Wednesday, August 29, 2012

A Marsh Family Thanksgiving "Chapter Five: Going Between Extremes"

Category: South Park
Authors: John-SP150 and NoseBridgePinch
Fan Art: John-SP150
Rated T for swearing, violence, perversion on Kenny's part and underage drinking on Stan's part.
Synopsis: The Marsh family is having a reunion for the holiday. Stan's realitives are causing him a great deal of worry. In additon to dealing with his parents, sister, grandfather, Uncle Jimbo and Ned, Stan must also deal with his Uncle Dean, Aunt Joanne and cousin Stephanie. Hopefully Kenny can help ease things, right?
Note: I have a new (Stan centered, what else?) three shot up on FFnet that'll be posted here as soon and I can charm John into drawing me a picture for it.

Kenny McCormick was in one, of several places he'd always wanted to go: Sharon, er, Randy and Sharon Marsh's closet. And he had a camera. A dream come true - at any possible moment, the heavenly Mrs. Sharon Kimble-Marsh would enter the room, slowly and enticingly undress, almost certainly remove her shirt and hopefully her bra... or maybe she wasn't wearing one. Kenny wondered what choice her color of underwear was - they say you can tell a lot about a girl from that sort of thing. He'd read black meant they were seductive, and that white is usually more prudish, but that seemed too easy. He should've done more research!

Before he could continue fantasizing about her, he heard the bedroom door open and stiffened in the closet, camera still just outside the crack. He glimpsed a figure quickly walk past into the bathroom. Shit, she better not undress in there! She couldn't do this to him! Goddamnit... Kenny tried to look past, but the door opened and she walked out in her undergarments. Strangely, she'd definitely put on a lot of weight, and her tits looked a lot saggier than usual. He straightened and continued to hold the camera, hoping to get an eyeful of her luscious curves.

She stepped just out of view, but Kenny could definitely hear a dresser drawer open and shuffling around. Kenny tried to slide open the closet door a bit wider and crane his neck to see a hand take out a pair of black panties with white polka dots. Black and white? What the hell was that supposed to mean to him? Some kind of in between, middle ground thing? Did that run in the Marsh family or what?

Kenny admired her ass from behind, carefully considering his options. He was unsure if the old Polaroid camera Kenny had swiped while Stan had been conked out in his room had a flash or not. Maybe she'd turn around before she slipped the panties on and he'd get a full frontal Playboy view, or Penthouse if he was lucky. 70's Playboy, since Sharon was kind of older. But she might see him and he might get in trouble, kicked out of the house, no Thanksgiving dinner and Stan probably not speaking to him for a while, if not forever. Would Sharon Marsh's naked picture be worth all that?

Fuck yeah.

Kenny got down on his stomach at the bottom of the closet and placed the lens of the camera just peeking out. He could be discreet if she walked by towards her bed and Kenny pressed the button at just the right moment. His angle would probably cut her head off, but Kenny had seen more than enough of Stan's mom from the neck up. With a chest like that it was a shame she'd always worn such a high cut blouse.

Kenny waited several moments as she seemed to pace around near the mirror. If not for the sheer voyeuristic thrill he would be so bored. But he bade his time, and had no trouble keeping his mind occupied. And then, his moment came as she stepped near the bed and he clicked the button to snap the picture. Yes! At last!

He pocketed the camera and stepped back in case she noticed anything, but there was no detailed investigation. After several long moments, she began to redress. Disappointing, he'd barely glimpsed her form from the front for more than a couple seconds at a time. What a rip-off... At least he had his photograph now.

Upstairs, Stan was trying to fight a pretty big headache. He could remember being carried inside by Uncle Dean and put into his bed and his mother getting him a cold compress for his head. The football had smacked him right between the eyes and he could feel a rapidly growing painful bruise spreading between his eyes, his right eye almost completely swelled shut. No one was more used to receiving injuries than Stan Marsh was so it wasn't just that. What was causing the horrible throbbing headache was the annoying banshee-like screech coming from the hall as his mom and Aunt Joanne argued right outside his bedroom door.

"We should call an ambulance."

"He's fine, Joanne, really."

"You should at least take him to the emergency room, Sharon. It could be worse than it looks!"

"I think I'll be the judge of what's best for my own son."

Sharon had left Stan to hold the ice pack and to just keep his eyes shut and rest while she got him some aspirin. He trusted his mom to at least be on his side and semi-sane. Hospital trips sucked ass.

"At least watch him. If he throws up, that's a sure sign of a concussion! Sharon, you need to keep a better eye on poor Stanley. Next time could and will be a lot worse than a possible concussion." Joanne said.

Sharon breathed in, "Joanne, I know what's best for my baby. I don't tell you how to raise your daughter; don't tell me how to raise my son."

Joanne bit her lip and refocused herself to the guest room door, "You almost done in there?" She asked her husband. Dean finished dressing and came out, "Sharon says we don't need to bring poor Stanley to the hospital."

Sharon sighed - she was bad for not watching Randy, but Dean was still cool. Though he should have been watching the kids better. Sharon tried to not let her concern show; she didn't want to end up scaring her son.

"Well, I think..." Dean started, Sharon gave him a look, and he backed off, "My sister's right, keep him home. I got plenty of serious head injuries as a kid and I'm fine."He avoided eye contact with either his wife or sister and for a moment, just stood, looking uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and seeming to adjust something under his shirt.

"Joanne, I think I know how to take care of my own son." Sharon replied sternly as she walked back into Stan's room, her in-laws following, "My poor baby, it'll be fine." she insisted to him as her sister-in-law crossed her arms, "What? Do you have more criticism of my parenting skills to pass on, Joanne?"

"No, no, it's fine, Sharon, I was just disappointed in your lack of concern for your son's physical condition, but I suppose you take a more conservative route with your parenting." Joanne shook her head, "Are you absolutely sure you can't run him to Hell's Pass? He could be suffering from some terrible internal bleeding, you know. You need to learn to keep a better eye on your child."

"It's fine, Joanne, let it go." Sharon said, eyes narrowing as she vented her anger into applying the ice pack better.

Joanne looked at her nephew again and shaking her head, "He's just a poor boy..."

Sharon rolled her eyes, "He needs no sympathy." she replied, becoming slightly annoyed now with the way her family was treating her. Stan was her child, she could raise him however she pleased and damn what anyone else thought. She didn't like welcoming these people in only for them to criticize her as a mother.

"Easy come, easy go." Dean shrugged, "How's Stan?" he looked to his nephew, grinning with pride, frowning a bit once he saw Stan's injury.

"Hm, little high, little low." Joanne reported matter-of-factly.

"Any way the wind blows, I guess." Dean replied, shrugging, "I'm not sure what happened, his brother just kinda launched the bottle at him, but I don't think it's his fault, he just expected him to catch it. Poor Stanley must've been distracted. I bet Stephanie did it on purpose hoping it'd make it easier for her to win. We need to talk to that girl about honesty, Joanne; she clearly hasn't learned a thing..."

"It's not the kids' fault, Dean. Children are usually sweet and innocent as long as they're watched over by responsible adults, but for some reason, the kids weren't supervised properly... Sharon." Joanne crossed her arms.

"Yeah, sis, you need to-" Sharon crossed her arms and gave Dean a very familiar glare, and he stopped in his tracks, "Well, I, uh, maybe Sharon's right, honey..."

Stan kept his eyes shut as he listened to the whole argument; it took everything he could to not use the familiar gesture of pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a simple comfort gesture as a response to other people's stupidity, even Kyle and Cartman had picked it up as well. But the bridge of his nose was so sensitive from pain that he had to hold back. He was surprised how often his hand reached up to do it now that he was unable to for the time being. He'd have to come up with some other way to deal. He'd end this before it got any worse.

"I'm glad you're concerned for me Mom, Aunt Joanne. But can you please leave me alone? My head already hurts enough. Don't you have to finish cooking dinner anyway?"

Sharon rushed back into Stan's room and took a seat on the edge of his bed. "Don't worry about it, Stanley. I left your father in charge of finishing making dinner."

Awesome, so much for traditional, normal family meal; not that calm family meals ever really happened. Stan had gotten quite used to picking out whatever 'special' ingredients his dad liked to add.

"Well can you just leave me alone? I kinda of want to take a nap."

Sharon smiled down at her son. "'Sure sweetie."

"A nap!" Joanne shrieked as she also took a seat at the foot of Stan's bed. "Don't you know anything about basic first aid, Sharon? A person can't sleep for several hours after a possible concussion. You need to keep him up at least until his normal bed time!"

Ugh, if through some horrible misfortune of fate Stan had actually ended up being Dean and Joanne's son he would assume he'd be made of glass and scared of everything by the age of ten instead of just constantly having to fight cynicism. But if Dean had been his father he'd probably be better at football though, but also gay.

He'd had enough of this bullshit. "If I can't sleep but you won't leave me alone I'll just go downstairs and watch TV if that's okay with you, Aunt Joanne."

"I don't know Stanley; you never know the harmful effects television can have on you."

"I'm well aware of that, wars with Canada and all. I actually wanted to watch football." Stan sat up in his bed and tried not to make a face at the splitting headache he had, if he actually showed how he felt maybe his mom would agree with Aunt Joanne.

"...Stanley has a point." Sharon perked up at the mention of Canada, having been involved herself, "We need to give him a little freedom. As long as he keeps the volume down and doesn't watch any violent programming, I think he'll be fine."

"Sharon, your son has gone through a possible concussion and you're just going to let him watch television? You've raised such a charming boy but how you did it with these parenting methods, I'm really mystified."

Sharon glared, "How DARE you come into my house and tell ME how to raise MY children!" she said angrily, "I've had it up to here with you, Joanne Renee Kimble!"

"How dare you! I'm your sister-in-law, I've dedicated my life's work to founding innovative ways to bring up happy and healthy children and you shouldn't ignore professional advice."

"More like you come into my house and impose your ways when everything was fine before."

Normally this would be the point that would push Stan to the edge and make him point out how ridiculous both women were being, another natural reaction due to being around his own group of friends, but now wasn't the time to get himself grounded. He rolled out of bed, leaving his mother and aunt to argue in his room and stumbled out into the hall. Leave it for something stupid to distract his mother when she said she'd get him something for his headache. He'd just get it himself and not be any more of a bother to anyone. The bathroom door was shut. Stan gave an audible sigh as he pressed his back to the wall and sat down, burying his sore head in his hands as he waited.

Kenny, after a moment, began walking out of the bathroom, eyeing the back of the camera in his hands with a lustful hunger, smirking - he was definitely enjoying the picture. Kenny quickly pocketed it, looking down at Stan, "Hey, dude, how's your head? Total, tragic accident, I swear."

"Asshole." Stan glared as he looked up, "Stop trying to get into the pants of my whole family, dude. How would you like it if I was flirting with your mom and your sister? And hurt you to impress them?"

"Karen McCormick is off-limits." Kenny glared angrily, crossing his arms, "Look dude, I am not perving on your sister or your cousin, so calm your shit. The only one I really like is your mom, and her tits are like DD's, you can't blame me for that. It's like dangling candy in front of a baby."

"Shut up Kenny, ugh." Stan tried to nosebridgepinch again but a shock of pain made him lower his hand, "Not only do I have you whining to me the whole time about my mom's boobs but then I have to listen to my aunt bitching about my mom's personality. They just spent like the last half hour in my room hovering around me and arguing. Maybe if people didn't whine so much about my mom she could actually help out, God..." Stan sighed.

"Help out with what?" Kenny tried to turn away from Stan to hide the camera in his jacket pocket. For a moment, it crossed his mind it was impossible for Sharon to have been hovering around Stan and in her bedroom at the same time. He suppressed these thoughts for now.

"Never mind, move." Stan pushed his way into the bathroom, jumping up on the stool he used to be able to see into the mirror so he could brush his teeth and opened the medicine cabinet for some kind of pain killer. He rummaged through the contents of the cabinet, moving a large pink and white box to the side to grab a few medicine bottles and knocked it over, spilling tampons down the sink and onto the floor. Stan narrowed his eyes at the mess he just made and looked over at Kenny. "I'm not picking those up."

"Me neither, dude." Kenny stepped back and kicked a small pink wrapper with his toe.

"You see what I have to deal with?" Stan gritted his teeth as he grabbed two bottles and compared them, Baby Aspirin or prescription Vicodin. It was either too soft or way too much with the members of his family, wasn't it?

"Yeah, I do. Your family's insane. But at least they don't all drink in and out and beat the shit out of each other like mine does."

"No, that's just my dad with random strangers." Stan replied bitterly. "I have actual, real problems to deal with, okay?" He gestured with the bottles in his hands.

"Like should you take four children's Aspirin and not have it do shit or take one fucking Vicodin and be zonked out for the rest of the day?"

"No...Aunt Joanne won't let me sleep. Neither will my mom with all her yelling." Stan studied each bottle, squinting with his good eye.

"Do you even care what she thinks?"


"You'll have more fun with the Vicodin. Trust me, my parents love that shit."

"Trust you? Look at my fucking face! This is your fault, Kenny."

"Yes, yes it is, it is my fault. And you know what? Chances are you won't even remember any of it later. Look, dude, I was trying to help your cousin. She actually seems like she'd be kind of cool if her psycho parents paid some goddamn attention to her instead of being so in love with you." Kenny stopped, rubbing his forehead, "I'm sorry. That's not what this is about... look, dude, I'm sorry I hit you, okay? I know that probably sounds kind of faggy and shit, but I'm sorry. I got too caught up in Stephanie."

"Yeah, I know." Stan looked at his bruised face in the mirror once again, then he turned and faced Kenny. "You probably don't know how much this hurts but in the end I guess I do deserve it. I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier, and getting jealous at how everyone seems to like you better. The fact is you're a guest and someone new so of course they'd treat you better. My family is used to me and I'm used to them so, even if you weren't here, nothing would have changed. Except for this." Stan pointed to his face again. "I bet Stephanie was all amused at that."

"Oh yeah, she laughed her ass off." Kenny said, "Poor girl, probably the first time she's laughed in weeks, really... sorry, not about her, I know... see, what we need to do is make her look like the better child than you. Make her parents appreciate her instead of you."

"It should be more about her than me. I'm not even sure if I can at least get along with her at this point but we have to do something. I'm stuck with this family forever but she's stuck with-" Stan opened the bathroom door to the sound of screaming going on between Aunt Joanne and Stan's mom.

"Sharon, you're so ignorant sometimes - you don't understand child psychology. The things you and Randy are teaching Stan are going to hurt him. You're not letting him grow out for himself-you're keeping him isolated from his peers, forcing him to be outcast. He's such a sweet boy, Sharon, you need to stop trying to teach him everything about masculinity and start teaching him to get in touch with the other sides of himself. I mean, God knows what a terrible example of a father he has..."

"Terrible example! Randy may be a selfish, ignorant, drunken, stupid bastard, but he's my husband, Joanne, and I'd advise you not talk about my husband like that in front of me when you don't even know what I'm capable of! I will raise my child however I please! You are a guest in my house; now stop strutting around like you own the place!"

Stan rolled his eyes as he slammed the bathroom door and looked at the bottles in his hands again. "So the prescription stuff will take the pain away and be a little bit fun?"

"Oh yeah, dude, my dad has tons of that stuff. He takes it with his scotch, though I think you've had enough alcohol for one weekend."

"Never. Judging from how my dad turned out this will just be the first of many drunken weekends for me." Stan popped the Vicodin bottle open and tapped one rather large white pill into his hand, he glanced up to see Kenny's hand was also outreached to him, he raised an eyebrow.

"If this is the beginning of many weekends where you get wasted, Stan, I want in."

Stan opened his mouth to say no, but looked at the prescription bottle in his hand again; the neatly printed label read Marsh, Marvin. If this really was going to be Stan's new future as he got older, it would be nice to have a friend along for the ride... "Okay I'll give you some, but you have to promise one thing."

"Sure, what is it, dude?"

"Please shut up about my mom's boobs for the rest of weekend. It's really grossing me out."

Kenny considered, his eagerly outstretched hand retracted slightly. "I can still look though, right?"

"Dude, sick. Come on Kenny, I thought you were clean. Leave it." Stan commanded.

"Come on, dude, don't let my cock be teased so much! You can't expect me to not even look when a hot chick like that is around!"

"I bet you wouldn't be saying that if I oogled your mom." Stan rolled his eyes.

"It would annoy me but I'd understand."

"I'm just going to have to keep a close eye on my mom for the rest of the weekend around you, shouldn't be too much of a problem since she won't stop hovering. She wouldn't leave my side after you hit me with the football."

"God, Stan, how do you do it?" Kenny asked, "Always surrounded by beautiful women, even when injured. I hope I get to be like that when I grow up." Stan rolled his eyes yet again, "Dude, come on, you're a pimp, just admit it."

"Oh, stop it, Kenny; we all know the girls always say Kyle's the cute one. Remember Bebe did that whole report on how Jews are awesome because the boys are cute?" Kenny opened his mouth, "If you say 'Stan, I didn't know you swung that way', I will punch you, Kenny." Kenny's mouth closed, "Is sex all that matters to you?" Kenny laughed, "Now what was funny about that?"

"Nothing, nothing, just, some guy said that- never mind that." Kenny chuckled again, "Just-"

"STAN, STAN, I NEED YOUR HELP, IT'S AN EMERGENCY!" came Randy's voice, very loud and very clear, "I'M NOT KIDDING, IT'S NOW OR NEVER!" Stan and Kenny exchanged worried looks and ran out of the bathroom, Stan pocketing the Vicodin as they ran to the kitchen in horror. Was Randy having a heart attack? Was he injured? Did Jimbo accidentally shoot - oh, never mind, he was standing there wearing a Chef's hat and apron, "Stan, Stan, do I put all the stuffing in the turkey, or keep some as a side dish?"

"Goddamnit, Dad, THAT'S your big fucking emergency!" Stan said in disbelief. He tried to nosebridgepinch, but pulled his hand back as he felt pain, "Ow! That fucking hurts!" Kenny held back a chuckle, "It's not funny, asshole!"

"Yes, it is an emergency, Stan, this has to be a perfect Thanksgiving dinner, the Broflovskis AND the Cartmans are coming over this year! It has to be the best! Now come on, I need your help. Stan, you need to check on the sweet potatoes, and uh, Kenny, you need to go find the pineapple in the fridge and start slicing it, okay? Be careful, we have sharp knives."

"Dad, come on, this is stupid." Stan crossed his arms.

"No, it's not, Stan, it's just cooking. See, I'm putting crème freiche on the turkey." Randy bent over and poured out a little crème freiche, "Awwh, fuck yeah..."

"Stan, how'd you fix it last time your dad was like this?" Kenny asked, worried out of his mind at this point. He had some weird fetishes, but fucking food was past his own line.

"Uhh... you don't want to know." Stan didn't want the full details himself. Randy ignored him and took out a bottle of beer and held it over the turkey, "I mean come on, Kenny, you're the one who knows all the sick sex stuff, what the hell's wrong with my dad?"

"He doesn't get enough pussy in his diet so needs to find substitutes."

Stan sighed and stepped forward "Dad, come on, you're not going to put beer on the turkey are you?"

"Why not? It'll taste better."

"Dad, it will, uh... it'll cancel out the crème freiche! Yeah, they'll be like, a flavor conflict or something!" Stan tried to argue, "You'll ruin the dinner and mom'll be pissed off again! You don't want that, right?"

"Stanley, you're too young to understand, adults like alcohol, it makes things seem really cool, no matter how shitty life is."

"Believe me, Dad, I totally understand- OW." Stan had to remember not to nosebridgepinch, "You just need to... Kenny! Kenny! Dude, what the fuck?" Kenny was at the table attempting to cut the pineapple, "You're supposed to be backing me up here, asshole!"

"I'm not Kyle, dude. Let your dad fuck with the food. Food is food, Stan, you shouldn't be so picky." Kenny scolded, cutting the pineapple apart, "If you lived my life you'd be dead by now." Kenny chuckled a bit at his own dark humor.

Stan shut his eyes and tried not to let it get his frustration get to him, he still had the pills in his pocket but taking them seemed to becoming less and less of a good idea, he'd just try and change the subject. "You know how I can get rid of my headache, dad?" Other than a week long vacation away from everyone.

"No, Stan. Now how about you stop whining and go check on those sweet potatoes, okay?" Randy grinned at his son.

"Dad, Mom already made the sweet potatoes." Stan said, biting his tongue.

"Well, she didn't do the best job, they weren't warm enough, so I put them in the oven. Kenny, how's the pineapple going?" Kenny gave a thumbs up, "Great, great. This is all going just awesome."

"Dad, leave the food alone." Stan commanded, crossing his arms.

"Stanley, there's nothing wrong with customizing our meal a little, Gawd! Besides, we're having over the Broflovskis and the Cartmans, we can't fuck this up."

"What about my family?" Kenny said.

"Your family wasn't invited, dude." Stan said, raising an eyebrow. Kenny looked at him, then down at the floor, sighing deep, "...oh no. That's not going to be a problem is it?"

"No, of course not." Kenny said, "...fine, yes. It's not my fault, okay? I just mentioned... and Karen thought... and... Goddamnit can't my family get a good meal for once, asshole? You know what we had for Thanksgiving dinner last year? Nothing, Stan. Because we don't have a fucking can opener."

Some battles were just not worth fighting. "Look I'm sorry, we must have forgotten. I'll ask my dad, I'm sure it won't be a problem. Right, Dad?"

Randy was busy poking his head in the fridge, examining the contents. He emerged with a bottle of Tabasco sauce in one hand and a package of hot dogs in the other. "What do you think, son? I thought the plain mashed potatoes your mother made could be improved. Spicy or savory or maybe sweet?"

"None of that, Dad! Can we just have normal Thanksgiving food? We are having even more company, apparently. Why are we inviting all my friends' families to eat Thanksgiving dinner here again?"

Randy got a very serious look on his face. "Nobody wants their Thanksgiving celebration to last past the New Year, Stanley." Kenny scratched the back of his neck.

"True, this weekend can go so many different directions, but I don't want anything else terrible to happen to me, my face already hurts enough."

"I'm sorry Stan, here you go." Randy tossed a bottle of regular aspirin at his son.

"Where were you hiding these?"

"I wanted to try and add them to the pie. Now it turns out Mrs. Cartman will be bringing the dessert now. Lucky us, huh Stan?"

Stan rolled his eyes as he poured a glass of water for himself at the sink. "It's nice to spend Thanksgiving with those we care about but why did you forget to invite Kenny's family?"

Kenny looked up from the chopping board. "They can come, right?"

"Oh that's fine, Kenny. Just be sure to tell them it's a pot luck so if they could bring something it would be great, if it's not too much trouble." Kenny cheered as Stan looked at him apprehensively,

"We'll think of something." Kenny whispered, waving his hand dismissively. "We'll find some creamed corn at the very least."

"Yeah, but dude, nobody likes creamed corn. Why do you think people always give your family that stuff at the canned food drive?"

"Out of the generosity and kindness of their hearts." Kenny replied sarcastically, "I figured that much out. When you're poor you grow up being able to put up with 'crappy' food, Stan."

"Whatever, just bring SOMETHING okay? God knows how my aunt and uncle will overreact if your family comes here and just mooches-" Kenny crossed his arms, "Okay dude, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but you know how crazy they are."

"Whatever, I'll call my parents and talk to them about it... once we can get your dad out of the kitchen at least." Kenny replied, looking to Randy who was now mixing Tabasco sauce and sliced hot dogs into the mashed potatoes. Kenny liked hot dogs but that looked about as appetizing as a dead ferret. (Which, for the record, is not appetizing at all.)

"Look, Kenny, you call your parents, and I'll try to get my dad out of here before he ruins the whole dinner. If all else fails, we'll have to call Cartman's mom, she's a good cook." Stan suggested, turning towards his dad, "Hey, Dad."

Kenny took out his crappy phone and dialled his home phone, sighing. This probably wouldn't end well.


"You washed up, drunken hunk of shit!" Carol McCormick yelled as she tossed an empty beer bottle in the direction of her husband across the couch, who ducked underneath it, "How'd you lose yer fuckin' job this time? Were you fucking jackin' it in the parking lot again? Sleepin' on the job? Beat the shit out of your fuckin' boss?"

"Shut up, you dumb bitch! You don't know how fucking hard it is to support a goddamn family!" Stuart said, "I work for hours on end, come home expecting a nice dinner and a happy family, and you just start running your fucking mouth like the dumb bitch you are!"

"I'm a dumb bitch? I don't know how to support a family? We've been living off my income for weeks, Stuart! I pay the kids' allowances, I pay the bus fees, I pay the bills. All you do is sit on your ass and watch old '80's sitcoms and drink!"

"That is not true! That is a total fucking lie! Three's Company is not an '80's sitcom, you whore!" He ducked from another bottle, "The only reason you pay for everything is 'cause every time I get a job, you piss me off before work so I fuck up!"

Kevin and Karen sat on the couch in between them, "Mommy, Daddy..." Karen quietly tried to console. She never knew how to settle these things without Kenny around. "Can you stop fighting please?"

"You don't do it like that, Karen." replied Kevin, grabbing a beer bottle by its neck and smashing it into the couch, then raising it, resulting in the former bottom half of the bottle now being serrated and sharp. He grinned, "Hey, you pieces of shit!"

"Oh, now look, you got fuckin' Kevin doing it, too! You know he really is your son, isn't he? A stupid, jobless drunk who can't do shit around here! He opens a textbook and falls asleep!" Carol screeched.

"Shut up, bitch. Son, you put that beer bottle down right now or we are not going to have McDonald's for Thanksgiving, do you hear me!"

"B-but daddy, y'all always say thank God fer the dollar menu an'... oh I shouldn't hafta be fuckin' afraid o' you..." Kevin raised his arm, and then punched Stuart with his free hand.

"Now you've got it coming!" Stuart raised his arm back as his wife pulled it away, Kevin proceeding to punch his father again as Karen simply began crying on the couch. Suddenly, the phone began ranging.

"Oh shit, where the hell'd we put the phone?" Stuart asked. Karen got down off the couch, looked both ways and ran into Kenny's bedroom, pulling it out from under his pillow - the safest place in the house as far as she knew.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Hi Karen." Kenny replied simply. "I need to talk to Mommy and Daddy."

"Oh, okay." Karen nodded, "How's everything at Stan's house?"

"Oh, it's great actually; I haven't had this much to eat since..." There was a long pause, "Anyway, yeah things are going awesome, don't you worry a thing, Fairy Princess." he smiled, "Now can I talk to mommy and daddy?"

"'kay." Karen entered the front room, where Stuart, Kevin and Carol were on the couch nicely, drinking two beers, Kevin often grabbing at either of his parents' for a sip, an old black-and-white episode of 'I Love Lucy' on. "Mom, Dad, Kenny wants to talk to you!"

"Gimme that." Stuart took the phone from her, "Kenny, where the hell have you been, kid?"

"Oh, just hanging around." Kenny chuckled, "I got some good news. We don't have to eat McDonald's for Thanksgiving! We're going to get some real fucking food!"

The McCormicks looked at each other, all hearing it - because they're poor and couldn't afford a phone with private conversations, it was always set to speaker - "What? Kenny, son, what did you do? It was perfectly legal, right?"

"Yeah, yeah." Kenny said, "We're going to my buddy, Stan's house for Thanksgiving tonight! They're awesome cooks, don't worry. It'll be the best thing any of us have ever eaten, even Mom!" Stuart got up with a fist in the air to cheer, hugging his wife as Kevin hugged Karen. The two pairs of family members separated,

"No catch, really?"

"Small catch. We need to bring something with us. Just make something crappy, I doubt they'll care. Stan's dad is cooking all sorts of insane shit and Cartman's mom always brings a bunch of goodies anyway."

"We need to bring something? Aw, fuck!" Stuart said, "Kenny, we've barely got any money or food right now, all we've got is beer!"

"Then bring beer. Just show up at six, okay? Later!" Kenny hung up.

"Fuck... well then, let's get that thirty-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon ready that the damn kid won't let us drink." Stuart said, going towards the fridge.

No comments:

Post a Comment