"I'm very disappointed in you, Kyle."
Kyle didn't know what to do when his mother was like this. Shouting, he could handle. But this … this cold, unfeeling tone was downright eerie.
"Expelled. My very own son. And for bullying."
"I didn't bully anyone, Mom."
"Oh, really?" His mother put on disbelief. "Because your principal happened to be singing a different tune."
"The principal's retarded."
"You watch your mouth, young man!" His mother balled her fists. Kyle could see the tips of her ears were red. She was mad. Mad, mad, mad, mad, mad, mad. But still not yelling. "You called that boy 'fat' and then you broke his nose."
"Mom, it wasn't like that –"
"It wasn't? You mean you didn't call the boy fat?"
"Well yeah –"
"And you didn't break his nose? Maybe it was someone else. Maybe it was Stan, or that colored boy?"
"No, I broke his nose."
"So, then, what am I missing?"
"What you're missing is that it was Cartman!" Kyle was getting mad, too, and he found himself off of the couch and on his feet. "You know how much of a little shit Cartman is!"
"I know that Eric Cartman causes a great deal of trouble," his mother said. "But I also know that you do, too. I don't know what to do about you, Kyle. I always thought you'd be my little baby, but the older you get, the more wild you become."
"Wild? Wild?" Kyle laughed. "I'm the top of my class; I never miss school; I always go to synagogue; I pick Ike up when Dad stays late at the office and you're busy with your latest campaign. Yeah, you're right, Mom; I'm a fucking problem child. God!"
"Go to your room, Kyle! I've had it up to here with your insolence!"
"Fine! I will!"
And Sheila Broflovski watched her son stalk up the stairs to his room and stop halfway through. He turned to her.
"None of this ever would have happened if you didn't send me to Jew Camp when I was 13!"
He stomped the rest of the way to his room and slammed the door behind him.
What on earth is he talking about? she wondered.