Nonsense About Romance
Chapter 2: Boys Have Dicks
written by domolovesyou - illustrated by Noxicosis and SynnesaiStan dropped Cartman and Kenny’s body off at their respective houses, and then Kyle came over to his. Cartman would have come, except apparently he needed to “find another goddamn way to make some fuckin’ money” and Kenny was… well, it was Kenny’s body, so it wasn’t like he could do much. Stan kept the porn collection in his car and made a reminder to himself to give it back to Kenny sometime, since he actually wasn’t too interested in it.
The next day, Sunday, would have passed as their Saturdays usually did, except apparently Kyle had to go to some rally with his mother out of state so Stan couldn’t hang out with him. Kenny was still dead, so the only other person he could invite over was Cartman, which he didn’t mind at all.
Actually, at some point Cartman had become one of his best friends. Well, not in the way that Kyle was. And in a way, Cartman always was one of his best friends, like Kenny (on account of how much time they spent together.) But Stan got to trust Cartman in the way that close dudes became even closer dudes, and that even if Cartman would send him a letter saying that he hated him, or ended up on television because he bought an amusement park to taunt him, it was just a Cartman thing. Other than that Cartman thing, he was Stan’s friend.
Which was not precisely why, though it had some influence, when the two of them were playing the GameTetrahedron on Stan’s living room carpet, Stan asked him, “If I told you a secret, would you promise not to tell anyone?”
“Why yes, of course Stanley,” said Cartman in the most innocent voice he could pull, which was so innocent that it wasn’t innocent at all.
Stan rolled his eyes, but said, “Seriously. Would you?”
“How many years have you known me, Stan?” Cartman snorted. “Of course I’d tell someone. I’d tell the whole world.”
“Thought so.” Stan sighed. “Never mind.”
They continued playing. Cartman was irritated. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Okay, tell me your faggy little secret!” he exploded.
“But I know you’ll tell people. You know I know you’ll tell people.”
“But I want to know what it is!” Cartman whined.
“Then you’ll have to tell me a secret of your own, first,” said Stan. “That way if you tell people mine, I’ll tell people yours.”
Cartman narrowed his eyes. “How do I know that after I tell my secret, you won’t tell me yours?”
“I wouldn’t do that! I’m not like you!”
“Okay, I have an idea.” Cartman paused the game on the screen and set his controller down. “How about we both write our secrets down on a piece of paper and then show each other?”
“Good idea.” Stan put his controller down as well.
They tore out a page from an old notebook on Stan’s coffee table (Stan was pretty sure the notebook had the words, “SHELLEY’S DIARY” on it, but decided not to worry about it), tore it in half, grabbed two pencils, and then each scribbled on his piece. When they were done, Cartman handed his off to Stan and snatched his, saying, “Gimme, gimme, gimme!” eagerly. Stan rolled his eyes.
Stan’s piece of paper read,
Nice try, fatass.
“Hey!” said Cartman, turning around and waving the paper in Stan’s face. “What the hell is this?”
“I knew you weren’t going to write your secret on this piece of paper,” said Stan smugly, holding Cartman’s up. “‘You’re an animal licking fag’?”
“What? It’s true!”
“It’s an insult, not a secret.” Stan tore the paper up. “Fine then, I’m not telling you.”
Cartman’s resolve was crumbling. Stan could see that. Cartman fidgeted in his spot, gripping Stan’s piece of paper angrily in his hands, then said, “Okay, fine… I’ll tell you what I wanted the money for.”
“Money? What money?”
“The money that wasn’t in Chef’s will, dumbass,” snapped Cartman.
“Oh. Right.” Stan had forgotten about that.
“I… wanted to buy something.”
“Bombs to blow up the synagogues, like you’d been talking about?”
“No, but I really should get on that,” said Cartman. Then he waved a chubby hand. “That’s not what I was talking about. You see, I wanted to buy something. For this girl.”
“For a girl?”
“That I liked.”
“You like someone?” said Stan, surprised.
“Liked, asshole, liked! I don’t like anyone right now!” said Cartman, though Stan was sure he was lying. He rolled with it though. “See, there was this girl I really used to like. And I thought that she might appreciate it if I bought her something.”
“Like a dress, or jewelry?”
“I was thinking more of a country.”
Stan’s mouth fell open. “You were going to buy her a country? An entire country? What country?”
“Israel, duh,” said Cartman. “I was going to use the money to buy grenades like the Jew suggested, but instead of blowing up all the synagogues in the world, I was just going to help the Palestinians get rid of the people in Jerusalem first, and then buy the country. Then I was going to blow up all the synagogues.”
“Dude…” Stan’s eyes were wide. “The things you’d do for a girl. So then what? Why don’t you like her anymore? Didn’t you like her just yesterday?”
“Aye, shut up pussy!” said Cartman defensively, and Stan was sure that he definitely still liked the girl.
“So who is she?” he asked. “Who’s this girl that you’d buy a country for?”
“Ah-ah,” said Cartman. “I already told you my secret. I’m not telling you anymore.”
“I thought the secret is who the girl was.”
“No, the secret was that I wanted to destroy and then buy a country for her.”
“Fine.” Stan sighed and then sat down on his couch, as they had been standing this whole time and his legs were hurting. “Um. Promise you won’t say anything to anyone else?”
“Not a soul,” promised Cartman.
“Not Kenny or Butters?”
“Not Kenny or Butters.”
“Not even Kyle?”
“Why would I tell that Jew Kyle? I’d love to hold it against him that I know something about you that he doesn’t,” said Cartman smugly.
“Well, um,” said Stan. “Well, I like him.” And when nothing seemed to register on Cartman’s face, he emphasized, “You know, the way you liked that girl.”
-Noxicosis-
Cartman stared at him. Then he slowly sat down on the couch next to him. Stan waited in anticipation for a response. And then—
“Ahahaha!” cried Cartman, rolling around on the cushions. “Ahahahaha oh my god ahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD YOU LIKE KAHL OH MY GOD HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAksdfffffff—”
He ended up rolling off the couch and onto the floor, thus literally rofl-ing. His laughter had gotten so loud and obnoxious that Shelley, who was currently on spring break from South Park Community College, actually had to come downstairs from where she’d been playing video games with Larry (who’d come back from the dead after Poseidon had let him—but we don’t talk about that), to yell, “SHUT UP, TURDS!” to them.
Cartman finally stopped and sat up, wiping tears from his eyes. He’d actually been laughing so hard that he was literally weeping so it looked more like he’d just had a crying-fest, not a literal rolling on the floor laughing session. Stan glared at him as he came back to join him on the couch.
“I don’t understand what’s so funny about this,” he said.
“It’s just that—someone actually likes that ginger Jew.” Cartman snickered. “You really like him? Oh my god, I have to tell him.”
“You promised you wouldn’t,” Stan reminded him. “And if you do, I’ll tell everyone that you wanted money to do something romantic.”
The smile slid off of Cartman’s face. “Oh, right,” he said. “Fine. Then can’t I just say something that I know that he doesn’t—”
“No.”
“But that’s all the fun in you telling me your secret!”
“And it’s going to stay a secret,” said Stan firmly. “Not even a hint that you know it. That’s what makes it more secretive.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Ugh. Fuck you,” said Cartman, and crossed his arms. “What do you even see in him anyways? He’s just a sneaking little ginger with no soul and wanted to be black one time. Black. Can you believe it? Like Token. Who could like a guy like that?”
“I thought you were just gonna rag on me for liking a dude,” Stan muttered, and then said, “Well, you know, it’s Kyle. You told us that we’re fags together all the time. I think it’s something to do with that.”
“What, that you two are such butt pirates together that it’s making you have feelings for him?”
“Something like that,” said Stan, shrugging.
“And I’m not ragging on you for liking a dude because I’m not a homophobe, fag,” said Cartman. “So get your dumb assumptions out of your little head.”
“Thanks for the support, fatass.”
The first thing Kenny decided to do in Hell was to find Chef and thank him for all the porn. Seriously. Kenny had been running out of finding new ones and his dad’s were all… Well, his dad wasn’t very skilled at controlling the position of his dick in relation to his magazines every time he masturbated, suffice to say.
He ran into Chef coming out of Princess Diana’s house, on 66th and 66th street.
“Chef!” he said.
Chef beamed when he saw them. “Hello there, children,” he said. “Died again?”
“Yeah. It was Cartman’s fault.” Kenny shrugged it off like it was nothing. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, you know, this and that with Princess Diana, if you know what I mean,” Chef said with a wink.
Kenny laughed. “Yeah.” He’d always been the one who understood and appreciated Chef’s jokes best. “So anyways, your lawyers finally got around to finding your will,” he said, as the two of them walked along 66th street.
Chef chuckled. “It’s about time,” he said. “If they found it any later, they’ll probably have to get you from college to get you to hear it. How old are you children now?”
“Eighteen.”
“Not a virgin anymore, right?”
“Oh, please,” said Kenny. “I’ve been getting blowjobs since I was nine. Though I guess yeah, every time I resurrect, my body’s a virgin,” he said thoughtfully.
“Not in the soul, though. Not in the soul.”
“Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks for all the porn,” said Kenny. “Really. I mean, why would you need porn, Chef? You’ve got girls lining up at your doorstep to sleep with you! I wish I could do that!”
“There are just some things that I like doin’ by myself. Girls don’t know how to do everything,” said Chef, and Kenny voiced his agreement. “Besides, you’re not bad of a looker, Kenny. I bet girls want you, too.”
“Yeah, except they’re all about the romance and none of them want to have sex until we’re married.” Kenny rolled his eyes. “They just feel sorry for me because I die all the time and think I need some cuddle buddy to hang out with. Please.”
“Well, like I said,” said Chef. “Girls don’t know how to do everything.”
They hung out for a bit longer (Kenny didn’t know how long; clocks were banned in hell a few years ago after Satan had broken up with Benito Mussolini and had kept counting how many hours had passed since they’d been together before deciding that he didn’t want to know) until Kenny randomly disappeared and woke up in his bed, back on Earth. He sighed and climbed out of bed; it was Monday morning already.
High school hadn’t changed much for any of them, because it was South Park and having things conveniently inconvenient for them just seemed to be this town’s fate. Mr. Garrison wasn’t their teacher anymore, but it didn’t mean they learned much still—Lu Kim, the retired owner of City Wok (he’d retired after he found out that he wasn’t truly Chinese and was actually a psychiatrist with a split personality disorder. It was the fact that he was Chinese when he wasn’t Asian at all that had broken him) had become their math teacher. It was a bit difficult because Mr. Lu Kim kept speaking in an Asian accent that no one could understand, and Kenny had never been very good at math.
“All I know is, one titty plus two titties equals three titties,” he whispered into Kyle’s ear, who sat in front of him.
“Shut up, Kenny,” Kyle whispered back. They had this class together; Cartman had it second period, and Stan, fifth.
“Do you think you could figure out the function of my dick when it’s erect?”
“Kenny, oh my god, shut up.”
“But Kyle, you’re smart enough! I really want to know!”
Kenny was grinning behind his hood. Unfortunately, just before Kyle could turn around to snap at him, Mr. Lu Kim cleared his throat very loudly and said, “May I have your attention, preese?” He was looking pointedly to Kyle and Kenny. “Sank you. Now, as I was saying, I am going to hand out a worksheet for you all to do. You must compreet it before the end of crass. You can work with partners, but don’t be too roud.”
He handed out the worksheets, and then walked to his desk in the back, making a point to bump into Kevin (who was Japanese) on his way there.
As Kenny and Kyle got to their worksheet (it didn’t need to be said that they were going to work together), Kyle said, “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention your dick to me again, dude. I’d rather not think about it.”
“Oh?” A smirk made its way onto Kenny’s face. “Is that because you’d rather think about Stan’s dick instead?”
Kyle pressed his face closer to the worksheet, though his red face was visible. “Shut up,” he said.
Kenny didn’t stop smirking. Kyle had told him in the beginning of the year that he’d harbored a fag crush on Stan for a few years now, and since the crush wasn’t going away, he needed someone to talk to. Obviously Kyle couldn’t tell Stan, and he would never tell Cartman even if his life depended on it, and Kyle wasn’t the type to hang out with girls. Kenny had been the single choice, because he was Kyle’s friend and he was so sexually accepting (literally. His sexuality was yes, not boys or girls, really) so it wasn’t like Kenny would even give a fuck.
Kenny just chewed on the end of his pencil. “You should really do something about it, you know,” he said, giving the only suggestion he’d been giving ever since Kyle had told him. “You can’t hide it from him forever.”
“I know.” Kyle let out a large groan. “Argh, I am so hopeless.”
“If I had a dick for every time I heard you say that, I’d have a lot of dicks.”
“And you’d need a hand for each one of them,” Kyle mumbled.
Kenny shot him a look. “Hey, excuse me.”
“Sorry. I’m sure girls would rather flock over to your dick covered body,” said Kyle, and then groaned again and put his head in his arms. “I can’t tell Stan, though,” he said, muffled against the crook of his elbow. “I mean, what if he hates me? And even if he doesn’t, it’s gonna be awkward between us forever! Our friendship would be ruined!”
“If I had a ball for every time I heard you say something like that, I’d have a lot of balls, too.” Kenny looked up in thought. “Would I rather have a lot of balls, or a lot of dicks?”
“If this is all you can say to me about this,” said Kyle, bringing his head back up, “I think we should get started on this worksheet.”