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cartman/clyde

When the letter arrives in the mail - 10 YEAR HIGH SCHOOL REUNION RESERVE YOUR TICKET NOW - Clyde chucks his straight into the trash. Just some bullshit junk mail. He knows for a fact he can buy his ticket at the door. Craig really gets into it. I'm going to rent a tux and a limo and a hooker, he says. A classy one. Just to show all those scholarship pricks they were wrong.

But, Clyde points out, they were 28 and living in South Park and working class. The scholarship pricks were right.

Craig flips Clyde off.

When the date rolls around, Clyde arrives on foot. He's one of the first there and chats up Kyle, who says he only came to catch up with Stan, and then he's getting the fuck back out of his po-dunk hometown, away from all the hicks that inhabit it. Oh. No offense.

Clyde excuses himself and meets up with Craig, who has the neither the suit nor the car - too expensive for the South Park working class, apparently - but does have a barely-legal girl on his arm.

Classy, Clyde says. Hey, Craig counters, at least I know I'm getting laid tonight.

WOW!, the hooker says, a flat palm flying up, that's costing you extra, honey.

Clyde is distracted by CARTMAN, who barrels into the room in such a way that it ought to be noted in capslock. As everyone else edges away from HIM, Clyde edges toward HIM. Hey, Clyde says, and he doesn't have to ask what CARTMAN's been up to since graduation (where HE was forcibly dragged off stage halfway through HIS graduation speech) because HE starts bragging immediately. CEO of HIS own time travel company, and HE lost 200 pounds - yes! 200! - because HE got aides. But not, HE hastens to add, the fag kind.

I always expected you to go into politics, Clyde says, and CARTMAN jeers at him. Only dumbasses get into politics. They're all spineless pussies who can't even hold their dick in their hand without the voters' approval. Politicians have no power. Everyone that knows anything works in the business world. They're the people who make the money, and that's the money that pays for the elections of the politicians that'll make sure they keep on making money.

CARTMAN asks him what he does, and Clyde is confused until he realizes HE just wants to rub in how much better HIS job is. Pool maintenance, he admits, and CARTMAN laughs at him.

They end up in the bathroom shortly afterward. The tile's murder on Clyde's knees, and whatever mood that could've been achieved is efficiently dashed when CARTMAN yells through the locked door that if Butters has to go that badly then he can use the chick's room, which is the one he should be using, anyway, because he's such a God damn pussy.

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red/annie

Heidi and Bebe's popularity contest started early, over the simple matter of who could attract more girls to their slumber parties.

It was a close race from the beginning. Heidi had more expensive things in her house, but Bebe had less parental supervision. Heidi's parents were stupid enough to leave beer lying out; Bebe's parents were stupid enough to let BOYS come over.

The only girls who'd been left completely out of it were Annie and Red, neither of whom were considered worth competing over. Marginalized, they took to sleeping over at each other's house whenever the girls at school started to buzz about how drunk Lizzy'd gotten at Heidi's (again), or how Kenny'd joined the party over at Bebe's (again).

They'd watch movies and make huge bowls of popcorn and beat each other with pillows until they fell over in a stupid, shrieking, giggling pile on each others beds; then they'd calm down and slide their limbs around and Annie would reach other with a popcorn-buttery hand and grab hold of Red's shoulder, or wrist, or neck, or some other bare expanse of skin; and then they'd slide their limbs around move purposefully, and Red would be glad all over again that they'd been able to be the same in their difference.

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mole/gregory

Between Christophe being killed by guard dogs and his own move out of South Park, Gregory never expected to see Christophe again. He certainly didn't expect to meet him in a bar in Los Angeles playing poker. He also didn't expect to win all of Christophe's money, but he wasn't about to complain about that.

He thought about staying and asking how Christophe was, or more specifically, how he was alive, but Christophe was glaring at him over his beer and drumming his fingers on his deck of cards, and Gregory thought better of it. He chatted up a pretty girl until her girlfriend came out of the bathroom, bought a round for the bar with Christophe's money, then ducked out while the patrons cheered and tapped glasses together.

Four blocks away, Christophe stepped out of an alleyway with a gun. Gregory didn't wonder how he'd gotten there before him - Ze Mole had been the best, after all.

"I need zat money," he informed him.

"No market for mercenaries these days?" Gregory ventured. Christophe glared. "You're not going to shoot me."

Christophe shot him.

When Gregory woke up again, he was in a hospital room and Christophe was standing over his bed.

"... you can't smoke in a hospital."

"Oh, can't I?" He blew out a long train of smoke. Gregory let it go.

"I can't believe you shot me."

"I needed zat money."

"But we have history."

"Why do you zink I shot you?"

"Amiable history."

"Why do you zink I only shot you in ze shoulder?"

"Hmm," Gregory said. "What are you doing here?"

"You're being discharged. And you're staying at my house."

"Am I?"

"I was ze one who paid your hospital beell."

"I thought you needed that money."

"I assume ze slave labor you weell provide weell average eet all out."

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jimbo/ned

Don't ask/don't tell was a fine policy when you had a boy back home, or when you were absolutely sure the other men in your platoon had girls back home. Sadly, back home you were either in denial or you weren't in South Park. It wasn't that South Park was especially bigoted, just especially dim. Jimbo's mother, step-father, and half-brother had all walked in on him at various times in various incriminating positions, and they'd still been surprised when he'd broken the news. In fact, Randy was still trying to set him up with Sharon's girl friends. Every time he reminded him he was gay, Randy said "Still?"

And that's why South Park's gay citizens were either in denial or in the process of moving. Because the blindingly stupid were more annoying than the prejudiced, when it came right down to it.

So Jimbo didn't have a boy back home, and he didn't know if Ned had anything back home aside from the promising singing career, and herein lay the problem: how were you supposed to have a relationship when you couldn't ask if you were in a relationship, and, even if you did, they wouldn't be able to tell you?

The whole situation was making Vietnam way too stressful. Not even the log ride was fun anymore. Jimbo didn't want to have to start getting into double entendres about guns. That would just be confusing.

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gary/stan

The date had gone miraculously well, considering what a prick he'd been when they were nine, and that a dozen or so of their classmates were following them around because there wasn't anything on TV and, well, how often did two high school boys go on a date together in this town? And in that shirt? (Thank you, Bebe, for assuming he cared about your advice.)

After listening to catcalls, 'helpful suggestions,' and the occasional "fags" from Cartman all through dinner and the movie, Stan was rather desperate to get away from the throng of people that were following them. "So," he said, "you want to go back to my house for coffee?"

"I don't-"

"Drink coffee, right," he sighed.

"It's called innuendo! He wants to take you home and make sweet love to you allll night long!" Scattered laughter and 'woooOOOoo's.

Gary arched an eyebrow. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was going to kill that bastard Kenny.

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butters/dougie

Butters had thought long and hard about how to break the news to his parents that he and Dougie didn't play dress up when he came over anymore. (A more accurate description might be 'dress down.') He wanted to tell them, because it wasn't good to lie to your parents, after all. He'd just been a little nervous about how they would take it. Undoubtedly he would be grounded, but for how long?

Butters hadn't wanted to break the news by way of his and Dougie's braces getting tangled and them needing a ride to the orthodontist to get straightened out, but, well, sometimes life just worked out like that.

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cartman/wendy

I'm Kyle Broflovski, and I hate my job.

Cartman is bad enough by himself - and working at a grocery store means seeing lots of Cartman (though you can never see a little of him, Ha, Ha, Ha.) - but putting him with Wendy is like... well, like putting two chemicals that explode when they are put together, together. I really ought to study for my chemistry test next week.

The worst day of the week is Thursday. We always get our new shipment of Nabisco cookies on Friday, so Thursday means picked-over shelves. For some reason, this is the day both Cartman and Wendy show up for their Double Stuf Oreos. They ram each other with their carts. They pull hair, slap, and bite. Ever seen a particular fat guy try to fend off a particularly skinny girl who's beating him with a raw turkey leg? Let me tell ya, it's a mental image that sticks with you.

They always make a huge fucking mess, and I'm always the one who has to mop it up. And for what? It always ends up the same way. Wendy gets the package, and then Wendy shyly invites the fatass to come over to her place and help her eat them. Shyly. Two minutes after clubbing him with a frozen fucking piece of poultry.

I need a job somewhere where neither of them would ever set foot. I have terrible blood pressure for a seventeen-year-old.