Author's Note: Next chapter and things are starting up. I'm not entirely satisfied with it but hopefully it'll do for now. If anyone is paying attention to the character filter, you can see that Randy's name is there. So, as you can imagine, things are going downhill from this point on. It's Randy Marsh, what did you expect? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park. Any public and political figures mentioned are fictional and their portrayals are done poorly.

Warning: language, death

Chapter 2

Sitting behind the news desk, a mustached, professionally dressed and groomed man stared directly into the camera that was recording his every word and motion. Lights lit up the set, various shades of blue coloring the backdrop of the set while the opaque-color desk hid the newsanchor's lower half from sight.

"Everybody has been talking about it from in-crowds in New York to the underbelly of the Internet. Since his announcement last week, this man, General Zod, has said that he will be running for the presidency during the 2014 congressional elections. Debate has raged ever since.

"On one side, liberal pussies have whined and complained that he can't do that and that it violates over two hundred years of electoral tradition. When pressed for further comment, they whined, bitched, and complained but did absolutely nothing about it. On the other side, conservative rednecks have also pointed out that never before has anyone been allowed to run for the Oval Office in the middle of an ongoing term. However, because Obama is in office, they don't really have a problem with it. It would be different if it was a Republican but since it's a pussy Democrat, they're behind the bid 98%.

"The man behind all of it, General Zod, so far has kept himself out of the debate. Instead, he has been ignoring pretty much everyone as his bid picks up steam. So far he has not announced which party he is going to represent and has remained a no-chance-at-winning independent.

"In other news, rates of aneurysms have increased…"

Stan continued to watch the news program even though he gave absolutely no sign of being interested in it. To be honest, he would rather be doing something more exciting and fun but his lame-ass dad had decided that he needed another lesson in the American electoral process. Speaking of which, said lame-ass dad, also known as Randy Marsh, was seated further down on the couch, the complete opposite of his son.

Already, Stan had a feeling that things were about to go crazy because whenever his dad got involved with something, craziness always followed and there was really nothing he could do about it. Didn't mean he had to like it but still, for once could something stay normal?

"You see this, Stan?" his father spoke up, his bushy, black mustache rising and falling with each word he spoke. "This is what politics is all about. We're about to get into some real shit soon."

"Dad? Can I go up to my room?" Stan asked blandly.

"No Stan, this is important!" Randy answered. "We got some upstart lunatic trying to take on Washington and it's going to be awesome to watch. This is something you're going to remember for the rest of your life."

Stan stared at his father for a moment. "You do know he's an alien, right?"

"What are you saying, Stan?" Randy demanded with a passive tone, sitting up. "That this guy is an illegal immigrant and isn't eligible to run? Is that what you're saying, Stan?"

Okay, he didn't know where this was going. The tone of voice his father was using was a sign, a bad sign, of whatever potential shitstorm was coming this way. Well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Then again…

"Look Dad, I'm just saying that we might want to be careful about this guy. I mean, what does anybody really know about this guy?" Stan tried to explain.

"I know enough," Randy said, sounding defensive.

"So what do you know about him?" Stan asked.

His father looked like he was ready to answer with some kind of retort but then…he fell silent as if figuring out that whatever his answer was, it wasn't a good one. Apparently another answer came to him as his father's mouth opened again only to close again as if discarding that one like the one before it.

"You really don't know anything about him, do you?" Stan stated. He pretty much knew that was the answer.

"Hey, it's not like you know who all the other people who are running are," Randy retorted, crossing his arms and looking away petulantly.

Stan was about to reply to that but then had to stop. For once his dad had a point. He didn't know who all the other people who were running for the House and the Senate and all that stuff. Where did they all come from? For all he knew, they all came from some other planet.

Heck, now that he thought about it, he didn't even know who was currently in office.

"We've just received word that this mystery candidate, General Zod, is holding a press conference. It is set for…right now. Holy shit, that's right now. Do we have someone there to cover it? We do? Ladies and gentlemen, I now send you to our man in the field."

The image on the TV flickered to a reporter who was facing away from a podium as he looked directly into the camera. Barely filled seats were located between him and the podium; due to the suddenness of the press conference, barely anyone had been able to show up.

"Tom, I'm here at the recently announced press conference that presidential candidate Zod…last name unknown—hold on, something's happening. It looks like the press conference is happening now. Apparently, when Candidate Zod says now, it means now. As you can see there are not many reporters here outside of my colleagues from MSNBC and FOX. CNN is running late and they're—oh, he's starting."

Stan swallowed as the image of Zod replaced that of the reporter on the scene. He had not been able to forget that mug and it seemed like he had only just seen it yesterday. Or an hour ago. Whatever. Needless to say he was a bit uncomfortable, unlike his father who was leaning closer to the TV as if to get a better look.

"It has come to Zod's attention that many of you Earthians who call themselves Americans—for whatever trivial reason—have expressed dissatisfaction with Zod's candidacy. The most primary complaint Zod has heard involves the whereabouts of Zod's birth certificate. Zod does not see a reason why he must have a birth certificate in order to run for the executive office and does not care in the slightest about whatever inconsequential reasons you American Earthians have about Zod needing one.

"Zod has been told that these press conferences, which do not include pressing of any sort, are to answer any questions that the rest of you American Earthians have for Zod. Zod now shows immeasurable patience by subjugating himself to your questions. Ask them now while you can. You, the one from the animal organization."

"FOX News," the reporter corrected.

"Are you correcting Zod?"

"Okay… My question is…where's your birth certificate. Only those of American citizenry can run for president and we need proof that you are a naturally born citizen."

"Zod thought he has already answered that question."

"But we all still want to know where it is and where it says you were born. That is the most important question that you'll ever be asked." The reporter explained.

Stan was totally not surprised when Zod fired those laser beams of his and caused the FOX News reporter's head to explode.

"Does anybody else wish to know about this inconsequential birth certificate?"

"No."

"Nope."

"We're good."

"Very well. Are there any more questions that Zod must subject himself to answering? Yes, you from the random letter sequence organization."

"Uh…what are you going to do about political gridlock in Washington?" the reporter from MSNBC asked, being careful not to tread on proven fatal ground.

"It is very simple. All those responsible for this gridlock will have to kneel before Zod. Otherwise they will be victims of Zod-induced aneurysms as you Earthians have begun to call them."

"Just like the guy from FOX?"

"Exactly." Zod's face gave the impression that he was completely serious about it. Stan could not find anything to argue against him.

"Are there any other questions?" Zod asked, seemingly mild but his voice did have an edge to it. It was like he was daring the reporters to gamble with their lives. When there were no further questions, "Zod shall now take his leave. Zod looks forward to participating in the practice of 'debating' and is ready to face all challengers."

"Wow…" Randy Marsh exhaled loudly. "Did you see that? He's so…cool! So awesome! So cool and awesome and perfect!"

"Dad…" Stan sighed in exasperation.

"He's totally got my vote! Did you see how he handled those nosy reporters?" Randy was on all fours and in front of the TV. With one hand, he touched the portion of the plasma screen where Zod's face was. "If it was legal, I'd marry that man. He's so perfect."

"Oh my God…" Stan moaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's it, we need to get the word out," Randy declared as he stood up. "Come on, Stan! It's time for the Marsh's to become political! We're going out and we're spreading word about Zod! This man is going to save this country and we're going to help him!"

"No, Dad. No," Stan argued, glaring at his father. "I am not getting involved in this. Leave me out of it."

"Stan, you're coming with me and helping out to get Zod elected," Randy declared.

"No Dad!" Stan yelled back.

"You're going to help out, Stan. One way or the other, you're going to help," Randy stated, his tone of voice brooking no argument.

"Oh Goddamn it," Stan swore as he found himself standing next to a stand that his father had set up. There was red, white, and blue colored streamers, posters and flyers of Zod decorating not only the table his father was sitting behind but the wall behind him as well.

Stan himself was wearing two poster boards that were strapped together and hung both in front of him and against his back. Pasted on the poster boards was a copy of the various pro-Zod posters his father had tried to paste all over town. The one on his front was obviously a rip-off of an old Obama campaign poster with a red and blue back ground, and a red, white, and blue-faced Zod portrait. The bottom where you'd expect the word change or hope or whatever was not there at the moment as his father had yet to learn what the theme of Zod's campaign was.

That didn't stop his father was committing plagiarism and forcing the ten year old to walk up and down the sidewalk, saying, "Vote for Zod."

This was so freaking embarrassing.

"Vote for Zod, everybody!" Randy proclaimed. "He'll get this country back on track. You'll see! No more bogus change! This is a real change!"

Shut up, Dad. Don't call attention to yourself. Really. At this point, Stan couldn't think of this getting any worse.

"Stan? What are you doing?"

It just got worse. Damn it, why was his inner monologue tempting fate?

Stan's eyes flickered down towards the poster board sigh he was wearing then back up to Kyle. "Dude, this isn't what it looks like," he tried to excuse himself.

"Come on Stan! What are you doing? You don't have time to talk with your little friend! You gotta keep moving! Gawrl!" his father reprimanded him.

Both of the boys faced the direction Stan's dad had spoken from, neither saying a word for a moment. "Let me guess, your dad bought into all this," Kyle guessed.

"Is it that obvious?" Stan sighed his rhetorical question, his shoulders slumping. "I swear, it's like living with a little kid sometimes."

"But aren't you a little kid?" Kyle questioned.

"I'm supposed to be. He's a grown-up adult," Stan answered. "I gotta go back and help my dad make an idiot of himself. I'll tell you about it later."

"I could stay around if you want," Kyle offered.

"Nah, go home Kyle. This is going to be something you're going to want to stay away from," Stan said. "It's going to be super lame."

A loud commotion in the direction Stan last knew his dad to be in had the ten year old's heart pounding as loud voices reached his ears. By all accounts, it sounded like someone had gotten fed up with what his father was up to and was very vocal about it. His father was being very vocal right back at the other person. But who would be stupid enough to—

"Get this faggoty stuff off the sidewalk! It's all socialistic propaganda meant to brainwash us hard working Americans!" your traditional-looking redneck stereotype roared at the only person who Stan believed deserved the Darwin Award. Blue jeans, flannel shirt, cowboy boots, and rough/hoarse voice, this redneck had it all. Looked a bit familiar what with that red hair and that thick moustache.

"Hey, this is far from faggoty," Randy jumped up for the conflict. "This is a great man who's going to turn this country around! I'd appreciate it if you took your Zod-bashing somewhere else, like Texas!"

"And go to a place where Mexicans are takin' our jobs?" the redneck demanded.

From across the street, a man in overalls and a cap yelled, "They took ur jobs!" An elderly and more scraggly man added, "Derk e der!"

"Why don't you pack up and take your whiny, tree-hugging, liberal ass back to pansy California," the redneck continued, slapping a hand on Randy's table, jerking over his shoulder with his other hand, thumb jutted out.

"What, and live with sissy Californians who reelected their recalled governor? I don't think so!" Randy retorted. "Don't you know anything about Zod? He doesn't take nonsense from anybody so Washington gridlock is a thing of the past! This man is going to be different!"

"He hasn't even shown us his birth certificate!" the redneck snarled. "You can't trust a man to lead this country when he's not even born in it!"

"Oh, that's real mature," Randy snorted. "Birth certificates are so 2008 and 2012. You'd have to have, like, a sixth grade education to believe that."

"Don't you mock my sixth grade education!" the redneck bellowed.

"This is happening, this is actually happening," Stan bemoaned, eyes closed tight. If he couldn't see this embarrassment, then it didn't exist, right?

The back and forth between his father and the conservative redneck continued, causing many people walking by to stop and watch with fascination. Really, the above exchange between them could sum up everything that was said afterwards but eventually it all came to a head when his dad made a bold claim.

"He's going to do what Obama couldn't and make us some jobs!"

The redneck slammed his other hand on the table. "What did you say?" he demanded.

"I said he was going to make us some jobs!" Randy declared, slapping both of his hands on his table and leaning forward.

"You mean…he's going to…make us jobs?" the redneck said, slowly and carefully.

The man in the overalls and cap from before repeated, "Make us jobs?"

The older, scragglier man said, "Erk er der?"

"Yeah, that's right! He's going make some jobs around here!" Randy stated. "He's going to turn this economy around! You'll see! Everybody's going to have jobs!"

"You pulling my leg?" the redneck demanded but one could tell that he was slowly being won over…somehow.

"Like I would do that. That's so 2008 right there," Randy scoffed. "This is a new man for a new age and he's not the one we deserve. He's the one we need right now. So everybody! Vote for Zod, 2014!"

"Yeah!" the redneck exclaimed. "Vote for Zod if you're a true American!"

"Oh Jesus, no," Stan moaned.

Thousands of miles away, in a small city close to the east coast and sitting on the Potomac River, cloaked figures scurried about, deftly dodging staff members, lobbyists, and the occasional investigative journalist. They were secretive and almost skittish as they made their way to one of the many backrooms that existed within the capital building in Washington D.C.

There was a summons and it needed to be answered. Such things weren't done for nothing. Thus as everybody else went about their day as usual, these cloaked figures snuck about until they all congregated in a darkened room, absent of smoke for once. Good, this wouldn't be a typical backroom dealing.

Once cut off from the rest of the world, the cloaked figures felt safe enough to remove their hoods and expose their identities.

"Okay, who sent out the call?" the Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid demanded, Nancy Pelosi at his side looking stern.

"Don't look at me," the Speaker of the House John Boehner retorted defensively, also dressed in the same hood cloak as the two Democrats were. "I have a bunch of Tea Party representatives that need to be coddled and babysat. They can only go so long before their next temper tantrum."

"I take offense to that," Senator Ted Cruz spat out at the Speaker, conspicuously not wearing the hooded cloaks the rest of them were.

Harry Reid narrowed his eyes. "What is he doing here? He's not even a member!"

"You try telling him no," Senator Mitch McConnell huffed.

"Enough of the cock fighting, who called this meeting?" Nancy Pelosi interrupted as she moved to take a seat in the darkened room's many chairs. "It's risky enough that we're doing this in broad daylight."

"It wasn't you?" John Boehner questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"No, it was me." One of the chairs spun around to reveal Senator John McCain whose swollen facial gland seemed to be growing however minutely by the day.

"Damn it McCain! What do you think you're doing?" Mitch McConnell demanded.

"You'll see in a few minutes," John McCain answered. "We need to wait for the others to show up."

"What is this?" Ted Cruz demanded, eyes narrowing. "Are you going behind my back again, McCain?"

"Seriously, why are you here?" McCain inquired. "You'd think after that shutdown fiasco you'd be quiet, like Gingrich. Speaking of which, Newt's running late."

The door opened again and more cloaked figures entered. As soon as the door was closed, they all removed their hoods to reveal more members of Congress, from, Chuck Schumer, Dianne Feinstein, and John Cornyn, to Eric Cantor, Darrell Issa, and Steny Hoyer.

The crowd was growing and all of them had only two questions in mind. One was who had called for them. The other was—

"What's he doing here?" Dianne Feinstein demanded, glaring heatedly at Ted Cruz.

"Calm down, Dianne. He forced his way in from what I've heard," Harry Reid explained placatingly.

"It wasn't my fault!" John Boehner exclaimed, the waterworks beginning.

"Damn it, will someone get John a box of tissues?" Eric Cantor ordered.

Before anyone could comply, they had one more cloaked figure enter. "Sorry I'm late but Michelle was busy being a strong, independent woman," President Barack Obama said. "Also, Newt's not going to be able to make it. Having a little trouble with the fourth mistress."

"Can't that guy keep his dick in his pants? He's making us look bad!" Mitch McConnell snapped.

"I'm not done yet. Bill is doing his thing, we all know why the Georges aren't here, and Jimmy is somewhere in Panama or whatever place he's trying to do humanitarian work this time," Obama continued. "I don't think we're going to have anybody else show up."

"Very well, we can get started," John McCain said.

"I knew it! You're all in league with that liberal, socialist, Muslim foreigner!" Ted Cruz accused.

"What's he doing here?" Obama asked, leveling a look at the Tea Party conservative.

"Making our lives hard, what else?" Dianne Feinstein muttered. Yeah, she was not over that gun control debate.

"Look people, I didn't call us all here just so we can chat. We have a serious problem," John McCain announced, taking control of the meeting. "As everyone here knows, there's a man trying to run for president during a non-presidential election. Normally I'd write him off as some lunatic but the thing is, the polls are showing that he could actually win."

Silence as the group of politicians stared at the Republican senator.

"Are you saying…that this General Zod could upset over two hundred years of tradition and win the presidency?" Nancy Pelosi summed up.

"You actually think the American people are that stupid?" John Cornyn asked incredulously.

"We all know how stupid the American people are," Harry Reid stated. "They keep voting us back into office. Except for the freshman over there."

"Are you trying to start something Reid? Because I'll totally do another shutdown in January!" Ted Cruz threatened.

"Enough," Obama commanded. "This is indeed a very serious matter. Should this General Zod succeed, that will mean that future presidents, both Democrat and Republican, are at risk of being kicked out of the Oval Office…without being caught and nearly getting impeached because they got a blowjob from their interns and lied about it."

Naturally, only the males in the room were horrified by that prospect.

"This cannot be allowed!" Mitch McConnell thundered. "Every president there has ever been has always gotten blowjobs in the Oval Office from their interns and almost got caught doing so. Barack, how close have you gotten to being caught?"

"I'm not falling for that one. Don't ask, don't tell," Obama replied.

"Darn it," Eric Cantor muttered.

"Hey, I learned from Bill's mistake when he told Newt. You have to admit, Newt was being very uncool back then," Obama said defensively.

Okay, the sissy Democrat had a point. That had been low, even for Gingrich.

"So what are we going to do about this?" McCain steered the discussion back to the topic at hand. "How are we going to stop General Zod from being elected?"

"Well, we need to find some dirt on him. Something that'll make him totally unelectable," Harry Reid mused.

"Why not have him make some comment about rape and abortions? It worked on Mourdock and Akin," Nancy Pelosi suggested.

The Republicans in the room had to begrudgingly agree with that. All but one did but he was a freshman so his opinion didn't count.

That didn't stop him from shoving it in other people's faces. "That's a stupid idea. Why not ask about his birth certificate?" Ted Cruz suggested.

"Don't you think that's getting old already?" Chuck Schumer complained. "You tried that tactic on Barack and it didn't work, even though he was clearly born in Hawaii and he showed both forms. Can't you come up with something original?"

"Yes, like insulting his knowledge of the Constitution," Dianne Feinstein spat out.

"Guys, guys, calm down! We're all in this together," Obama tried to play peacemaker. "We need a game plan if we want to retain our positions of power in Washington. Zod is threatening it so we can't afford to let him win. We need a strategy, one that will not only destroy any chance this nut has of winning but remove him from politics altogether. Damn it, this guy is trying to take our jobs!"

"He's trying to take our jobs!"

"Take our jobs!

"Derk e der!"

"Der e der!"

"De do der!"

"…we tighten it a little here and…good to go Butters?"

Cartman took a step back and observed his work, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

"Well, gee Eric, I'm not sure about this," Butters answered, shifting uncomfortably.

"Don't move, Butters, this is very expensive equipment!" Cartman reprimanded. Said equipment resembled something made from Tinker Toys but the wires that sprang out, wrapped around the ten year old's body, and led to a small black, boxy panel was a sign that this thing was anything but a toy.

"What is this all for, Eric?" Butters asked, the blond-haired boy doing his best to remain still lest he disturb any of the important-looking wires wrapped around him.

"Butters, you and I are going to be making history," Cartman said. "With this stuff, I'm going to be measuring your brain and together, we're going to try and come up with a cure for aneurysms."

"Oh, well, I guess I can help out," Butters said though at this point his consent was a moot point. He was a total idiot but that's why Cartman liked using him. He was cheaper than renting lab rats and just as dumb too, let him tell you.

"Okay, let me turn this on," Cartman said as he flipped a switch on the small panel. Quickly his eyes snapped back to watch the bizarre headpiece which constituted the majority of the tinker toy look. Little lights that resembled Christmas lights flashed on and off in a dazzling display. It looked like everything was working. Looking at the small, boxy panel, he commented, "Everything looks to be in working order."

"So what are we going to do?" Butters asked, blinking innocent eyes curiously.

"It's simple Butters. I want you to have an aneurysm. Right now," Cartman directed. After a moment silence, "Anytime now, Butters."

"I can't have an aneurysm, Eric!" Butters protested. "My head will explode and my brains will go everywhere and then I'll get grounded!"

"Butters! This is for the good of humanity!" Cartman argued. "Haven't you seen the numbers? The rate of aneurysms is going up! If we can figure out a way to cure aneurysms, we'll be heroes and famous! Now have an aneurysm already!"

"Well, alright. Here I go." Butters closed his eyes and began to concentrated, his forehead wrinkling. A few groans came out of his mouth but as time passed, nothing happened.

"You can stop jerking around and have an aneurysm already," Cartman complained, glaring at Butters.

"Well I'm trying!" Butters protested.

"Try harder!" Cartman ordered.

Butters tried harder. No aneurysm.

"Goddamn it, Butters! Have an aneurysm already!" Cartman bellowed. "I won't let you screw this up for me, dipshit!"

"But having an aneurysm is hard!" Butters complained. "And I'm doing my best!"

"Your best isn't good enough!" Cartman spat. "You're screwing me over Butters. Should I get a barrel or something and take down my pants because you might as well be doing that to me!"

"I'm not screwing you over Eric! I'm doing the best I can. I'll do it harder, I promise!" Butters tried to soothe Cartman down.

"Oh, you'd better do it harder Butters because if you screw me over again…" he marched over and grabbed Butters by the front of his light blue, long-sleeved shirt, pulling him towards them until their faces were mere inches away from one another, "…I'll fucking murder you. You are not screwing me over again, you asshole." He then roughly pushed Butters back and stomped back over to the small, boxy panel. "Now try again."

Butters inhaled deeply and grunted as he tried to have an aneurysm again, his face starting to turn red from his exertions.

Author's Note: Is it just me or does the image of a bunch of Congressmen and Congresswomen behaving like those job-obsessed rednecks from the Gooback episode sound hilarious? To make up for the poor attempt of a disclaimer earlier, I do not own President Barack Obama, Senator John McCain, Senator Harry Reid, Senator Mitch McConnell, Senator Ted Cruz, Senator Chuck Schumer, Senator Dianne Feinstein, Senator John Cornyn, Speaker John Boehner, Representative Nancy Pelosi, Representative Eric Cantor, Representative Darrell Issa, and Representative Steny Hoyer. There, hopefully that's enough to prevent me from being sued.