Nonsense About Romance
Chapter 1: The Reading of Chef's Will
written by domolovesyou - illustrated by Noxicosis and SynnesaiThere had been a problem at Chef’s house.
Not that Chef was the problem, actually. Chef was dead. He’d been dead for years now. (Kenny often met up with him in Hell, though, and told the others how he was doing. They always looked forward to hearing the updates.)
But apparently the contractors and the lawyers and the rest of the people of authority in the United States (all of who were completely useless) only just realized, now, that Chef was dead. They found his will, inside of which had been cooped up in Chef’s unused bank account for a good eight years now, and had been infested with rats now that you mention it. (And some of them ate a guy standing nearby to death, but we won’t talk about that.) Then they read it and realized that Chef indeed had some things left and he had people he wanted to give those things to.
Which was why Kenny, Cartman, Stan and Kyle were now at the official reading of Chef’s will.
It was long and boring, and reminded Cartman painfully of the reading of his Great-Grandma’s will years ago. (Mostly because, whenever he thought about it, he thought about how much money he got and then bought the amusement park and then lost it all and then Kyle was fucking happy because God liked fucking him over. If he ever got the chance to go to heaven, Cartman was going to kick that hippo cat thing in the balls.) The four of them had heard that they’d been mentioned in Chef’s will and had gotten excited; but now that they were actually here, there was nothing to be excited about.
“‘Finally, to the four children who always came to me for advice whenever they needed it…’”
Their ears perked up. Suddenly, sitting there in the stuffy room wearing the suits that all four of their mothers had forced them to wear was going to be worth it. Kyle prodded Stan awake, and Cartman was muttering something under his breath, which sounded like, “Money, money, please be money, Chef!” (Apparently he hadn’t heard the part where Chef had bequeathed all his money to his parents. His mother had said something about him owing her “tree fiddy.”) Kenny just looked eager to get anything, really.
“‘I bequeath to you…’”
The will-reader frowned. “I’m not sure if this is entirely appropriate,” he said. “And I’m not sure if it’s legal at all, either.”
“What is it?” the four boys demanded.
The will-reader looked embarrassed, but cleared his throat and held the paper up (so as to cover up his red face.) “‘I bequeath to you my porn collection, as I am hoping by the time I am dead (or when the goddamned life insurance managers figure out that I’m dead) you are old enough to understand the wonders of sexual exploration and intercourse. This is my treasure, and has been since I was your age. I hope that you enjoy them as much as I did.
(And no, those aren’t cum stains on the front cover of Go Hard On This.)’”
There was a silence.
Then:
“WOO-HOO!” yelled Kenny, jumping up from his seat.
“Man,” said Stan as they walked out of the building. “Dude, that sucked.”
“I know,” grumbled Kyle. “It’s not even legal for me to get that porn yet. Why won’t you share any of it with me, Kenny?” he whined to Kenny, who was busy squealing with glee, holding the trove box of porn against his chest, as if it were a Pillow Pet. (Stan had bought one once, but then it became alive and tried to eat Sparky. Everyone stayed clear of Pillow Pets after that.)
“Because it’s legal for me!” Kenny said gleefully. His words were actually sounding more distinct beneath his parka because his voice was so high and happy. “Hah hah hah hah hah, I can read porn!” he sang, in a manner not unlike Cartman’s.
“It’s legal for me too,” said Stan. “You should give some of that to me.”
Kenny rolled his eyes and pulled the collection closer to his chest, obviously having no intent in listening to what Stan had suggested. “Yeah right, Stan,” he said. “You live with your mom all the time, her tits are hot enough for you. My mom doesn’t have quality tits.”
“Ugh, dude.” Stan turned away in disgust.
“There’s your sister, dude,” Kyle pointed out.
“Yeah, but she’s my sister. And she’s flat.”
Cartman had been quiet throughout the conversation this whole time, but he couldn’t take it anymore. “WHY DIDN’T HE LEAVE ANY MONEY FOR ME?” he complained. “Why? Would it have been so hard to write, ‘Dear loveliest and most awesomest Eric Cartman, I bequeath to you one million dollars’? Would it have been hard.”
“Uh, dude, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Chef cares more about his family than he cares about you,” said Kyle. “Well, cared.”
“But still! I mean, look at me! Do you see how awesome I am?” said Cartman. “Isn’t it hard not to give me a million dollars when you die? I swear to god, when you guys die, if you hippies don’t give me a million dollars in your wills, I will beat the living shit out of your gravestone.”
“Like I’ll be there to care,” snorted Kyle.
“I think you’ll die before us,” said Stan.
“My will was just about not letting my hospitalized body show up on international news,” said Kenny, shrugging.
Cartman kicked a nearby pebble and grumbled to himself, “Fucking assholes.”
Stan had been the one to drive them here in the car he had gotten for his sixteenth birthday; the four of them were climbing into the car now. Kenny called, “Shotgun!” but Kyle got there first, and when Kenny tried to point out that he’d claimed it, and then tried to wrestle Kyle out of the position, Kyle pointed out that his seat was always shotgun and even if Kenny called it, it would never belong to him. They continued to wrestle until Stan (who was bigger than Kyle and stronger than Kenny) pulled Kenny off of him and told him to get his slutty little ass into the back.
“My ass may be slutty, but at least I’m getting some!” he hollered to Stan as he dealt with Cartman, who kept trying to shove him away, saying that he didn’t want to sit next to some poor trash.
“Cartman, you sit next to him all the time, deal with it,” said Stan. “And Kenny, I’m waiting for the right person—”
“The right person. Right,” scoffed Kenny. “Is that your way of saying that you’re just a failure when it comes to your sex life?”
Stan gave him the finger. “Fuck you.”
“I’m sure anyone would want to sleep with Stan,” said Kyle as helpfully as he could.
“Thanks, Kyle,” said Stan.
Kenny rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.
Kyle glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Cartman with his arms crossed, a pissed off look on his face, staring out the window. “Dude, are you still sulking because Chef didn’t give you any money in his will?”
“Yes! I was going to use that money on something useful!” Cartman said.
“And what exactly is your definition of ‘useful’?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Jew-rat.”
“I can understand anything; unlike you, I’m actually not failing English class.”
“Then I’m sure you can understand that it’s useful if I buy bombs to destroy all the synagogues in the world.”
“Dude, that’s not fucking useful! That’s genocide! What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Jews are a stain in the human population.”
“No, you’re just a racist asshole!”
“Told you you wouldn’t understand,” said Cartman.
“Ugh, this is so frustrating,” Kenny interrupted, staring at the treasure box of porn magazines on his lap. “I keep really wanting to open this and read these right here, and—”
“Dude,” said Stan. “There is no way you’re masturbating in my car.”
“That’s the problem!” Kenny whined. “Pleeeeeeease?”
“Cartman, can you please get Kenny to shut up?”
Cartman took the baseball bat which had randomly been sitting on the floor of Stan’s car, and promptly knocked him out. Unfortunately, the baseball bat had been metal and Cartman was still pissed off at not getting any money, and the metal plus his brute strength ended up in the death of Kenny McCormick.
Cartman stared at Kenny’s dead body for a while, and then said, “… oh well. I’ve murdered people before,” and then resumed sulking.
With Kenny dead and Cartman throwing curses at God under his breath, Stan decided to strike up a conversation with his best friend to make the mood a little bit lighter. “So, you really think anyone would be up to sleeping with me?” he asked.
“Well, duh,” said Kyle, gesturing to him. “What’s not to like?”
“True,” said Stan, grinning. “I am good-looking, I am smart, I am nice, I am a decent person—”
“Horribly modest, too,” said Kyle.
“And girls have asked me out,” finished Stan. “So obviously I am the epitome of perfection. Right here.”
“But every time those girls asked you out, you said no,” said Kyle, furrowing his eyebrows. “If you want to prove that you can sleep with someone, why don’t you say yes? Seriously dude, you haven’t been in a relationship since Wendy in middle school (until you threw up on her really badly that one time and she refused to go out with you since) and you’re available and girls keep asking.”
Stan shifted his gaze away a little. “It would be mean,” was his excuse. “If I don’t like them, I shouldn’t say yes.”
“That’s not a good reason.” Kyle frowned. Stan seemed to be hiding something from him. Kyle wasn’t sure, though. “You don’t have your sights set on someone, do you?” he asked.
“No, no!” said Stan quickly. “Nah, I just... I guess I’m not really into the dating scene.” He shrugged. And Kyle believed him, because he could always believe his best friend.
“Anyways,” said Stan. “If I really feel the urge to get laid, I can just jack off. I should probably steal Chef’s porn right now since Kenny’s dead.” He glanced to the backseats.
“It’s bullshit that I’m too young for it.” Kyle sighed. “Although I don’t know, Chef could have some pretty messed up stuff in there…”
“What are you talking about? It’s Chef!”
“Exactly. It’s Chef,” said Kyle. “He pretty much slept with every woman in this town. He probably had loads of sex experience. Who knows what kinks he could have?”
“True,” said Stan, and then said with a grin, “Remember that time he slept with Cartman’s mom? I’m pretty sure that they would make the greatest couple ever.”
“Yeah, they’re both sluts enough,” said Kyle, and the both of them laughed.
“Shut up guys, my mom’s not a slut!” shouted Cartman from the back.
“Dude, your mom even fucks with you, she’s a slut!” said Kyle.
“Take it back, you bitch!”
“Don’t you remember when even you were saying that your mom fucked you?” said Stan. “Because you wanted an iPad?”
Kyle shuddered. “Don’t bring that up,” he said.
“You have to admit, that was kinda funny,” said Stan.
“If you were in my position, you wouldn’t have thought so!”
“Well, I might have.”
“Do you want your mouth taped to a Japanese guy’s ass?”
“Ugh, are you guys ever going to stop having faggy conversations?” said Cartman.
“The moment you stop being a fatass,” said Kyle cheekily.