"I can't believe he's making me go to that stupid concert!" Cartman growled from his seated position below Kyle's MC Dreidel poster whilst the other boys sat scattered around Kyle's room.

"Dude, stop yelling or my mom might hear you," Kyle responded from his swivel chair located right next to who else? Cartman.

"I mean, so what if they called him a crybaby? It's been a YEAR! Like, get over it already, you big vagina," he continued to complain, too wrapped up in his indignation to stop.

"I bet you wouldn't say that to his face," Kenny snickered. Currently, he and Stan were seated on the young Jew's bed. "Did you see that remote!? I bet it's still stuck in the TV!" This comment made Kenny laugh even harder, triggering nervous laughter from Kyle and Stan who witnessed the terrifying ordeal.

The larger boy sat stone-faced as his anger began to wane. While he was fuming beneath the surface, desperate to spit out some half-assed retort about him not being scared of Scott or his reaction, he knew that was a bald-faced lie. When the fourth grader saw that lightweight plastic TV. remote jutting out of a screen now reduced to a bed of glass shards, the illusion disappeared. The idea that he had any sort of control over the teen was merely a facade, a sick joke of sorts. That being said, once he had witnessed what Scott was capable of when provoked, there was no way he would stay in the same house, never mind the same room as him. Even the young narcissist knew there was a difference between being brave and being suicidal.

"Ah gee Eric, I don't think Radiohead is that bad," said Butters with a slight smile on his face. The blonde was the only one currently standing as he leaned against the bed frame at the foot of the bed. "I can go if you don't want to."

"It's not about the concert, Butters," said Stan. "It's about…" Stan paused as he glanced over at Cartman. When the two made eye contact, the large boy snapped out of his thoughts to realize where this conversation was heading. He could feel his eye beginning to involuntarily twitch.

"It's about Radiohead making fun of him for crying even though it was fat tits' fault," Kyle replied.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Kahl," Cartman muttered through his teeth. Of course, this Jew would bring THAT up, even after everything I told him, the sociopath thought, his anger seething under the surface.

"Well, well, well…if it isn't the consequences of lard butt's actions coming to bite him in his chubby ass," Kyle scoffed. The longer the duo continued to exchange hateful glances, the more nervous Butters grew. The tension in the room grew so thick, that you needed an ax. Stan and Kenny, on the other hand, sighed in annoyance at the tired old routine between the pair.

"You know what Kahl?" Cartman crawled up from the floor and strode over to the day walker's chair. "For a guy who likes to rip on me for my weight, you seem to forget about that circle with arms and legs that you popped out of." The boy watched in glee as the smile slowly dropped off the other's face, the look quickly replaced with scorn.

"Cartman, don't…"

"Oh, what? You can talk about me, but I can't talk about that parrot nose, Jersey Shore trash, screeching banshee bitch with a cocoon sitting on her head. It's been five years Kahl, when is that butterfly coming out?"

"Fuck you Cartman!" Kyle jumped out of his chair to grab Cartman only to trip over the other's foot.

"Gah!" Kyle stumbled as he reached his arms out to regain his balance. The obese boy did not fail to take notice of this as he did a 180° turn in place before swiftly kicking him in his behind, launching him into the wall.

"Woah!" A muffled voice exclaimed.

"Eric!" Butters gasped.

"Holy shit dude!" Stan blurted out.

"Ugh," Kyle moaned from against the wall. The redhead slowly lifted his head and glanced over his left shoulder to see his attacker smirking while the spectators continued to watch on in utter astonishment.

"What? You thought after fighting a group of sixth graders that I would be too scared to fight you? That you could kick my ass," said Cartman.

Kyle's body stiffened in hesitation before charging at his opponent. This time, the redhead threw a right hook which just barely missed Cartman's head as he bent his knees. The boy barely had time to register his miss before feeling Cartman's right hook connecting with his left side.

"Ah! Fuck," Kyle groaned, the fourth grader grabbing his side as he slumped down to the gray carpet.

"Jesus Christ dude," Stan said. He watched as his best friend who would normally punch Cartman in the face or grab him by his coat now writhing on the carpet in pain.

"Ha! Eric-1, Jew-0. Doesn't feel so hot doesn't it Kahl? The one thing I learned from fighting sixth graders is that there's no such thing as a fair fi-AUGH!" Cartman grabbed his groin before collapsing to the floor next to Kyle.

"Oofs" could be heard from the other three boys who, despite having an obscured view, knew Cartman had just got kicked in the balls. Or in Cartman's words, squa' in the nuts.

"Don't talk about my mom, you fat bitch," Kyle groaned. If you had seen him, he looked barely conscious.

"Don't talk about me killing my dad or my weight. I'm not fat, I'm just big-boned," Cartman whimpered, the boy wishing he was unconscious.

The other three watched as their friends remained crumpled on the floor in agony. They don't know how long they would have remained that way until Kyle's mom came barging into the room.

"Kyle!" The large Jewish woman called out, not even bothering to knock first. "What are you doing lying on the floor?" Mrs. Broflovski turned to the other boys who looked as perplexed as she did. "Come on boys, we have to get ready for dinner. All the neighbors are going to Ms. Cartman's house."

"Huh!?" Cartman's head bolted up from the carpet. "What party!?"

"It's not so much a party as it is a gathering." Mrs. Broflovski didn't have to finish her sentence before the large boy had gotten up and began limping towards the door.

"I need to go help my myem get ready! I'll see you later guys, Mrs. Broflovski!" With these words, the boy was out the door and heading towards his house.

"Hmph? He wasn't limping when he came over earlier," Mrs. Broflovski pointed out. "From the way he was walking, you'd think he just got kicked in the balls."

Well, well, well, long time no see. I told you I would be back. I wish I could say I was busy writing a best-selling novel or curing Cancer, but alas, I was not. But no seriously, I let my insecurity keep me from writing anything and that's my fault. I wasn't proud of the last two chapters I wrote and I didn't know how to progress from there. So, I decided to just delete the last two chapters and start writing again. I'm finishing this thing. Full steam ahead!