Cartman demanded. "Can't you see I'm watching TV?"
"Cartman, I need your help," Stan said simply, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.
Cartman stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "Could you repeat that?" he asked.
"You heard me," Stan growled.
"I don't think I did," Cartman said. "My hearing's been acting up. Say it again."
Stan sighed, looking down. "I need your help."
"Mmm," Cartman hummed, eyes closing for a second before opening again. "Now into my good ear." He turned his head so that one of his ears was closer to Stan.
"I. Need. Your. Help," Stan grounded out.
"Mmmmm," Cartman hummed again, sounding as if he had tasted the sweetest thing ever. "Now into my other ear."
"Damn it Cartman! How many times do you need me to say it!" Stan demanded.
"Until I've memorized the defeat in your voice then one more time after that," Cartman answered straightforwardly.
"Look, we don't have time for this. I need you to help me get Kyle away from that Damien asshole," Stan explained. "I think he's in grave danger."
"Help Kyle? The day I do that is the day I donate to charity. Never happening!" Cartman chortled. "This is the best thing I've heard all day. Kyle's in danger. Not just any danger but grave danger. Good. The Jewrat deserves worse than that."
"Cartman, he's our friend. We have to help him," Stan protested. Sure, it was a bit of a long stretch to say that Kyle and Cartman were friends but this was how desperate Stan was.
"I don't know. I'll have to check my schedule," Cartman said as he pulled out a datebook from a back pocket. Opening it, he skimmed through several pages before stopping at one. "Hmm, nope, no can do. I'm totally booked."
"Booked? With what?" Stan demanded as he snatched the datebook out of Cartman's hands and looked into it.
7:00 a.m.: Eat Breakfast.
7:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
8:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
8:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
9:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
9:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
10:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
10:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
11:00 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
11:30 a.m.: Rip on Kyle
12:00 p.m.: Eat Lunch
12:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle
1:00 p.m.: Rip on Kyle
1:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle
2:00 p.m.: Rip on Kyle
2:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle
3:00 p.m.: Rip on Kyle
3:30 p.m.: Rip on Kyle
4:00 p.m.: Eat Snack
4:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle
5:00 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle
5:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle
6:00 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle
6:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle
7:00 p.m.: Eat Dinner
7:30 p.m.: Finish eating Dinner
8:00 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle
8:30 p.m.: Plan how to rip on Kyle
9:00 p.m.: Bedtime
"You've got to be kidding," Stan said as he looked up at Cartman with the most incredulous expression on his face.
"Yeah, I'm totally booked," Cartman said as he took back his datebook, glancing in it before closing it. "If anything, I'm behind schedule. I've been having too much fun at your expense. But a schedule's a schedule so if you'll excuse me, I need to go rip on Kyle."
"Cartman, now's not the time for this!" Stan exclaimed.
"Then when is it time?" Cartman demanded as he shoved his datebook back into his pocket. "I've fallen behind, Stan, and I can't put it off any longer. So get off my property before I have my mom call the cops on you. I have a 4:30 session to plan on how to rip on Kyle I need to do but I'm moving that back so that I can have a 4:30 session of ripping on Kyle so if you'll get out of my way."
"Cartman, there's something really wrong about that kid Kyle's hanging with," Stan warned. Damn it Cartman, for once in your life listen to him! You have no idea what you're getting into this time!
"Aww, don't let your whittle jealouswy get in my way," Cartman taunted, pinching Stan's cheek mockingly. "God, it's been so fun watching you pine over that Jewrat, speaking of which, I need to go rip on him. Later Stan."
"But Cartman!" Stan protested.
"No Stan. Me, go rip on Kyle," Cartman said, emphasizing his words with hands gestures.
"But…" Stan tried again.
"No, me, Kyle," Cartman reiterated, pointing at himself and then in the direction of Kyle's house. Then as to underscore his words, he started heading in that direction, leaving Stan at his doorstep with the front door still open.
Stan watched as his last chance to save Kyle went up in smoke. With a sigh, he lowered his head, put his hands into his pockets, and left Cartman's house, not doing anything to close the front door. He figured that if his mother was home, then she would do it. It wasn't really his problem any way you looked at it.
Now what was he going to do? He was tapped out. No more ideas, no more grand plans, nothing. It was only because his desperation had been so great that he had even attempted asking for Cartman's help. He guessed that the only thing he could do right now was give up.
This was truly the end for his friendship with Kyle.
On his way home, where he could mope and pout in private, he came across an odd sight. It was odd enough that he stopped in his tracks and stared at it.
Why were there a bunch of people in the middle of the street and all of them dressed up as anime characters? What the hell were they doing and really, what the hell were they doing? Why was one of them waving at him as if they wanted his attention? And what were they doing? It looked freaking ridiculous!
Freaking cosplayers, get a life!
With a snort, he continued on his way home, not hearing one of the dumbass cosplayers cry out, "Goddamn it!"
Wasn't really his problem anyway.
Cartman straightened himself out as he stood in front of Kyle's house. He needed to look just right before he started ripping on Kyle. Now how was he going to do this? There was a reason why he had three hours in his datebook dedicated to planning on how to rip on Kyle. You couldn't keep using the same stuff all the time. You needed to mix it up or it would grow old.
And Cartman would be damned if he let his favorite pastime of ripping on Kyle grow old.
Hmm, okay, that one sounded good. And that one. Oh, he really needed to say that one. Oh, oh, and that one too, that one was a good one. Okay, he had a few ideas. He'd improvise if he ran out of stuff.
Ready, he rang the doorbell and waited. He didn't have to wait long because Jews were always so punctual.
Much to his joy, it was Kyle who answered the door.
"Cartman?" Kyle asked aloud, frowning at him. "What are you doing here?"
Ah yes, that tone of voice. The whole no-nonsense tone Kyle got whenever he was displeased with his presence, which was more often than not. Oh, how he missed this. You never truly appreciated something until you didn't do it anymore.
"I really have to congratulate you Kyle," Cartman said pleasantly. "I have never seen Stan be so pathetic and all. But I guess that's to be expected when your boyfriend dumps you."
"What? We're not boyfriends Cartman," Kyle growled back.
"I beg to differ. Only a pussy, ass pirate would get so worked up over a Jew like you and that's only because you're letting him do you, whatever that means," Cartman continued. Yeah, what did that mean? How do you have someone "do" you? A question to be answered at a later date, he supposed.
"Screw you, fatass, I'm not gay," Kyle said heatedly. "Is this why you came here? To rip on me?"
"Why else would I come to your house?" Cartman asked rhetorically.
"I'm not going to listen to this shit," Kyle stated and as he made to close the door, Cartman stuck his foot in the doorway so as to prevent it from closing all the way.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Kyle, we have a schedule to do," Cartman said chidingly. "Now, I need about a week's worth of ripping on you so that I can get back to schedule and I'm not leaving until I at least have a day's worth out of the way."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about but get your damn foot out of the doorway!" Kyle snarled at him.
"I don't think so," Cartman said. "Now, I came up with this one over the break. How many Jews does it take to screw in a light bulb? None. They pay minimum wage for someone else to do it for them then Jew them out of their hard earned cash. Hah hah hah ha!"
Kyle made a furious growl as Cartman got ready for another one. It was at this time that someone else decided to show their face.
"Kyle, what's going on? What's taking you so long?" a black wearing, pale ass bitch came up beside the Jew. Oh, oh, this was the guy that Stan was hating on.
"Oh, is this your new boyfriend?" Cartman taunted. "You probably should have stayed with Stan. This is, like, a major downgrade."
"Don't you talk about Damien like that dipshit!" Kyle demanded.
"Who is this person? I don't like him," Damien said, eyes narrowing at him.
"Oh, I'm just one of Kyle's good friends," Cartman said. "We used to hang out all the time."
"No, I didn't hang out with you. You just happen to always show up at the places I'm at," Kyle stated.
"Whatever, you know we have something between us," Cartman said. From the corner of his eye, he could see this Damien looking peeved. Ooh, had he struck a nerve with the douche? Nice. Two birds with one stone.
"I don't need to listen to this, especially in my own home," Kyle said angrily. "Get the fuck away, asstard."
"Yes, do leave," Damien added darkly.
"Isn't that precious, you're finishing up each other's sentences," Cartman cooed.
"But we didn't finish each other's sentences," Kyle frowned.
"Kyle, Kyle, you need to come out of the closet," Cartman teased. "It's not healthy keeping all that gay lust of yours bottled up. Besides, I need another thing to rip on you for."
Another irritated growl from Kyle was music to his ears. How long had he gone without hearing that lovely, lovely sound? Too long by the sound of it. Time to make up for lost time.
"It would be best if you left," Damien warned. Was it him or were those kid's eyes starting to glow red? Must be his imagination.
"No, no, I got a lot more material I need to get through," Cartman insisted. "How about I give Kyle a break and start on you? Then I can go back to Kyle and use some of that material I used to rip on you to further rip on him? Doesn't that sound fun?"
"Goddamn it Cartman!" Kyle roared.
"Leave," Damien ordered, his voice deep.
The warning went completely over Cartman's head. "As if. Who's gonna make me?"
The red glow in Damien's eyes intensified.
Rectus…
Dominus…
"Does anybody hear something?" Kyle wondered.
Cheesy Poofs…
Stan was reclining on the couch when he heard the doorbell ring. Now who could that be? He was busy wallowing in self-defeat, thank you very much. Why couldn't whoever it was come at another time?
Nevertheless, he pushed himself out of his seat sluggishly and trekked to the door, opening it. Stan's eyes widened and his mouth fell open at what he saw.
There stood Cartman on his doorstep. He had his left arm and left leg wrapped in casts, bandages around his head, and balanced on a crutch under his right arm. Black scorch marks painted his face and any other exposed areas of skin and to top it all off, he had a black eye. He looked like he had been through hell.
"You were right Stan, we have to do something about that kid," Cartman said.
"Why? What happened?" Stan asked as he allowed Cartman into his home.
"You didn't tell me that kid had weird ass psychic powers," Cartman said accusingly. "He fucking went Carrie on me! It's a miracle I'm still alive!"
"What about Kyle? Is he alright?" Stan asked worriedly.
"Uh, hello, almost beaten to within an inch of my life here," Cartman said.
"I need to go check up on Kyle!" Stan almost exclaimed, panicking.
"I'm sure the Jewrat is fine," Cartman said, attempting to interrupt Stan's panic mode. "You should be more concerned with how dangerous that Damien kid is. If he's allowed to stick around Kyle, then that means…"
"What? It means what?" Stan asked, somewhat captivated with Cartman's drama. As if his worry for Kyle couldn't get any greater.
"It means that I…" Cartman trailed off again.
"What does it mean?" Stan pressed, starting to get a bit annoyed.
"It means that I'll never be able to rip on Kyle," Cartman said at last.
Stan stared blankly at Cartman. "Right…that's so important," he deadpanned.
"I know!" Cartman said, not getting the sarcasm. Doing his best to balance himself against his crutch, he grabbed Stan by the front of his brown coat and pulled him close. "If we want to stand a chance of breaking those two up, we need to work together. We must be united Stan or else we won't stand a chance against the power of friendship."
"You've been watching that My Little Pony show, haven't you," Stan stated.
"No!" Cartman said a little too quickly. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"Right…" Stan said again.
"We're getting off topic here!" Cartman stated. "Look, you don't like me and I hate your guts because you're friends with a Jew. None of us are perfect, especially you, but none of that matters. We need to put aside our differences and team up if only for a few hours. We both need that Damien kid out of the picture so that I can go back to ripping on Kyle and you can stop being a lovesick pussy."
"How many times have I had to say this? I'm not gay," Stan said.
"Fine, stay in the closet, what do I care," Cartman said dismissively.
"This is really not helping your case," Stan said.
"Oh? And who was it that came to my door earlier today asking for my help, hmm?" Cartman inquired, narrowing his eyes at Stan.
"But now you're in my home asking for my help now," Stan pointed out.
"Who the hell is keeping score?" Cartman demanded.
"Whatever, I get it," Stan said as removed Cartman's grip on his coat. "This fighting is going to get us nowhere."
"That's what I've been trying to say for the last five minutes. Don't be stealing my thunder Stan!" Cartman declared.
"What do you have in mind?" Stan asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose, not willing to go through the mental gymnastics anymore. Sure he had participated earlier but he kinda got swept up into the moment, you know? Now he was focused. Now that Cartman was willing to help out, Stan was feeling confident that he was going to get his super best friend back.
"I was thinking that maybe you dress up like one of those fags at the gay club, show that you're here, you're queer, get used to it, and impress Jew boy so much that he starts confessing his gay love for you," Cartman began.
"No," Stan stated. He really needed to start convincing Cartman that he was not Goddamn gay, Goddamn it!
"C'mooooon!" Cartman whined. "It'll so totally work! It's like…like a girl trying to be someone who's tough on the outside but is kind to anyone who's close to her. Who the hell can't resist that?"
"That's even dumber than the gay idea," Stan retorted. "Don't get your dominatrix fantasies mixed up in this Cartman and come up with something better!"
"Alright, fine," Cartman rolled his eyes. "What about dressing up like some of those anime characters?"
"I saw a bunch of cosplayers today looking absolutely stupid. No," Stan vetoed.
"Christ you're picky," Cartman muttered. "Alright how about this one?" He leaned in close and began whispering his next plan. Now this one held some promise, even more than the gay idea from earlier. Actually, he was really liking this idea. As in like like.
Did this make him a bad person?
Screw morality, he wanted his super best friend back already! This new plan was sounding better by the second and—
"Stop calling me gay already!" Stan roared.