Beep boop, I am Robot.
[h2]Building Alliances by Burning Buildings[/h2]
The echo of the crash fades away as I continue to rub the sleep from my eyes, debating whether to check it out or dismiss it as just another crazy "South Park" moment I'll eventually get used to. Deciding to at least get a glass of water, I shuffle out of my room, the cold floor waking me up a bit more.
Downstairs, I find Dad slouched on the couch, his eyes half-closed and red, surrounded by the remnants of what can only be described as a pot brownie massacre. On the TV, a reporter in a bikini is calmly reporting in front of the crumpled remains of the mall.
"Good evening, South Park," he says smoothly. "If you're wondering about the loud crash that woke up half the town, well, so are we." The camera pans over a chaotic scene, with small tents trying to hide something more suited for launching astronauts than shopping bags.
"Thankfully, my sources tell me that the mystery of the loud crash that has roused our sleepy little mountain town is about to be solved," the reporter continues after taking a breath. "A government official will be making an announcement now…" He steps aside, revealing a man in a suit who looked incredibly nervous for a moment, before seeming to stand up after realizing his fly was down on national television.
"Have no fear," the man starts, after a moment, glancing down at a shaking note card in his hand, "The large tents you see being set up behind me, and the crash you heard an hour ago, are just for the construction of a new..." He squints at the card, "Taco Bell."
"Really? A Taco Bell?" I think, tilting my head while staring at the screen. "In the middle of the night? And why is the reporter dressed like that?"
"Hey, kid," Dad slurs, crumbs falling from his mouth. "Don't worry 'bout it. Just go back to sleep."
"Uh-huh, sure," I reply mentally, rolling my eyes as I retreat to my room. Something feels off, but there's no way I'll get any answers tonight.
Morning light pierces through my blinds, rudely nudging me toward consciousness. And then—the sound of a rock hitting my glass window— I rolled over in bed, before a much louder crash of a much larger rock breaking my window shot me up. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I shivered slightly from the cold air seeping into my room.
Getting out of bed I peek outside to find the source of the rock… Eric Cartman.
"Hey, Douchebag!" he bellows, his voice obnoxiously loud. "Get dressed and meet me at Kupa Keep! We've got important business to attend to!"
The command booms from below, where Cartman, draped in wizardly finery, stands like some pudgy, medieval herald. His robes, grandiose and utterly ridiculous as ever, flutter as he waddles away.
My head throbs slightly as I feel a rage bubble in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I let out a deep breath to calm myself
The sound of my sigh is lost in the silence of my room. Deciding to just get the day over with I open my nearly empty closet, my mage robes hang limply in the closet, their faded bloodstains a testament to this week's exploits. Slipping the robe over my loose shirt and jeans, I rushed outside.
Cartman's call to adventure—or whatever farce awaited us today—beckoned.
Cartman looked like he was impatiently waiting for me. Spotting me he quickly turns around and waddles away, occasionally reaching behind himself to grab at his robes, I can't help but feel a mix of amusement and apprehension. Am I really going to listen to what this fat kid tells me to do today?
Before I could convince myself otherwise I followed him into his home, and subsequently backyard. I arrive at the makeshift fortress, I stifle a laugh at the sight before me. Cartman, Butters, Kenny, Craig, Scott, Token, and Tweak are all huddled together, each one clutching their backside in apparent discomfort—except for Kenny, who seemed perfectly fine. It was bizarre.
"Douchebag!" Cartman booms, trying to sound authoritative despite his pained expression. "Glad you could join us. We've got a serious situation on our hands. The Stick of Truth was stolen last night!" Cartman's meaty hands gesticulate wildly, flinging remnants of what I presume was his breakfast burrito across the already-stained fabric of his Grand Wizard robe. "And it's total, unadulterated bullshit! Someone has royally screwed the rules, and now everyone's ass is hurting from the sheer audacity of it all!"
"Except for Kenny," Butters mutters under his breath, shooting a suspicious glance at the cheerful boy.
The other boys groan in agreement, rubbing their sore backsides. Princess Kenny giggles slightly, his eyes shining as if he knows something no one else does.
I approach silently, observing the others. Butters fidgets with the hem of his tunic while Kenny, somehow unfazed by the morning's drama, gives me a muffled greeting from behind his orange parka hood. Craig stands stone-faced, arms crossed with a sigh, while Scott squints suspiciously at everyone, one hand protectively cradling his insulin pump. Token's eyes roll skyward, and Tweek's jittery frame vibrates like a plucked guitar string.
"The rules were clear! No stealing the Stick at night!" Cartman continues, punctuating his outrage with a slap to his own backside—a gesture soon echoed by the rest, albeit with less enthusiasm. "Those bastard Jew elves broke the rules and stole the Stick of Truth last night!" He huffs, armored hands resting on padded hips. "They screwed us over! Right in our asses!" he punctuates his point by rubbing his rear, wincing with pain. The image is comical.
"Okay," Scott speaks up beside me.
"Okay? That's it?" Cartman gapes at Scott, then shakes his head. "No, no, no. Those elven bastards aren't gonna know what hit 'em. Alright, listen up! We're going to recruit more warriors for our noble cause. " Cartman barks, shifting his weight in a manner that suggests tactical thinking— "You guys go find out where those elven douchebags are hiding the Stick. Sir Douchebag," he says, turning his beady gaze upon me, "you're on recruitment duty."
"Why are you sending the New Kid?" "Shut up Craig! The New kid has only been in town for three days and they already have most of the school as friends on facebook! Now go do your fucking job!"
With that said, he grabbed my arm and dragged me back through his house to the front porch.
"Listen, Douchebag," Cartman begins conspiratorially. "We've got groups in town that haven't chosen sides yet. The goth kids brood around their coffee cups, the vamp kids lurk in the shadows, and don't even get me started on the pirate kindergarteners."
I raise an eyebrow.
"They're small, but vicious, and we need numbers, Douchebag. It doesn't matter who you convince, as long as they join our crusade against those pointy-nosed thieves. Dismissed!" Cartman waves me off, and I turn away, already brainstorming on how to recruit a vampire or convince a goth that sunshine and LARP battles are something they should join.
The impossibility of it almost made me just want to go home instead.
Then again, if the Grand Wizard gave me this task just to fail... I'd recruit an army that would make these boys' heads spin.
I marched down the street, my hands shoved in the pockets of my baggy jeans, keeping an eye out for any elvish ambushes when the high-pitched cries of preteens snagged my attention. Across the road, a trio of sixth grade girls had circled a girl that looked to be my age.
"Give it back!" The bully victim's voice echoes, her plea underscored by the rhythmic chant of the bully-pack: "Bie-ber, Bie-ber!"
Ah, Keep Away—a game as old as time, or at least as old as middle school. I watch, detached, until the Justin Bieber doll soars through the air, its tiny plastic hands flailing for freedom. That's when something inside me twinges—maybe it's annoyance at the injustice, maybe it's boredom. Either way, my feet move before my brain gives permission.
"Hey," I bark, the pain in my throat causing me to clench my teeth in a snarl. The bullies freeze, Bieber mid-flight continued its flight through the air, before falling on the ground nearby. The smallest bully, the ringleader with a ponytail too tight, squints at me. "What do you want?"
"Give back the doll," I say, my voice deepening with the pain. It isn't a second shout, but it doesn't need to be; it's threatening all the same.
Ponytail scoffs, turning to one of her minions and balling her fists. "Make me, little man."
And just like that, the fight is on.
It isn't much of a scuffle, really. A few well-placed jabs, a grunt of exertion, and just as suddenly as it began, I have the three sixth graders sprawled on the sidewalk. I pick up the Justin Bieber doll, taking a moment to admire the craftsmanship before handing it back to the little blonde girl with eyes wide.
"Thanks," she stammers, clutching the doll to her chest.
I nod, already turning to leave. Pointless heroics aren't part of my plan today, and I have to find whatever dumpster the goth kids are hiding behind.
"Wait!" She scrambles to her feet, running after me. "I'm Annie. Annie Nelson."
I give a little wave, as she pulls out her phone. I almost turn to leave the odd girl when I suddenly feel my phone buzz in my pocket. Another friend request notification, my mind supplies.
"I know I just met you, but do you want to hang out?" She beams, hope flickering in her gaze.
Maybe she knows where I can find the Goth or Vampire kids.
I nod.
"Wow, you don't talk much, do you?" Annie says, smiling. "That's so cool! You actually listen! Most boys just talk over me. You're awesome, Tony! I'm gonna tell everyone how amazing you are. We're totally best friends now!"
Her enthusiasm bounds around me. It is an odd sensation.
"Come on," she says, tugging at my sleeve. "I have to show you to the other girls. They're gonna freak out when they meet a boy in town who actually listens to girls! We thought when Stan started dating Wendy that he would pay attention to her, but—"
A wry smile almost breaks through my practiced facade. Here I am, seeking warriors, and I've somehow met my first girl friend in this town.
"Anyway let's go, Tony!" Annie bubbles, already leading the way. I follow silently, no reason not to have company while I look around for the other groups.
As we walk through the town, Annie filling the silence with chatter about the other girls when she stops suddenly, "Oh my gosh, I almost forgot. The Pleases and Sparkles Club meeting is today! You can meet all the girls there, but we keep the location secret from the boys—To go with me to the Pleases and Sparkles club, I have to blindfold you."
I wish I could simply tell Annie who I really was, if only to avoid having to be blindfolded, but the orders from my father had me clench my jaw. Instead, I resign myself to playing the part and nod silently.
"Great!" Annie chirps, tying the blindfold snugly around my head. Her fingers brush against my short, blonde hair, making me cringe inwardly.
As we begin to walk, I can't help but think what will happen if my true identity is discovered. When I am revealed to have been a girl this whole time what would the town think? I suppose they would just call me a Tranny… But I am a girl. I am not a boy. Just… dressed like one.
Crossdresser?
"Almost there!" Annie announces cheerfully, interrupting my internal monologue. I can't help but feel a pang of envy for Annie's carefree demeanor.
She doesn't have to deal with pretending to be a boy.
"Watch your step here," Annie warns, guiding me around an unseen obstacle. It is a small gesture of kindness, but one that only serves to further make me seethe.
Why am I so angry?
Finally, we arrive at the Pleases and Sparkles club, and I feel the blindfold being removed from my eyes. I blink in the sudden brightness, taking in my surroundings. The club looks like any ordinary place, but all the girls wearing such cute outfits and the unicorns on the wall in sparkly glitter...
"Welcome!" Annie says with a wide smile, catching my attention from my wondering thoughts, "I hope you enjoy your time here. Just do what you do and stay quiet and listen over here."
I simply nod, my face impassive. I have a job to do, after all, and getting caught up in the Pleases and Sparkles club isn't part of the plan.
With that in mind, I embrace my mission. If I am going to recruit an army, I might as well start with the rulers of Pleases and Sparkles.
I survey the room, a pastel-colored kingdom where, according to Annie, Wendy Testaburger holds court. She is supposedly the president of this bubblegum tribunal, her authority unquestioned. A tiara of leadership currently sits atop her head, glinting with the seriousness of her role. My entrance with Annie seems to be the cue for the meeting to begin, and I stand there, slightly hidden and awkward in my cruddy mage robes.
"Alright, ladies," Wendy commands, her voice dripping with syrupy gravitas. "Let's start today's Daily Pleases and Sparkles meeting."
A haze of pink and glitter fills the room as the Pleases and Sparkles Club meeting commences. I stand with Annie near the entrance, trying to blend into the background, but feeling as out of place. The excited chatter of the girls is almost overwhelming. But I stay quiet, just like Annie had advised me to do. Wendy seems slightly frustrated at the noise and raises her voice, "Order! Order!" Wendy Testaburger, bangs her gavel—a pink bedazzled hammer. The sea of eager faces turns towards her with rapt attention. "Let's begin by reviewing the minutes from our last meeting."
The girls shuffle papers, clear their throats, and prepare their rumor-laden scrolls. One by one, they present whispered tales of who kissed whom, which teacher had coffee breath, and who wore the same jeans twice in one week. With each new piece of gossip, a collective sigh or gasp ripples through the ranks, as if their very identities hinge on these morsels of trivia.
"Okay, now for today's agenda," Wendy finally declares. "First on today's agenda: rumors of a new kid coming to town. It was believed that this newcomer was a famous girl who would surely join our esteemed ranks. However," she pauses, her brows furrowing in disappointment, "it has come to my attention that the new kid is actually... a boy." A collective sigh of sadness echoes through the room, as if their dreams had been shattered.
I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to point out that the new kid is, in fact, a girl.
A girl's voice pierces the grumbles of the others, demanding everyone's attention. "So, is this new kid at least hot?" she asks, her bored eyes trained on Wendy.
Wendy hesitates for a moment before replying. "Well, I'm dating Stan, so I'm not really allowed to have an opinion on that." She pauses, then almost as if embarrassed says, "But yeah, he's cute. Even with his dorky haircut."
"I don't think his haircut is dorky."
As if on cue, the rest of the girls in the room turn their gaze on Annie, who spoke, before darting to me, suddenly realizing there is a boy in their midst. Their collective gasp is almost comical, but I can't help but feel a growing headache. I brace myself for the inevitable onslaught.
"Annie!" one girl cries out, her shock quickly turning to indignation. "Why did you bring a boy to the club?"
Annie opens her mouth to respond, but the room has already erupted into heated arguments and finger-pointing. It feels like a strange mix of courtroom drama and middle school cafeteria chaos. I try to shrink into the background, hoping to avoid being dragged further into the fray, but the look of anger on one of the girls' faces has me on edge.
Just as the tension seems to reach its breaking point, I step in front of Annie, effectively shielding her from the barrage of angry words. Just as the girls get ready to start a fight with me, Wendy bangs her gavel once more, calling for order.
"Alright that's enough girls, let's give Annie a chance to explain herself," Wendy says firmly, silencing the room.
"Thank you, Wendy," Annie begins, shooting a grateful glance at me. "I brought Tony here because he saved me from some bullies earlier today. And you know what? He actually listens to girls when they talk. He hasn't said a single word this whole time, and he's been paying attention to everything we've been discussing!"
I suddenly feel the weight of dozens of curious eyes upon me, studying me as if I were some rare and fascinating specimen. It is both flattering and unnerving.
"Alright," Wendy says, her eyes narrowing with intrigue. "Let's continue the meeting then. Remember, we're here to discuss calmly, if you want to Please, you need to have someone else Sparkle."
The girls eagerly resume their conversation, sharing stories and opinions on everything from fashion trends to the latest celebrity gossip. I do my best to maintain an air of attentive interest, but while the topics interested me, not being able to participate was really bothering me.
I needed to get out of here. So I decide to put a plan into motion and surreptitiously slip my phone from my pocket.
I open up my apps and taps away at the screen without drawing attention to myself, somehow succeeding. Moments later, Annie's phone buzzes, and she quickly checks the message before turning to the rest of the group.
"Um, Wendy?" she begins hesitantly. "I'd like to propose a motion."
"Go ahead, Annie," Wendy replies, curiosity piqued.
"Based on Tony's suggestion," Annie says, giving me a quick nod, "we think it would be fun for the Pleases and Sparkles Club to join the boys in their game of Stick of Truth."
"Stick of Truth?" one of the girls echoes, scrunching up her face in confusion. "Isn't that the game where everyone runs around pretending to be wizards or something?"
"Exactly!" Annie exclaims, her enthusiasm evident. "It's a chance for us to have some fun together and wear some cute outfits."
The room erupts into a frenzy of murmurs and whispers. I can tell that the idea is enticing to some of the girls, while others seem more skeptical.
"Alright," Wendy says, clearly mulling over the idea. "I'll allow a vote. But only if Tony promises to listen just as intently during our game sessions as he has during this meeting, and if Tony helps us with our current problem."
The room falls silent, every eye on me, waiting for my response. Seeing how they wanted me to speak, I prepared myself for a moment before, "Deal," I finally whispered, my voice barely audible above the silence of the room.
A wave of relief washes over me as Wendy bangs her gavel, signaling the end of the discussion.
"Motion to Please, accepted," she declares with an air of finality. "Before we put this to a vote, let me catch up Tony on the next topic. As all the girls here are aware, we have an image crisis on our hands. The Stupid Spoiled Whores are tarnishing the good name of girls everywhere in South Park."
The gathering murmurs in agreement.
"So, Tony, in order to protect girls everywhere, and to prevent the Stupid Spoiled Whores from getting more members we need you to help us get rid of that atrocious Stupid Spoiled Video Playset game. There's a town hall meeting later. Get it banned, and we'll join you in The Stick of Truth."
All the girls nod in agreement, a vote not needing to be had.
"Motion passed... and sparkled," the club echoes.
I pull out my phone and quickly search for information on the bizarrely named game. As I read about it, I can't help but shake my head at the ridiculousness of it all. But if helping to ban such a ludicrous game is what it takes to recruit the girls to the cause, then so be it.
The meeting draws to a close shortly after, and as the girls begin to disperse, I can't help but feel sad. Hopefully I can start to hang out with the girls again at the next meeting…
A few of the girls—Red, Bebe, and Wendy—linger behind, chatting animatedly about their plans for joining the game and, perhaps more importantly, what they'll wear while doing so.
Before I could fall into the temptation to eavesdrop Annie spoke up beside me, "Thanks for sticking up for me, Tony.'' I simply give her a nod, her expression beaming at me.
She takes my hand and leads me out of the room , seeming smug for some reason while looking at the other girls in the room.
Before I could register where we were standing when the meeting room door closes behind me, I find myself enveloped in darkness once more, as Annie swiftly ties the blindfold around my eyes. The fabric is soft against my skin, and I can't help but wonder if it had been chosen specifically for this purpose or if it is simply a happy coincidence.
"Alright," Annie chirps, her hand finding mine with practiced ease. "Let's get you back to where we started."
I guess she still wants to keep the place a secret.
I find myself a little irritated at that. Before I let myself get too worked up about it I threw the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the feeling of Annie's hand in mine as she led me through the maze-like corridors…
That I recall being the layout of the school.
I couldn't help but chuckle as I recognized the location of the Pleases and Sparkles club, being the club room, next to the first floor girls restroom.
"Watch your step here," she warns, guiding me carefully around an obstacle I can only imagine. Probably a wet floor sign. I comply readily, trusting that she won't let me trip and make a fool of myself—or worse, cause any injury to me.
She leads me outside, and my mind calculates about four more minutes of walking. Right on time Annie speaks up, "Almost there,"
"Okay, you can take off the blindfold now," Annie announces, her voice tinged with excitement. I comply, blinking rapidly as my eyes adjust to the sudden influx of light. We are standing in the exact spot where we'd first met, right down to the knocked out sixth grade girls on the ground.
"Message me later, cutie!" Annie calls over her shoulder before sprinting away, leaving me equal parts bewildered and amused. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, from the girls' unexpected acceptance of my presence to the bizarre quest that now lay before me.
I pull out my phone and set a reminder to message her later. Left alone, I pocket my phone. A smile tugs at my lips—not because of Annie's endearing farewell, but at the absurdity of it all.
The sun hasn't yet climbed its way to the mid-morning perch when I find myself standing outside the South Park Town Hall.
Now I just need to convince a room full of rational adults that the "Stupid Spoiled Whore's Video Playset" is a blight in need of eradication. Simple. Honestly how did Paris Hilton think that selling such a thing was even a good idea?
Who did she convince that it was even profitable?
I pocket my hands and let out a breath that mists in the morning air. Inside, the battle of wits awaits. Outside, my phone buzzes with the persistence of a mosquito on a summer night.
Forty-three friend requests. Forty-three new allies—or pawns, depending on how one plays the game. My thumb flicks and taps, a silent maestro conducting an orchestra of social connections. Name after name, face after face, they join the ranks of my digital legion. Each acceptance is a potential step closer to swaying the court of public opinion.
"Alex Johnson," I note mentally, the boy with the freckles and a penchant for Magic: The Gathering. "Sally Turner," the girl whose love for ponies borders on the evangelical. "Randy Marsh" a geologist, and a band member of Randy and the Marshes, and of course… Today's town hall leader.
Memorizing these faces is as reflexive as breathing—a talent honed through years of navigating the treacherous terrain of childhood politics. Focusing on the adults that had joined my internet circle, I sent them various review links to people who were outraged at the game being sold to little girls everywhere.
"Tony" might have been my moniker in the eyes of South Park, but Tanya is the name that had over three point two billion friends on Facebook. Public opinion was mine to sway. With a final swipe, the screen goes dark. I pocket the device and push open the heavy doors.
The meeting hall is a sea of familiar faces, each one a caricature brought to life, animated by small-town concerns and gossip. Randy Marsh, stands at the front, his disheveled hair framing a face that looks ready to launch into an anecdote at the slightest provocation, He was currently looking at his phone- having just received my messages as planned.
The murmur of the crowd hushes as I scan the room, taking in scents of coffee and the tangy undercurrent of civic pride. And then I see her—Paris Hilton, perched like a queen among peasants, her presence an anomaly in the fabric of our little mountain town. Flanked by burly guards who could double as bouncers at some high-end club, she seems oblivious to the subtle ripples of resentment emanating from the townsfolk they held back.
Paris Hilton's attendance is an unexpected variable, a wild card that could either bolster my cause or send it up in flames.
I shrug off the star-struck gawking of South Park's finest as I sidle up to the sign-in sheet. Scribbling down my demand, I pen the words "Ban Stupid Spoiled Whores Game" on the crinkled paper. These adults seem sensible enough, as soon as they are aware of the game they will ban it.
The town hall meeting kicks off with Randy Marsh at the helm, navigating the sea of mundane with the ease of a man who'd faced bigger fish—or at least, drunker shenanigans, going by some of his previous facebook posts. He ticks through the requests like items on a grocery list, each one more banal than the last.
Until.
"Next up," Randy drawls, his voice teetering on the edge of boredom, "we have a request to ban the 'Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset'"
The air crackles, charged with sudden electricity as Paris Hilton erupts from her throne of entitlement, her voice slicing through the humdrum like a hot knife through butter. "You can't do that! You people should be grateful I even bother with your little town!" Her shriek is the kind that can curdle milk or send grown men scurrying for cover.
"Without my store, the mall would be nothing but a sad collection of stupid-!" she rages, flanked by her human fortresses who look as if they wish for invisibility cloaks of their own. Randy tries to steer the ship back on course, but it is like trying to lasso a tornado. The townsfolk rumble their discontent, muttering and murmuring as Paris Hilton continues her tirade. She is berating everyone, calling us all idiots for even considering the ban of her precious game. Her voice, a symphony of self-entitlement and nasal whines, is a perfect pitch to set teeth on edge.
My stomach churns as my headache returns.
This Fucking Bitch.
Mayor McDaniels steps forward, her face a mask of practiced calm that does little to hide the storm brewing in her eyes. "Please," she implores with hands wringing before her, "let's maintain some decorum and remember why we're here."
"Decorum?" Paris snorts, tossing her hair with a flick worthy of slow-motion replay. "Look around you; it's South Park. You should be thanking your lucky stars I'm gracing this dump with my presence."
A few of the adults try to rise to South Park's defense, their voices intermingling into a cacophony of civic pride and exasperation. But their words are like pebbles against the fortress of Paris's ego.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Paris continues, each word punctuated with a jab of her jeweled finger towards the crowd. The Chihuahua in her tote lets out a half-hearted yip, as if even it knows the battle is lost.
Then, as if by some collective unspoken agreement, the room begins to settle. Voices drop to whispers, and heads nod in reluctant acceptance. It is like watching the tide recede—chaos giving way to the inevitable calm after a storm.
"Thank you," Mayor McDaniels says, her voice finding strength as the room quiets. "We will put the ban to a vote at the next meeting." Her announcement is met with a mix of relief and resignation. She bangs the gavel with a finality that echoes off the walls, marking the end of the discussion.
As the hubbub rekindles, albeit with less fervor, I feel my irritation expand.
How the hell did they not ban the game?!
The air practically vibrates with the discontent of a town hall meeting gone awry. I stand there, my jaw clenching as I feel my stomach churn, as Randy Marsh squints at the next slip of paper he pulls from the suggestion box. His brows furrow, lips moving silently as he reads.
"Uh, okay," Randy begins, his voice tinged with confusion, "This one's a request to hunt down... Man Bear Pig?" The words hang awkwardly.
Jimbo, the owner of the hunting store in town, raises his hand, his expression dead serious. "How can something be half man, half bear, and half pig?"
Before Randy can even attempt an answer, the double doors to the community center burst open. In charges Al Gore, cape billowing behind him like the sails of a ship caught in a typhoon. He makes airplane noises that would have embarrassed a five-year-old as he 'flies' around the room. "Don't fear citizens! I am here!"
Why the hell did Al Gore have to ruin this now? I could feel my anger bowling over as my blood pressure rose.
Suddenly all anger left as I felt a vein burst in my head.
"Al, not now, we're trying to—" Randy's plea drowns beneath the cacophony of Gore's superhero noises. "Can we please just talk about the new Taco Bell already?" someone calls out, their voice slicing through the madness.
With Al Gore's cape flapping like the wings of a demented bat and the townsfolk more concerned with burrito supremes than the supposed apocalypse, I can't take the stupidity anymore. I edge toward the exit, sidestepping a woman who is passionately arguing about guacamole charges.
As I make my escape from the community center, the muffled sounds of the meeting-turned-circus show fade behind me.
I fish my phone from the depths of my pocket—its screen a cool glow in the twilight of South Park's evening—and open a new message to Annie. My thumbs hover over the keyboard before tapping out a brief note: "The ban failed, they will vote next month."
Seconds later, her response pops up—a lone frowny face emoji that seems to carry the weight of all the world's disappointment. Annie's digital pout is almost comical, if it didn't also remind me of my failure. I closed my eyes suddenly feeling like I was about to cry.
Then, the a notification chimes, I look at the message and I'm smiling brightly, I was added to a group chat: "P&S Club -No Boys Allowed-"
I scroll through the flurry of messages, the girls' avatars lighting up my screen as they debate everything from nail polish colors to the authenticity of unicorn sightings in Stark's Pond. It is an odd juxtaposition to the earlier madness, yet somehow just as surreal.
"Hey, Tony's here!" Annie's text pops up, followed by a string of heart emojis. Imagine that, being welcomed with virtual open arms into a group whose only requirement for entry is apparently the ability to keep quiet and listen.
"Thanks for the invite," I type back, a single smiley face capping off the message.
I watch the pixels dance on my phone screen, the chat window suddenly turning into a hive of digital discontent. They are debating my presence like I am not right there.
"Should we really let a guy into our club?" one message reads, the virtual frown almost palpable.
"Kick him out!" writes another, her words punctuated by an angry-red exclamation point.
Ironic how they clamored over a boy who is actually a girl.
Just as the digital torches are about to be lit, Wendy's avatar swoops in with all the grace of a seasoned diplomat. "Tony's fine to add. He listens, and doesn't talk," her text cuts through the noise, solid and sure.
The chaos simmers down, replaced by a collective digital sigh. The girls, mollified by Wendy's command, begin talking about less controversial matters like whether unicorns prefer sparkle or matte finish for their horn polish.
Then comes Wendy's private message, "Heard what happened at town hall. We need to take matters into our own hands."
"Agreed," I replied, looking over The Pleases and Sparkles Club group chat's rapid-fire ding of incoming messages.
"Meet me outside the mall tonight, If you help me with my plan, the girls are in for the LARP."
I send a thumbs up in reply, my phone vibrating again. This time with Bebe's name flashing on the screen, followed by a parade of images: Cute knight outfits, each more elaborate than the last. Metallic fabrics shimmer in the artificial light of her room, tiny shields glint with faux gemstones, and plush swords promise harmless but epic battles.
"Already working on our armor," she typed, the pride practically radiating from her message. "What do you think?"
I pause, considering the irony of dressing for war while plotting peace. My fingers dance over the keyboard, typing out my reply "Perfect," Honestly they look amazing given she only had an hour to make. Bebe's talents for making costumes was amazing. I better keep that in mind.
I couldn't help but grin as I looked at the photos Bebe had posted more of the cute knight outfits she was making for the girls. The idea of all the girls united behind me in battle working together, sent a thrill through me. I gave the pictures a quick thumbs up and set off to deliver the news to Cartman.
As I rounded a corner, my thoughts buzzing with excitement, I was suddenly ambushed. A boy with a blue helmet and another with what looked like sticks circling his head. My instincts kicked in, and I managed to land a solid punch on the helmeted boy's nose before I felt an urge to vomit and the other boy tackled me to the ground.
I tried to fight back, but a wave of exhaustion, overcame me, followed by bile rising in my throat.
"Look, New Kid," The boy with elf ears held me down while talking, "We know what you're doing with Cartman and the girls. But you need to understand something – Cartman is just using you."
"Join us instead," The other boy chimed in, his voice slightly muffled by the blood streaming from his nose. "The elves have a better chance of winning this thing, and we won't treat you like a pawn."
I stopped struggling uselessly, the movements just giving me nausea, barely paying attention to whatever these two idiots were saying.
For the third time today, my vision was cut off when one of the boys threw a bag over my head and they dragged me through town. The burlap bag over my head was scratchy and musty, making each breath a laborious process. My nausea returned in full force, and I had to focus on not puking as I was tugged along.
"Alright," the elf boy announced, his voice echoing strangely in the enclosed space. "We're here."
I felt the bag being yanked off my head, and I blinked against the sudden onslaught of light, taking in the sight of the elf lair. It looked like someone had taken a Renaissance Faire, crossed into a Dungeons & Dragons campaign, and then doused the whole thing in glitter and green paint.
"Welcome to our humble abode," the faux warrior boy said with a smirk, gesturing grandly at the room. "You can see we spared no expense."
"Look," the elf cut in, his expression earnest. "We didn't bring you here to gloat or try to intimidate you. We brought you here because we think you need to know the truth about Cartman and the KKK."
"Cartman is just using you, New Kid," the human traitor added, rubbing his still-tender nose. "You're new here, so you don't know what he's really like. But trust us - he's bad news."
"Join us," the elf urged. "Help us take down the KKK and make things right."
I stared at him, my stomach churning as I held in my nausea.
How could I trust them? They were my enemies in this game - but then again, how could I trust Cartman, either?
"Think about it," the warrior said, seeing my hesitation, "We're giving you the chance to choose your own side, rather than just being a pawn in Cartman's game."
"Fine," I mouthed reluctantly, the weight of their words settling heavily on my chest.
"Good," the nasally boy said, releasing me from their grasp. "Take some time to think, and let us know when you're ready to join the right side."
"We are the good guys," the elf added with a wry smirk.
The two directed me to the exit and let me leave the elf lair to consider my options, I couldn't help but wonder if there even was even a right choice in this madcap world. But one thing was becoming increasingly clear: In this town the only way to find clarity was to carve my own path through the madness.
The crisp evening air nipped at my skin as I trudged along the eerily quiet streets of South Park. With each step, I weighed the pros and cons of siding with the elves versus staying loyal to the humans in this bizarre game.
A sudden wave of nausea followed by my stomach churning, made me groan. What the heck did I eat last night? Maybe dad is right to yell at mom about her cooking.
A gust of wind whooshed past me, sending a shiver down my spine. It seemed even nature was mocking me for my indecisiveness. So lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice that I had arrived at Kupa Keep until I stumbled upon Cartman's mom tending her garden.
"Hi, Mrs. Cartman," I managed to croak out, offering a weak wave.
"Hello, Dear!" she replied cheerfully, her voice laced with motherly warmth. She stopped working the plants to turn to me, her smile turning concerned, "How are you doing, sweetie?"
I shrugged, hoping my silence would suffice as an answer. She only hummed, for a moment before what seemed like realization dawned on her face, "Oh, its quite alright dear. It happens to us all." She smiled knowingly and gestured towards the house. "Eric's inside. Go on in."
"Thanks," I whispered, slightly confused on what she was talking about before heading into the familiar chaos of Cartman's abode, I chose to ignore her giggle about her son getting a girlfriend.
Upon entering, I found Cartman sprawled across his makeshift throne, barking orders at his minions like a true despot. He glanced up when he saw me, his eyes sharp.
"Well did you manage to recruit anyone?" he demanded. I nodded, which only made Cartman say impatiently, "Well spit it out, then, who did you recruit?"
I pull out my phone and show a picture of Bebe showing off the knight outfit she made.
"Wait really?" Cartman sat up straighter, his attention fully focused on me now. "Why the hell did you invite the girls!?"
I could only shrug in confusion. Didn't he say to recruit anyone?
Cartman scowled for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. Whatever it takes to get more troops."
"Good," I thought with a sigh of relief. At least one problem was sorted out for now. But as I stood there, watching Cartman revel in his newfound power, I couldn't help but wonder if siding with him was the right choice. Or if there even was a right choice in this madness.
As I stood there wondering, my eyes were captured by the beautiful princess Kenny who walked over towards me. His long, fake golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, and his radiant smile- his kiss on my cheek-
I felt my chest tighten, as the flowing white dress swished gently in the air as he stepped close to me, giving me a playful wink. In that moment, I was grateful for my throat tightening and preventing me from making a fool of myself.
"Hey there," Kenny's muffled voice snapped me out of my day dream, but before I could attempt a response, I felt a piece of paper pressed in my hand, Noticing that Kenny had handed it to me.
Turning the paper over, I saw and address and a time scribbled on it. When I looked back up, the Princess Boy was already gone, leaving me both flustered, and confused.
I darted my eyes around, but only spotted Butters, cheerfully swinging a sledgehammer at the dummy on the other end of the courtyard. Pulling out my phone i typed out a message, asking if he knows anything about this note, and showed it to him along with my phone.
"Oh hey Tony!" Butters chirped happily, pausing his enthusiastic attack on the training dummy, "What's up?- Oh this note?" Butters looked at the address and scratched his head, "Oh no sorry. But it sure is mysterious!"
Great, looks like I'll have to figure that out myself then.
"Anyway," Butters continued, unfazed by my silence, "If you need any help, just let your pal Butters know! I'm always here to lend a hand, or a Healing Touch! Just not after dark, cause my dad will ground me again."
I just smile at his eagerness, deciding to take him up on his offer. Typing out my next message, "Do you know where the Goth and Vampire kids usually hang out?"
Butters hesitates for a moment before replied, a shake in his voice, "Oh um, well, they usually hang out at the graveyard or the old abandoned house in the woods. They like dark places, ya know?"
Right… got it. Dark places.
I type out, "Any idea what might sway them to our side?"
"Uh…" he ponders for a moment while Tanya watches him scratch his cheek, "Well, They're really into that whole anti-establishment thing. Maybe if you could appeal to their disdain for conformists, by conforming to their disdain for authority? They love stuff like misery and despair too, but I dunno how that'd help. Stan became all gay this one time that Wendy dumped him and acted like the whole world was dead and stuff and they turned him into one of them."
…. Anti-Establishment, right okay.
I type, "Thanks Butters." "Yeah no problem Douchebag. Just be careful. They can be pretty mean sometimes… Not like I'm speaking from experience of anything. Eric helps me out by toughening me up to stand up to them. He makes sure to give me three swirlies at school a week! Maybe he can help you out too?"
Poor kid is getting bullied by an asshole and doesn't even know it. I'll make sure Cartmen gets what's coming to him soon… Plans started forming in my head.
But first, I have a meeting with a princess to get to.
I wave goodbye to Butters as I leave towards the address.
I find myself entering the backyard of a house, a little oasis of well maintained grass, flowers, and even a pristine white fountain, with the sun starting to set. I met up with Princess Kenny, the rays of the fun giving him an almost otherworldly beauty.
The gentle rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of flowers filled the air as he led me through the picturesque garden. He seemed to be on a mission, but I couldn't help but admire the beauty that surrounded us.
"Isn't this place amazing?" he gushed, sweeping his arms out wide. "It's like a secret oasis, hidden away from the chaos of South Park."
I nodded my agreement, silently marveling at the vibrant colors and serene atmosphere. As we walked, Kenny began to speak more earnestly.
"Look, Tony," he said, his voice hushed as if he were sharing a great secret. "I know Cartman's got you wrapped up in this whole KKK and Elf thing, but have you ever considered that maybe there's a better way?"
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by where he was going with this.
"Imagine it," Kenny continued. "You and me, ruling over a united realm, free of Cartman's tyranny. We could do so much more than just play games – we could make a real difference in the kingdom!"
As he spoke, his eyes sparkled with sincerity, and I found myself drawn into his vision. But just as I was about to nod my agreement, I caught sight of an old man behind one of the windows overlooking the garden. He was rolling his eyes, clearly unimpressed by Kenny's impassioned speech. Before he threw open his window, "You damn kids! I said to stay out of my damn garden! Stop walking through my Garden of Peace! And turning it into the Garden of Benedict Arnold! God Damn Game of Thrones Bullshit!"
I turned to look at Kenny who just shrugged and winked at me. At that moment, I remembered the feeling of Kenny's lips on my cheek and the way my heart had fluttered uncontrollably. Was I really considering betraying Cartman for a boy who looked adorable in a princess costume?
"Oh whatever! I'm calling the cops! Damn kids."
No. I finally decided. Mentally preparing myself for the consequences of my decision. With a deep breath I spoke, my voice stringing my throat, "Let's do it. Let's unite the kingdoms under our rule." I was going to betray them all.
This kingdom will be under my rule. Where no one can take advantage of anyone else, or bully those that are their subjects. For Butters, Kenny, and myself.
Kenny's face lit up with joy, and I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.
"Great!" Kenny's muffled voice exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. "Now let's go before the cops get here!"
As we left the peaceful sanctuary of the garden behind us, one thing was for sure: no matter what challenges lay ahead, I was determined to conquer them all.
The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over my bedroom walls. My parents' voices grew louder and angrier in the living room. In an attempt to drown them out, I focused on the plate of reheated lasagna my mom had left for me, unsure if I should eat it or not. I was instead poking at it with my fork as I contemplated the night ahead. My stomach was churning, my head was hurting, and while I craved some chocolate right now, this 'food' would only make me feel more bloated.
Deciding to instead starve tonight. I glanced at my phone, checking the time. It was almost dark— the perfect time to slip out.
My heart raced as I pulled on my sneakers, the thrill of rebellion coursing through my veins. I tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. As I slipped out the front door, the cool night air greeted me.
I made my way through the quiet streets, the echoes of laughter and music drifting from the nearby houses. The moon cast a soft glow onto the Taco Bell construction tents, illuminating the mysterious wreckage of the mall that lay hidden beneath them.
"Psst! Over here!" Wendy's voice whispered, snapping me from my reverie. She stood in the shadows near the entrance, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Ready for the plan?"
I shrug in reply, wondering what exactly her plan was. Then I noticed a red jug behind her.
"First things first," she began, her tone conspiratorial. "We have to get past these tents and find out what they're really hiding." She shot me a knowing grin, as if we were sharing some secret truth about the world. "Are you in?"
I nod in reply, only eyeing the gas can and matches in Wendy's hands warily.
Does she plan to burn the store down or something?
"I know this might look extreme. However extreme is what we need right now," Wendy replied firmly, her eyes blazing with determination. "This store is poisoning the minds of young girls everywhere. We have to take action for their sake—and ours."
I chewed on my bottom lip, torn between my loyalty to my newfound friends and my own moral compass. But then I remembered my promise to Cartman and the KKK—if I didn't follow through with this, the girls wouldn't join our game, and I'd be exposed as a liar. The thought of losing face in front of everyone was unbearable.
I sigh, and only nod to her.
Wendy grinned at my acquiescence, and together we crept through the tents towards the store. "Here, you'll need these," Wendy said, thrusting the gas can and matches into my hands. "I'll keep watch while you work your magic."
Wait, she expects me to be the one to do it?
"Magic" seemed like a generous term for what I was about to do, but I nodded silently, accepting my role in this dangerous plan. We make it to the construction doors of the Taco Bell and working together manage to open the heavy doors.
A wave of bile shoots up my throat at the exertion, and a foul stench penetrates my nose.
"Ugh, this place smells like a mix of melted plastic and stale Doritos," Wendy muttered, scrunching her nose in disgust as we made our way through the construction of the so-called "Space-themed Taco Bell."
I couldn't help but agree, my stomach churning at the nauseating scent. I glanced around at the broken walls and appeared to be leaking green goo, wondering just how much of this was intentional décor and how much was actual destruction. It was hard to tell where the cheesy alien theme ended and the true chaos began.
Of course this 'Taco Bell' would be modeled to be like a crashed UFO.
Wendy muttered from across the room over the sound of dripping ooze. "The government's really outdone themselves with this cover-up. But no time for conspiracy theories now, we've got a store to burn."
As we continued to navigate the treacherous terrain, I tried to focus on the task at hand, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Cartman and the KKK. Would they really disown me if I failed to follow through on this crazy plan? And more importantly, did I even care?
"Hey, watch your step!" Wendy warned, pulling me out of my reverie just in time to avoid tripping over a twisted metal beam, into what looked like a pool of that green goo. "We're almost there."
"Thanks," I muttered sheepishly despite the pain, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment.
Who knows how hard that would have been to wash out.
Finally, we reached our target: the Paris Hilton store, standing proud and unscathed amidst the chaos of the mall. It was an obnoxious monument to vanity and materialism, and I suddenly found it much easier to justify its impending demise.
"Okay, let's do this quickly and quietly," Wendy instructed, holding out her hand and taking the gas can. "And remember, not a word about this to anyone, got it?"
I nodded, as we started dousing the store in gasoline, Wendy kept watch, her eyes darting back and forth for any sign of trouble.
"Ready the matches," Wendy said as I stepped back from the gas cans, her voice steely with determination. "On my mark."
I hesitated for a moment, my conscience screaming at me to stop. But then I thought of the KKK, and my plans, it all hinged on this one act to get the girls to side with me. With a sigh, I nodded at Wendy.
"Light it up."
As one we struck the matches and tossed it onto the gasoline-soaked wall, igniting a brilliant blaze that roared to life before us. The Paris Hilton store was quickly engulfed in flames, its superficial facade quickly crumbling away into nothingness.
Suddenly it was as if life returned to the mall, as I could hear loud shouts of-
"Come on, let's get out of here!" Wendy shouted, grabbing my hand as we sprinted away from the inferno. As we disappeared back into the shadows, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment and confusion. I had upheld my promise to the KKK and the girls, proving myself to be more than just a dumb liar.
But why was I hearing German chants?
AN: So did you know that the name Benedict Arnold became permanently synonymous with "traitor" soon after his betrayal became public?