South Park fanfiction
Rated T for language, some sexuality, and just Cartman in general
With my job done in Denver, I made my way to South Park for a visit. Despite what everyone back in Mexico may have thought, I did have some feelings for this place. I mean, I did grow up here, and I couldn't wait to show them how far I had come.
The town still looked the same as it always did. The school, the church, the police station…it was all still here. Evidently, it had gone along just fine without me, and that made me mad. It made me feel less important.
Maybe, when I'm ruling the U.S., I would wipe this town off the fact of the earth. Not kill everyone, mind you, but evacuate the town, and blow it to kingdom come, just for the hell of it. That might be fun.
Suddenly, I heard a yell from behind me. I turned around and saw a homeless man, running at me and screaming. I was about to be mugged! I don't remember any of the homeless in South Park being violent, just annoying.
Remembering my sumo training, I met the hobo head-on, and knocked him away. He lay on the ground, moaning. He tried to get up, and I kicked him to make sure he'd stay down.
"Stan!" someone yelled. The Jew had just come around the corner, staring at the scene.
Stan? I looked down at the hobo, and, sure enough, underneath the ragged beard and the tattered clothes, it was Stan Marsh. He kept muttering, "Wendy…stole Wendy…"
Ouch, poor guy. Not.
To Kyle, I called out, "Keep a closer eye on your friend before he mugs someone; it's a serious crime to attack a foreign ambassador."
Kyle finally recognized who Stan was attacking. "You…? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Visiting my old hometown before I head back to Mexico. I'll just be here for a few days. I was thinking about inviting you and your parents over to my house for dinner. You know, for old times' sake?"
Kyle looked like he had just swallowed live ants. "Over my dead body."
As it turned out, Kyle's mom (the kike bitch) and her husband were very eager to talk with me over dinner. They wanted to hear all about Ike, and how he was doing, and how soon he would be back home. Kyle sat with us, but he didn't say a word. Instead, he spent the entire evening trying to ignore the fact that the only meat I had served was ham.
Later that evening, I got on my computer and went to the police database that Ike had hacked into for me. After a few minutes trying to figure out the best way to go about this next part, I began composing a forged email:
To Sgt. Harrison Yates,
It has come to my attention that the Black Family, who has been living in South Park for the past fifteen years, has recently accumulated a wealth of over one million dollars. Your negligence in dealing with this matter has been tolerable up until now. But with the Black's recent rise in fortune, your inaction is no longer excusable. May I remind you of your training? May I also remind you how it will reflect of South Park's record if a wealthy black family is allowed to walk freely? I don't want South Park to get a bad reputation any more than you do. Do not contact me; I don't want to hear any excuses. You know what needs to be done.
Sincerely,
The Attorney General
That should do it.
Two days later, as I was packing up to depart back to Mexico. I heard a knock at the door. It was Kyle, holding a newspaper. "Do you know anything about this?" he demanded. I seized the paper. The headline said:
"Black Family Arrested for Satanic Ritual"
Yates, you never cease to impress me.
"Did you do this?" Kyle asked, red in the face.
"Do what? Convince them to practice black magic? Why would I do that?" I asked.
"You know that Token's family isn't Satanic! What is wrong with you!"
I shook my head. "It seems we never know most people as well as we think we do."
"Goddammit, Cartman! Is there no end to your lies?" Kyle yelled. "You planted evidence to make Token and his family look guilty!"
I yawned. "Kyle, it says here that the police found blood and rape victim DNA all over their house, along with a bunch of occult texts and drawings. There's no way I could have planted all that, even if I wanted to. Unless the police are all part of some conspiracy to put rich black men behind bars, I can't imagine how they could possibly be innocent. I'm sorry."
"No, you're not. You never cared about Token," Kyle snapped. Then he looked at the ground. "First Stan, then Clyde…not Token, too."
"Don't worry, Kyle," I said, skimming through the rest of the newspaper. "Accounts of prison rape are usually somewhat exaggerated." Then I found another article. "Hey, did you see this one?" I asked, handing the paper back to Kyle. He saw the title:
"STD Afflicts Both Rock Star and Special Athlete"
Beneath the title were pictures of Jimmy and Timmy. That's right: Syphilis! In your face, you "handi-capable" bastards!
Kyle gaped. "How…how…"
I explain. "You see, Kyle, the way someone contracts syphilis is—"
"SHUT UP, CARTMAN! You're responsible for this, too. I know it!"
I held up my hand. "Whoa, Kyle. I assure you I didn't give Jimmy or Timmy syphilis. If they went and slept with someone who did have it, that's no business of mine."
Kyle appeared too shocked and angry for words. He knew that I was somehow behind all this, but he had no way to prove it, and he knew he was sure to look crazy if he told anyone. The scheming, rational part of him knew that there was a reason I was telling him all this, but it was quickly being overwhelmed by blind emotions.
Kyle finally composed himself enough to say, "Someday…you're going to pay for this."
I smiled. "No. You are going to pay for this."
"Me?"
"Yes. If you hadn't corrupted them with your Jewish lies, this wouldn't have happened," I explained. "It wasn't enough that you had to be evil and greedy, but you convinced your friends to follow you too, instead of embracing what was right. So when judgment day comes, just remember that you were the one who led them all to their fate. And you will be judged accordingly."
Then I turned and walked off, so I could make the flight back to Mexico City. And I knew that Kyle's anger was quickly turning to fear and paranoia.
I returned home to a disaster. There was practically a mob in the streets, but it wasn't anything like the crowd that had cheered for us when we took power. It was a crowd calling for blood.
Unlike South Park, it seemed this country really couldn't stand without me.
After talking with Wendy, I managed to figure out what had happened. Apparently, Craig's latest job had been to oversee the construction of the monument being built in our honor. It was going to be awesome, and so big that it would be visible from space.
Anyway, Craig did a very sloppy job of both designing the monument and keeping an eye on the construction. A section of it had collapsed, killing over a hundred of the workers, and also Kenny, who had been trying to patch up all the safety violations Craig had made. Now, the Mexicans were pissed at the terrible job he had done, and wanted something done about it.
While it was a tragedy, my insides jumped for joy. I had been looking for an excuse to cut Craig loose from this endeavor, and he had fucked up too big this time. Now I finally had a legitimate reason. After some consulting with Ike, Butters, and Wendy, I made my move.
That evening, the five of us stood on the balcony of our palace overseeing the city, as the crowd waited for our promised apology. I spoke:
"Loyal citizens, we have heard your pleas, and we too mourn the loss of those heroic workers, and of our beloved co-ruler, Kenny McCormick. And so we wish to apologize for our inability to prevent this tragedy."
The people quieted a little, but there were some dissatisfied murmurs spreading through the crowd. I continued.
"However, we realize that a mere apology is not enough. The only thing that can truly remedy this wrong is to see that justice is done."
The crowd went completely silent, eager to hear what I had to say next. Craig's ears also perked up; he had only been told we were issuing an apology, so this would be a nice surprise for him.
"It is only right," I went on, "that the man responsible for this tragedy should face the consequences of his actions. And who is that man? Craig Tucker. Through his negligence, people have been killed. It's clear that he doesn't care about your wellbeing, and is therefore unworthy of being your ruler.
"But a simple removal from power is clearly not enough. If it were up to me alone, it would be only right to have him executed for such clear disregard for the sanctity of life. However, the Brotherhood has voted to show him mercy. Therefore, it is our judgment that he be banished from this country, and will be barred from entering it under pain of death or imprisonment at our discretion."
The crowd cheered. Craig's normally blank face started to look worried. He gazed out into the crowd, but they all cried out, "Banish him!" He looked back at his former co-rulers, but we had made up our minds. We would all look merciful and benevolent in the eyes of the people, and he had no sympathy to barter with. That's what happens when you don't do your part, Craig. I told you it would be difficult, but you didn't listen. Now, you have to face the music.
A helicopter arrived on the balcony, and the guards marched Craig to it. He wasn't trying to resist; he was probably still in a daze over how quickly everything had happened. As Craig was pushed into the helicopter, I called out, "Have fun in Peru!"
At the word Peru, Craig's face turned from mild worry and irritation into pure, stark terror. It was the most emotion I had ever seen Craig display; it was good to see that he did have some feelings. The others saw it too, and they were all obviously wondering what it was about Peru that made Craig so worried.
Then the door closed on Craig forever. The helicopter flew away, taking Craig to his final destination. The crowd below celebrated, but Butters, Ike, and Wendy all looked nervous.
While Craig's banishment was a good thing, there were consequences. I had broken up the Brotherhood; there were only five—no wait, four—of us left. Banishment may have been merciful for Craig, but the implications of it were not lost on the others. If six could be brought down to five—I mean, four—it was only a matter of time before someone got it into their head to get rid of the others and seize power for themselves.
I would have to stop those greedy bastards at any cost.
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