South Park fanfiction
Rated T for language, some sexuality, and just Cartman in general
After a wild night, I drove Wendy to school the next morning, after leaving messages for Stan, Kyle, and Kenny to tell them I didn't have time to pick them up. We had both dressed quickly, and both seemed a little disheveled, but we agreed to just leave it that way, and see what happened.
Kenny was the only one of the three who arrived at school before I did. Being Kenny, he saw Wendy getting out of my car, and my badly buttoned shirt, and immediately knew what had happened. "Daaaamn, Cartman."
Even though I had told Wendy about guys gaining respect through sex, I obviously had never experienced it before. I have to say, to have Kenny "Ladies' Man" McCormick to look at me with such wide-eyed respect was a great feeling.
Kyle caught up to us in first period. "Cartman, what the fuck? How come you couldn't pick me up for school?"
"Well…" No, I wouldn't tell Kyle just yet. I'd tell him and Stan at the same time. "I overslept. I was up pretty late last night." Not a lie, just an omission of the whole truth. "I did tell you guys that I wouldn't be able to make it."
"Yeah, I guess so," Kyle admitted. "Say, where is Stan? I haven't seen him…"
Stan didn't show up the whole day. Wendy and I had told a few people what had happened between us, but the whole thing hadn't become common knowledge yet.
On the way to my car, Kyle suggested that we go check on Stan. Wendy had already arranged for her dad to come pick her up, so I drove Kyle and Kenny over to Stan's house. After knocking on the door a few times, we just walked in, since it was unlocked.
The place was a mess. There was a whole bunch of stuff just strewn all over the floor; I saw at least a jacket, a pair of shoes, a sock, and an empty bottle of sleeping pills. Everything was unkempt. To top it all off, Stan himself was sitting on the couch, frozen. It looked like he had been sitting there since last night, and judging from the empty bottle, had been unable to sleep.
"Hey guys," he said in a deathlike monotone.
"How come you weren't school today?" asked Kyle.
"I don't want to talk about it," Stan droned.
"Wendy broke up with you, didn't she?" Kenny guessed. Although from the way he was glancing at me, he was pretty confident in that guess.
Stan nodded sickly. Kyle groaned. Like me, he disliked Stan's relationship with Wendy. But the reason he didn't like it was because he didn't think it was good for Stan, since he got so depressed every time they broke up.
"Stan, how many times do I have to tell you?" Kyle said. "You can't just lock yourself up in your house every time Wendy breaks up with you. You have to be more independent." He sighed. "In a few days, she'll take you back, and the same cycle will start all over again: dating, breakup, depression, reunion. If you don't break from the cycle soon, then you'll—"
"Cartman," said Stan, taking a closer look at me and interrupting Kyle's rant , "why is Wendy's LIPSTICK on your FACE?"
Kenny snickered. Kyle looked at the red smudge on the corner of my mouth, having not noticed it earlier. Understanding spread across his twisted Jew face. "Wendy KISSED you?"
"I think she did a bit more than that," Kenny chuckled. He was enjoying every minute of this.
"Well," I began, "there I was at Whistlin' Willy's, and I saw Wendy get really mad at Stan and throw him out. He must have really upset her, because she was just sobbing into her salad. I went to go cheer her up, one thing led to another, and we both ended up at my house."
Stan and Kyle gaped at me. Kenny just asked, "So…how was it?" with a completely straight face.
"Dude, it was awesome." Truest thing I ever said.
Stan seemed to have permanently lost his voice; it looked like he was trying to scream at me, but no words were coming out of his mouth. Kyle, on the other hand, took a deep breath and began: "HOW DO YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO COME TO STAN'S HOUSE AND TELL HIM THAT YOU FUCKED WENDY? YOU FUCKING FAT SON OF A BITCH! THIS IS BY FAR THE LOWEST, MOST REPULSIVE THING YOU'VE EVER DONE, AND IF I—"
I stepped out of the house while he was still yelling; things to do, and all that. But it was such sweet music to my ears.
That night, I talked with Wendy long into the night. It turned out that she had been interested in my world domination plan, and had tried to stay before Stan convinced her to leave. I went over some of the finer points of my strategy with her, and she was even able to provide some good ideas of her own. Between the two of us, we managed to come with a strategy for our next target.
I stood by my locker at school the next day, arranging my books and folders. It should be almost time, now…
"Cartman." Kyle walked up to me with a scowl on his face.
"Yeeees?" I said, displaying my most innocent smile.
"Don't give me that," the Jewish boy growled. "I don't know what this is all about, but there's one thing I'm sure of: Wendy and Stan are apart because of you!"
"Kyle, I already explained it to you. She was sad—"
"I don't care what you said, it's a lie!" Kyle snapped. "You broke them up!"
"And if I did?" He hesitated, so I continued: "Wendy's better off without him. Besides, I thought you said Stan was better off without her?"
"That's not the point! The way you did it is killing him; it's too much of a shock! He's already stopped coming to school. How long do you think it will be before he starts hitting the bottle again? This isn't about Wendy; this is about you, and this is about Stan. You only did this to hurt him!"
"I am surprised at you, Kyle, to think that I would stoop to such depths. I didn't do it just to hurt him. I wanted to help Wendy; the two events were just inseparable."
Kyle crossed his arms; it was clear that he didn't believe me at all. That was fine; I hadn't really expected him to. I was in a good mood; now that word of our coupling had spread, several people had already congratulated me, saying how lucky I was, and so forth. I decided that I was feeling...bold.
"But while we're speculating about 'me trying to hurting people,'" I went on, "you shouldn't be worried about Stan; you should be worried about you."
"Me?" Kyle's already pale face drained itself of all its color.
"Yes. After all, if I were hypothetically engaged in some plot to bring down the people I dislike," I grinned, "Stan would just be the first on the list. And if Stan's the first, who's to say where it will go from there?"
There was a dramatic pause that I couldn't have planned better if I tried. Then:
"Ohhhh, I don't feel so good…"
Kyle turned to the voice: Clyde Donovan's. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, clutching his stomach like he was in pain. If I had to guess, I would say that the brownies he had for lunch—the very special brownies—were violently disagreeing with him.
Today was a big day for Clyde; he had a wrestling competition later this afternoon. And every day he had a match, Bebe always made him lunch. And some days (like today, for instance), Wendy helped her fix it.
Wendy felt that Clyde and Bebe had a very similar relationship to the one she and Stan used to have. Clyde just liked having a girlfriend because it made him popular among the guys; he never put an ounce of effort into the relationship, and once Bebe could be made to see that, she would break it off, and find someone else.
As it was, humiliating Clyde was all part of my own plan. And once I told Wendy that I would be able to get Bebe all the shoes she wanted (Clyde's dad owned a shoe store, and that's how he kept Bebe on his leash) once we were rich and famous, that sealed the deal.
So I made the brownies (complete with plenty of laxatives and Arby's horsey sauce, of course), Wendy helped pack them in the lunch, and Bebe gave them to Clyde. I wasn't sure if Wendy had told Bebe what would happen, but I kind of doubted it; better to just wait and let her find out afterwards.
As it was, even I wasn't sure exactly what would happen. Ordinarily, these brownies would make someone crap their pants like crazy. But Clyde had had a colostomy since he was five, and I didn't know what difference that would make. Although judging from the look on Clyde's face at this moment, I was about to find out.
Clyde was doubled over in agony now, and his face was red and contorted. "I—I need to—I need to shit! BAD!" He tried to make a break for the bathroom, but he would never make it; the laxatives were so powerful, they nearly caused him to collapse every time he took a step.
I spotted Wendy walking calmly from the other direction. "Has it happened yet?" she asked, too softly for Kyle to hear.
"Not yet," I told her. "You might not want to watch; this is about to get really ugly."
"And miss all the fun?" she asked, grinning mischievously. God, I loved her.
"How many did he eat?"
She giggled. "Five."
Five? I shuddered. And that was when Clyde blew.
Or, to be more specific, when his waste bag blew. Because of his colostomy, that's where all his crap went, and he had to change it several times a day. And the brownies had caused it to fill up so fast that it burst. So instead of a spray of crap coming out of him, it was an explosion that covered the lockers, floor, ceiling, and everyone unlucky enough to be standing within 15 feet of Clyde with mounds of shit.
It was the absolute funniest thing I had ever seen in all my life. Bar none.
Everyone close to him screamed. Everyone else was laughing their ass off, especially me. Kenny and Craig were laughing so hard they were crying. Bebe turned into the hallway, and Clyde, sprawled on the ground for all to see, looked up at her.
"Bebe…" he murmured weakly, "…help me…"
One glance at Clyde was enough for Bebe. "EWWWWWW!" She screamed, and ran away as fast as she could.
Clyde whimpered, and collapsed, fainting in his own shit. Kyle looked at me with horror on his face, but I just smiled, and walked away whistling.
All in a good day's work.
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