Nonsense About Romance
Chapter 5: More Extracurricular Shit
written by domolovesyou - illustrated by Noxicosis and SynnesaiKyle wasn’t too nervous when he walked up Stan’s front lawn. He had, after all, been to the Marsh’s house plenty of times before. He’d been there so often that he didn’t even need to ring the doorbell to enter, when at least one person was occupying the house. And Stan wasn’t extremely surprised when Kyle traipsed into his living room and plopped his backpack on the floor, and stood in front of him to block the TV screen.
“Move over, I almost killed that asshole,” said Stan, trying to look around him.
“Dude, we have a physics test tomorrow and you’re here playing Halo,” said Kyle, snatching the controller out of his hand and throwing it to the side. “I’m making you study whether you like it or not.”
“Aw,” said Stan, and scowled at him. “Party pooper.”
“Yes, I’m a party pooper and you’re a lazy ass,” said Kyle, dragging his book bag over closer to the couch as he started sitting down. “Now move over.”
“No.”
“I’ll sit on your feet then.” Kyle sat on his feet and Stan yowled in pain.
“Ow! Give me a little warning next time! You’re fucking heavy!”
“I did warn you,” said Kyle, grinning. “And yes, I am. Now move.”
“Fine.” Stan grumbled and tucked his long legs under him, then scooted a little bit over as Kyle started pulling out his notes from his backpack. “So what are we doing? What are we studying? What’s this test going to be on?”
“Light and color pigments,” said Kyle fondly, as if light and color pigments were the best sections of physics. Which they were.
Stan grumbled again and muttered something about “gay physics” and “gay lights” and “gay color pigments,” that Kyle put his notes down and gave Stan a look. “Well what exactly do you propose we do to help us study?”
“We can look over your gay notes, it’s fine,” Stan mumbled, and they started work.
Obviously Stan didn’t have the attention span that Kyle did, since Kyle noticed that Stan kept tapping the pencil that Kyle had lent him against the worksheet, and caught him absently staring at the clock a few times, or at his GameTetrahedron which Kyle had unceremoniously turned off to keep it from tempting him. Though this didn’t work, since Stan was clearly continuously tempted. Finally, Kyle said, “We can take a break if you want.”
“Yes.” Stan got up from the couch and stretched. “I’m so tired from studying so much.”
“You’ve barely been doing anything.”
“Whatever.” Stan waved him off and walked into the kitchen. “I’m getting something to eat, do you want anything?”
“Sure,” said Kyle, going over to join him. “Nothing too sweet, though.”
“Have I ever forgotten about your diabetes?”
Stan was looking through his refrigerator when Kyle came in. He held up a loaf of bread. “Want a turkey-and-cheese sandwich?”
“Sure,” said Kyle, peering in as well. “Let’s have some lettuce and tomato too. You can’t have a good sandwich without lettuce and tomato.”
“You make a point.” Stan got out the lettuce and tomato. “What else? Mayonnaise?”
“Yeah. Oh, and get that mustard over there.”
“Mm, mustard. And peanut butter and jelly.”
“Peanut butter and jelly? Man, I see the peanut butter part, but why the jelly?”
“Jelly’s really good with cheese and mayonnaise. You’d be surprised.”
“Okay, whatever. How about onions? Onions might also be good.”
“And chips. And—wait—I think I have some coffee mix and rice cakes too.”
In the end, they ended up getting almost anything that could be cut into a relatively small enough size to go on a sandwich. And even that wasn’t enough, because Stan was looking through the pantry when he was done because that was where the spices were kept. Kyle stepped back and said, “I’m looking forward to eating this sandwich.”
“It’s gonna be a pretty badass sandwich.” Stan pulled out pepper, salt and sugar. “To add even more taste,” he said, to Kyle’s disgusted face.
“Well okay, but don’t put too much sugar on mine,” said Kyle.
“Oh—wait, I have cinnamon! Look!” Stan pulled out a large container of cinnamon. “I didn’t even know we had this! It feels like we never used it.”
“Dude, you know what we should do?” Kyle said excitedly. “We should do the cinnamon challenge!”
“Oh my god, dude, we should!” Stan closed the pantry door and put the container on the counter. “You and me both?” he asked.
“I don’t know about me, actually. I don’t think I could handle it vey well.”
“That’s okay. I’ll do it by myself then,” said Stan. “Are you just gonna watch?”
“We should record it,” said Kyle. “And then post it on Face—”
“You better not say Facebook.”
“—YouToob for everyone to watch!”
“That’s what I thought you were going to say,” said Stan.
They found Stan’s dad’s video camera, and then brought a spoon and the large box of cinnamon to the bathroom “In case I need to throw it up,” said Stan, which was very likely. Then Kyle turned on the camera and started recording, giggling at what his best friend was about to do.
“So Kyle and I were looking through my kitchen when we found this cinnamon,” said Stan into the camera, “and then we decided that we should do the cinnamon challenge. Unfortunately, Kyle being the pussy he is chickened out—”
“I have diabetes!”
“—so you’re only going to get the pleasure of watching me.”
Stan gave a charming little smile into the camera, and then said to Kyle, “Ready?”
“I think I should be asking you that,” said Kyle.
Stan took out a spoonful of cinnamon, then took a deep breath and looked at the video camera again. “Here goes,” he said, and then put the whole spoonful in his mouth.
Kyle watched with some trepidation as Stan struggled to swallow, then struggled to breathe, and seemed to get some of it down his throat before he turned purple. Then green. Choking on his laughter, Kyle directed the video camera to the toilet as Stan ran over to it to puke, and made little sobbing noises as he tried to get all the cinnamon out of his mouth.
“Are you laughing?” Stan said from his face halfway in the toilet bowl, and Kyle silently nodded, covering his mouth with his one hand and shaking because he was trying to suppress it so much. “This bastard Kyle is laughing,” Stan said to the camera, pointing over to him. “My best friend.”
“I can’t help it! You look funny when you throw up!” said Kyle.
“This bastard,” Stan repeated, and then puked a little again.
Kyle giggled.
Kenny understood why Kyle was considered the smart one in their group, because his suggestion to get Butters to like him was genius. Of course, Butters was completely oblivious and couldn’t tell what Kenny was doing at first, but that made everything easier because Kenny was being really obvious and if he’d been found out so soon into this attempt at courtship thing, his resolve for a relationship would have crumbled. But Butters was slow on the uptake, thus doing wonderful things for Kenny’s confidence (though not so much for his patience.)
All throughout the school day he did what he could to flirt with Butters—talk with him and make conversation with him, which was surprisingly easy. Butters did seem a bit confused at first because while they were pretty good friends and talked now and then, Kenny started behaving the way he behaved when hanging out with Stan and Kyle and Cartman, except with a bit more romantic intent. Butters probably thought Kenny was just being a nice guy, though, and didn’t question him and treated Kenny the way he always treated him, and everyone else. Butters was predictable like that.
After school, Kenny hung back because he knew Butters had Dance Team (seriously, could you get any gayer than that?) and even though Stan didn’t have football practice today, Kenny didn’t mind walking home. He knew Dance Team practices were in the cafeteria, having spied on them before.
“Oh, hi Kenny!” said Butters when Kenny walked in. “Are you joinin’ the Dance Team? Then I won’t be the only boy!”
“Nah, sorry,” said Kenny. “Just wanted to watch.” He gave him a smile though he wasn’t sure if Butters could see it behind his hood, but apparently he could because Butters returned a smile to him.
Bebe, who was on the Dance Team too, gave him a dirty look. “Get lost, Kenny, we know that you just want to stare at our tits.”
“Unfortunately, Bebe, that’s not why I’m here today,” said Kenny, looking her up and down. “Though I wouldn’t protest. But I’m actually more interested in Butters than you girls,” and here he winked at Butters, which Butters completely missed.
Bebe scoffed. “Yeah, right,” she said, though seemed a bit more convinced when Kenny laid on his stomach on the ground, propped up his elbows and stared at only Butters.
Butters, on the other hand, looked surprised at being the object of such attention, but nonetheless pleased. “I’m really good at dancin’!” he said to Kenny, beaming. “Before I was too scared to, ‘c-cause of the tap-dancing incident,” Kenny snorted, he remembered that, “b-but these girls helped me out!”
He gestured to the girls, with their big tits and all, who were glaring at Kenny as if they expected him to say something crude and perverse about them “helping” Butters. But he just smiled and said, “I bet they did,” and proceeded to watch the Dance Team practice.
Butters, as he had boasted, was as good of a dancer as these girls, and in some cases better. Kenny didn’t know anything about dancing, but he could definitely say that Butters’s movements were much more visually appealing, and Butters was just more appealing in general. Kenny’s lips curved when Butters bounced to the middle front, and Butters happened to notice and his cheeks turned a very attractive shade of red. Kenny had to bite his lip from laughing out loud: Butters really was too oblivious and clueless for his own good. It was adorable.
When the dance practice was over, the girls and Butters said good-bye to each other and Butters went over to a cafeteria table and picked up what Kenny assumed to be his water bottle (it was covered with Hello Kitty stickers.) Kenny came up behind him and said, “You did a great job,” and Butters jumped and turned around to look at him.
“O-Oh, I didn’t know you were still here, Kenny,” he stammered, cheeks still red, and Kenny was pretty sure it was mostly not because of the dance practice. “I thought you left.”
“Well I said I came here to see you, didn’t I?”
“I-I just thought you were usin’ that excuse so you could—could look at those girls.” Butters blushed again and took a hearty sip of water probably to distract himself, though it didn’t seem to work as he ended up choking on it instead.
“Are you okay?” asked Kenny worriedly, and when Butters nodded despite looking rather suffocated, Kenny said, “Good.” He patted Butters on the back as Butters managed to breathe again, and then said, “I wouldn’t use you as an excuse, Butters.”
“You wouldn’t? Really? I-I thought you might.”
“Do I really seem like that bad of a guy to you?” asked Kenny.
“O-Oh no!” said Butters quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant! I just—thought—” and he broke off stuttering, turning red again.
“What?” said Kenny, genuinely interested.
“Well uh, you don’t usually pay much attention to me, th-that’s all,” he heard Butters mumble, shuffling his feet.
Kenny rolled his eyes. “I pay plenty of attention to you,” he said. He was bluffing, but he was going to be paying more attention to Butters from now on so he might as well make him think that he had always been doing so all along. “You just don’t notice.”
“I-I don’t?”
“Of course you don’t,” said Kenny with a teasing grin. “You’re Butters.”
“Hey!” said Butters indignantly, but then he saw the smile hidden on Kenny’s face and couldn’t help smiling himself. “I-I guess that’s true, what you said,” he admitted. “I know I don’t notice a-a lot of things.”
“I like it,” said Kenny, and then pinched his cheek. “I think it’s cute.”
He’d never really called a guy cute before but the words flowed out of his mouth like liquid, and Butters turned a bright shade of pink and said, “H-Hey Kenny, you don’t think I’m like a girl or nothin’, do you? You’re not supposed to call boys cute, only girls.”
“Pah, I can call you cute if I want.” Kenny pinched Butters’s cheek again and smirked. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with calling guys cute. I think plenty of guys are.”
“M-My dad says that only girls are cute,” said Butters. “Boys are supposed to be handsome an-and stuff.”
“Did your dad say you’d get grounded if you called a boy cute?”
“... yeah.”
“Well then,” said Kenny cheerfully. “I guess I’m grounded.”
“Oh, no!” Butters’s eyes went wide with fear. “Kenny, you can’t be grounded! You didn’t do anything wrong! You didn’t know—”
He broke off when Kenny laughed at him, and his little blond eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Kenny said, “I was joking Butters, geez. Your dad can’t ground me. He’s your dad, not mine.”
“O-Oh right,” said Butters, turning pink again. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Kenny slung an arm around his shoulder in a very bro-way, except more like Butters was a girl-bro (if such thing existed) that he was flirting with. “If I get grounded, I think you should get grounded too,” he said in a low tone, with a smirk. “So we’ll both be grounded together.”
“Why do you wanna get grounded with-with me?”
“Who else would I want to get grounded with? Cartman?”
“Oh yeah, no one wants to get grounded with Eric,” said Butters.
“Exactly,” said Kenny. “C’mon, Butters. I dare you to get grounded.” A Cheshire grin weaved across his face. “I dare you to call me cute.”
That definitely caught Butters off-guard. “W-What?” he said, looking alarmed. “Why?”
“Don’t you think I’m cute?” said Kenny.
“W-Well, I do think you’re mighty good-lookin’ and all, Kenny,” said Butters, “especially when you put your hood down, but I don’t know if-if you’re cute, really.” He wasn’t looking him in the eye. “I’m thinkin’ you’re more handsome, really,” he mumbled.
“Oh, but that’s no fun, you’re not breaking your dad’s rule then,” said Kenny, though he was pretty sure that Mr. Stotch’s intention was that Butters shouldn’t remark on any male’s attractiveness, at all. But being called handsome was hardly—eugh, Kenny cringed at that thought. “How about think of another way to describe me that your dad says you can’t?”
“I-I don’t know,” said Butters. “My dad says that I shouldn’t ever—shouldn’t ever call anyone sexy at all, boy or girl.”
“Do you think I’m sexy?”
And here Kenny lowered his hood so that Butters could see his face well, and even though the school cafeteria was fucking freezing, it was worth it to see the shock on his face and the pink rising in Butters’s cheeks.
“Y-Yeah, I think you’re sexy,” he stammered.
Kenny zippered his hood back up, but his smile was visible. “Good,” he said.
“Goddammit, ho, this is an inaccurate statement! Women aren’t supposed to have the capability to uphold a position of power, not are!”
“Cartman,” said Wendy with what seemed to be as much patience as she could manage. “This is an opinion column. You can’t change the opinions of the person who wrote it.”
“Who is the fucking retard who wrote it?”
“I did.”
“You’re a fucking retard!” said Cartman, and then threw the article draft down and sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “You’re breakin’ my balls here, Wendy.”
“If I literally could, that would be wonderful.”
The two of them were cooped up in the newspaper room, being the only ones who actually came to the meeting today. Usually Thursday meetings weren’t mandatory, which everyone took as a chance to not attend, to avoid the fire-breathing monsters that were Cartman and Wendy. Though that often resulted in problems, because having no one around to break them apart and to stop their arguments usually ended up in other things breaking, like that one time Cartman stepped on a desk causing it to completely fall apart, or that other time when Wendy threw a computer out the window. (It was a PC, though, so no one really cared.)
It was annoying, Cartman decided, to edit papers because while there wasn’t a massive amount of grammar mistakes as one would expect from people from South Park High School, some of them had the most skewed views of issues or got the facts wrong. For instance, fewer minorities should be integrated into school systems, not more. And everyone in the government was currently a “fucking retard” (as Cartman liked to say) and that they shouldn’t have a democracy anymore, but a unitary autocracy wherein Cartman was the leader and they would listen to everything that he said.
Of course, no one agreed with his opinion on this because everyone was a fucking retard. But this was not the case.
“Cartman,” said Wendy, in that same strained patient voice. “Can you please stop chewing on your pencil and wishing it’s a chicken pot pie and actually help me edit these articles?”
Cartman glared at her. “I’m not wishing that my pencil’s a chicken pot pie.”
“Oh really? By the look on your face, I would have thought otherwise.”
“And why is that, ho?”
“Because you like eating all the time!”
“So what? It looks like you hardly eat at all!” Cartman gestured to Wendy’s admittedly attractive body. “At least I’m healthier than you! I’m not a fucking anorexic!”
“I’m not anorexic, Cartman, I just care about my figure! And there’s no way you could be healthier than me, eating too much is bad for you, you know!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
They glared at each other, and then huffed and faced opposite directions. Wendy continued editing her articles. Cartman resumed chewing on his pencil.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself, out loud. “I gotta take a shit.”
Wendy crinkled her nose and looked up. “Ew, did I have to know that? And did you have to say ‘take a shit’? Why don’t you say that you need to go to the bathroom? Or that you need to evacuate your bowels?”
“‘Why don’t you say that you need to go to the bathroom or evacuate your bowels?’” Cartman mimicked. “For your information, bitch, I am a man, and men don’t use any pussy language like that.”
Wendy scoffed. “It is not ‘pussy language,’ and men should. Men should be proper and respectful, at least around women, because—”
“See? See? Now you’re pulling that sexist shit on me!” said Cartman, pointing to her.
“It is not sexist shit! It’s common courtesy!”
“Guys don’t use common courtesy around each other! When I’m with other guys, I say, ‘Man I gotta take a shit,’ and they don’t freak out about it!”
“Well I am not a guy, if you haven’t noticed!”
“I have noticed!”
They glared at each other and then folded their arms and turned their backs on each other again. Cartman blew his brown bangs out of his eyes irritably. Stupid bitch.
“Hey, ho,” he said after a while, when they had been sitting in silence and doing work. Well, Wendy had been doing most of the work; Cartman was just sitting there and offering moral support, if anyone were to ask. “When’s your birthday?”
Wendy glanced up from revising the second-to-last article and gave him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know?”
Cartman held his hands up. “Hey, hey, is there a law that says that I can’t ask hippies when their birthdays are? Jesus Christ.”
Wendy rolled her eyes and returned to her work. “It’s in the summer.”
“Goddammit,” Cartman muttered to himself. Summer wasn’t for another several months, and by then they’d be going off to college or whatever and he probably wouldn’t see her then. He wouldn’t have an excuse to buy her something then, without coming off as being kind. Well, even if he got her something for her birthday, he would come off as being kind, but less kind than if he were to just get her a gift at random.
“And it’ll be too late to blow up Israel by then,” he muttered to himself, because his deal with the Palestinians only lasted until May.
“What? You’re blowing up Israel?”
“I said I was growing an animal pen,” said Cartman without missing a beat.
Wendy gave him a funny look, but didn’t ask any further. If fatass was blowing up a country, she didn’t want to be held responsible for being able to have possibly prevented him.