The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 1: Vivisection Now! — The Race to First Base
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessCartman stood behind the open door of his locker, his gym kit slung over the top, and eyed Kyle. Or, to give him the full name Cartman knew him as, that skinny little midget Jew rat Kyle. He was talking to Stan, one arm out of his gym t-shirt, as Stan hastily dried himself off.
"So, you're not coming round to play 'Zombie Sodomy Massacre VII'?"
"Can't. Wendy wants to see 'Light a Candle for My Broken Heart' at the movies." Stan hastily tugged on his underpants, and sprayed liberal quantities of Lynx deodorant everywhere he could. Kyle coughed; Cartman was sure he could see his eyes water.
"That dumb chick flick? Why do you want to see that?" Kyle asked, while Stan nearly toppled over in his rush to tug on his jeans. "Some film about a chick who gets cancer and falls in love with her radiographer? Who uses candles to send her love notes in Morse code because he's the only person who can treat her and he'll get struck off if anyone finds out? You seriously think that'll be good?"
"No, dude; it'll be totally lame," Stan replied in a disgusted tone as he pulled on his sweater and combed his hair into something resembling a style. "But Wendy really wants to see it, and if I take her, she might let me put my tongue in her mouth when we kiss."
"Sweet!" Kyle enthused in a way that suggested to Cartman he was only excited on Stan's behalf. Of course Kyle wouldn't be interested in girls and putting tongues in their mouths. Kyle was at the back of the queue when it came to handing out puberty; God probably sent him there for being Jewish. All he'd got out of the deal was skin that had erupted with the force of Vesuvius. All the boys were taller than him. So were all the girls. Cartman obviously pointed this out to him at every opportunity, because what were friends for if not to endlessly rip on their Jew friends for being spotty, scrawny and generally physically repugnant?
Stan slouched on the bench and tied his sneakers. Now Stan was someone to whom puberty had smiled upon. He was tall, graceful, handsome — objectively speaking; Cartman wasn't some kind of gay-wad, thank you very much — with messy dark hair that always looked cool and a straight, shiny smile.
"I'll catch you later, man," Stan said as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Good luck, dude," Kyle replied as Stan scooted off. "I bet you ten bucks he gets struck off and she dies in his arms!"
Stan stopped and turned around. Kyle flashed him a cheeky smile, all crooked and gun-metal grey. Oh, Kyle had braces; big metal ones with garishly coloured bands. As if Cartman's life couldn't have been made any easier.
Cartman watched as Kyle's smile faltered; his shoulders drooped and he started to get undressed. Cartman followed suit; pulling down his underpants just as Kyle absently poked at an angry looking pus filled zit on his shoulder. Cartman glowered at him; he fervently hoped it would burst in the little Jew bastard's face after what he did in their eighth grade gym class. They were exercising with medicine balls, and the little rat threw his right in Cartman's balls while he was trying to do a sit-up. It wasn't even one of the sissy two pound ones only girls used, but a goddamn fourteen pounder — right in the nuts. The pain was so intense Cartman thought he would pass out. It was completely unprovoked; all Cartman had done was chat with Kyle about how he'd have to use the pussy two pound medicine balls because he was Jewish and everyone knew Jews couldn't lift heavy weights because they were so puny, and Cartman knew this to be fact because he'd seen those old black and white photos where they were in stripy pyjamas with papery skin and jutting ribs. Kyle had got up, walked over to the rack of medicine balls, gritted his teeth as he lifted the fourteen pounder — which proved Cartman's point — and then threw the thing straight at Cartman's unguarded balls, just as he had finally managed to lift his shoulders off the mat. He had cried to Mr Blowitz, their decrepit old gym teacher who had to be nearly eighty, but he acted as though he had never seen it. Cartman knew the walking rotting corpse was lying; he was standing right next to them, and he smiled — smiled! — at Kyle afterwards. Freaky asshole; he was always giving Kyle weird looks. Cartman figured he must be some sort of paedophile, although why the school let him work there he could never figure out. It's not like he even hid the fact he had been in jail; he had his prison number tattooed on his forearm, for Christ's sake.
Well, if the corrupt school system wasn't going to meter out justice, Cartman was just going to have to get it for himself.
When Kyle grabbed his bottle of medicated wash — some day-glo lotion that made him smell like hospitals — and headed to the now empty showers, Cartman took his chance. He was going to get his revenge. He'd seen through cracks in his mother's bedroom door what her gentleman friends did to her if she had been naughty; he knew just what to do.
He stood next to Kyle as he put conditioner on his hair — what a fucking girl — which almost touched his shoulders when soaking wet.
"Evening, Kyle," he said as he took his own shower gel and started lathering up. Kyle glared at him.
"What are you doing, Cartman?" he asked in a low voice laced with suspicion.
"Showering off after a hard gym class, why else would I be here?"
"Yes, but why are you standing right next to me, and not under any of the other dozen shower heads that are currently free in this empty shower block?"
Cartman looked Kyle up and down. "I just thought it would be nice to talk to my friend Kyle while we soap down our hot, sweaty bodies," he replied nonchalantly.
"How the hell did you manage to get sweaty, fatass? From bending over to tie your—"
Cartman didn't give Kyle the chance to finish and instead tackled him to the wet ceramic floor.
"What the hell are you doing?" Kyle yelled as Cartman struggled to get purchase on Kyle's skinny frame; the weird lotion he used made him slipperier than a priest avoiding molestation charges. Finally he managed to sit up and hold him on his lap, his ass wiggling in the air as he tried to get away.
"Oh no, Kyle," he said in his best authoritarian voice, remembering how those men had spoken to his mother. "You've been a very naughty little girl and you need to be punished."
"What the fuck are you — Ow!" Kyle yelled in surprise as Cartman brought the palm of his hand down on his ass in a stinging slap.
"I'm punishing you," he said, slapping him repeatedly on the buttocks and grinning as he saw the skin there redden. Kyle kept trying to squirm away; this was clearly hurting him. Well, that would teach him to throw fourteen pound medicine balls in bigger, more handsome boys' nut sacks.
"Say my name, bitch," Cartman hissed as he continued to hit Kyle.
"Stop it, you fucking freak!" Kyle yelled. He balled his hand into a fist and punched Cartman's thigh, but he was much too stocky and big-boned for it to actually hurt.
"Say my name!"
"No way, you fucking weirdo! Quit doing — Ow!"
"Nyah uh! Daddy needs to teach you a lesson; you've got to beg Daddy to stop, you dirty little slut!"
"Jesus Christ, Cartman, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
Cartman was about to deliver another stinging blow when he felt a sharp pain on his arm. The little Jew rat had bitten him! Before he could recover from the shock, Kyle had pulled himself up onto his knees and straddled Cartman. He pulled his arm back and with a grunt of effort, thrust his fist straight into Cartman's face.
Cartman felt as though his whole face had broken.
Tears stung his eyes as he felt something hot and wet dribble down his nose and over his lips. He stuck his tongue out and tasted blood.
Kyle stood up, shaking. His teeth were gritted and his fists clenched. He tilted his head forward to meet Cartman's eyes, which made his enormous nose seem even larger. Cartman, however, was distracted by something even more hideous.
He couldn't help but point at Kyle's testicles.
"Oh my God, you've got ginger—"
"You ever, ever, touch me like that again, I swear to Abraham I will fucking kill you," he spat, before backing away into the changing rooms and running towards his locker, almost slipping over as he did so. He grabbed his clothes and a towel and locked himself in a toilet cubicle.
Cartman watched the blood as it gurgled down the plughole. His whole face hurt; despite a puny child-like body, that Jew could really throw a punch.
Then Cartman remembered the red hand print on Kyle's backside, and he started to laugh.
"Oh my God, you've got my handprint on your ass! That's, like, so frickin' funny!"
"Shut up, Cartman!" Kyle yelled from inside the cubicle. Cartman got up and rinsed the blood away before scuttling out of the shower and finding some paper towels to stem the flow still pouring from his nose.
Then he remembered what was probably the greatest discovery a thirteen year old boy could have ever made in a shower block after gym class.
"Oh my God!" Cartman shouted out again.
"What?" Kyle sounded murderous, but there was something about Kyle in a murderous rage that deeply entertained Cartman; providing he was safely out of harm's way.
"You've got ginger pubes! You've got ginger pubes! Nyah nyah nyah, nyah, nyah nyah! You've got ginger pubes!"
Stan found Wendy waiting for him by the school steps, wrapped up in a trench coat that was a size too big for her and wearing skinny jeans tucked into flat boots. Stan thought she looked adorable. His heart skipped a beat as she rushed towards him.
"Hi, Stan," she said, kissing him chastely on the cheek.
"Hey, Wendy," he replied, taking her gloved hand in his as they walked along the street. She was a little taller than him, and he hoped that would change when they were older; he didn't exactly love being Tom Cruise to her Nicole Kidman, but he lived with it.
"How was gym?" she asked
"Lame," he replied. "We had to do, like, circuit training. Highlight of the whole class was Kyle hitting Cartman in the balls with a medicine ball. How about your gym class?"
"Painful," she replied. "We had hockey. Red's vicious. I've got bruises all down my shins."
"Aww; want me to kiss them better?"
Wendy blushed. "Maybe another time." She stopped walking and kissed him smack on the lips.
"Wow, what was that for?"
"For taking me to this movie," she said, smiling. "I know it isn't exactly a guy thing."
"Well, I'd be lying if I said my friends are jealous. But, you know, they don't get you resting your head on their shoulder for two hours, so I'd say that's their loss." He absently stroked her hair as he said this.
"Aren't you cold?" she asked as they approached the centre of town; a centre that really just comprised of one street and a small industrial estate.
Stan looked down at his unbuttoned sheepskin jacket. "Nope." He grinned. "What guy could possibly be cold near a hottie like you, anyway?"
Wendy's eyes narrowed at this. "Okay, Stan. What do you want?"
"Huh?"
"You're laying the compliments on a bit thick. So, what are you trying to wheedle out of me?"
"Nothing! I swear!"
Wendy merely smiled to herself. "Whatever."
"Can't I say nice things about my super cute, super-hot, smart, witty, mature, loving girlfriend without having a hidden agenda?" he asked amiably. Wendy said nothing, and instead let go of his hand and tucked her arm through his as they walked.
South Park's only movie theatre was situated at the end of the high street and staffed by a man who treated Stan with utmost suspicion whenever he bought a ticket.
"Two, please." Stan said, handing over fifteen bucks. There was no need to say which film; only one was every shown at a time. The usher looked at Stan and then at Wendy, as though he couldn't believe how lucky the fourteen year old was. At least, that's how Stan saw it. He took his tickets with a smile and slung his arm over Wendy's shoulder as they entered the theatre. Wendy bought them both popcorn and soda because she called herself a new wave feminist. From what Stan could gather, this meant she wore brightly coloured bras — he could see the straps peek out from under her vest tops sometimes — and insisted on going Dutch on every date. Could she be any more perfect?
The screen itself was pretty much full of women with thick-framed glasses and twin sets. Stan and Wendy took seats at the back, the ones slightly left of centre because they didn't have cigarette burns on the upholstery or chewing gum on the arm rest. It if were a film neither of them were that interested in, they would have sat in the back corner because it was easier to make out there. A quick glance to his right told him a couple had already bought tickets to this film for that very reason. A more intense study showed him Kenny was the perpetrator. He waved casually, and Kenny waved back just as he was reaching under the mystery girl's shirt. She slapped his hand away so fiercely Stan thought he felt it, too.
Wendy let out a gentle sigh and rested her head against Stan's shoulder, prompting him to forget about everything else. Which was just as well, because the film sucked donkey balls. It was just some chick at the doctor's looking weepy, then the same chick sitting in the park watching red-orange leaves swirl around in the sky, then some doctor with big eyes and designer stubble fitting her with tubes while intense music played. Then Wendy leant over for some soda, her fingers sliding over Stan's as he gripped the cup. She sucked on the straw in a manner that Stan managed to find rather erotic, which got him thinking about kissing her again, so he started stroking her hair because he knew she liked it and it felt nice and silky between his fingertips. Then the doctor lit candles with tears in his big doe eyes and finally the doctor gave up his career so they could spend the chick's last few months together, which made Wendy sob buckets but pissed Stan off because now he owed Kyle ten bucks.
Still, outside the theatre he got to comfort Wendy and make her feel all safe, secure and possibly a little horny, so it wasn't all bad.
"Hey, it's okay. She doesn't really die."
"She doesn't?" Wendy's voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his sweater; he had his hands in his pockets and his arms and jacket wrapped around her, cocooning her against his chest.
"Sure." He kissed the top of her head. "His brother is, like, the best radiograph dude ever and he comes to help them. He's got some puppy that can sniff out cancer, and they make her all better so they can get married and live in a house with a big back yard and lots of trees."
"What about the puppy?"
"They adopt him."
Wendy drew herself up to her full height and wiped her eyes. She smiled, and started playing with the belt loops on his jeans, seemingly engrossed in the action until she looked at him shyly through her long lashes. Stan felt his stomach lurch pleasantly. He recognised that cue; it was what she did whenever she felt he should be romantic or intimate. Given there were no flowers within a half mile radius, it could only mean one thing.
He leant towards her, trying not to appear too eager, and let their lips brush together. She felt warm and pliant, her lips parted a little and fire tickled deep in the pit of his stomach. Hell yeah, his dreams were finally about to come true...
"Stop animal cruelty! Close down Harrison Life Sciences!"
Wendy broke away and Stan inwardly cursed the mob of protesters heading their way. One of them, a short woman in a cable-knit sweater and glasses, shoved a leaflet in Stan's face.
"No, thank you," he said crossly, but Wendy took it and studied the contents.
"Close down Harrison Life Sciences!" the woman continued to shout. "End animal torture!"
"What?" Stan found himself asking.
"We want to end Harrison Life Sciences' horrific record of animal abuse!" The woman eyed them both eagerly. "Did you know they ship monkeys over from Peru and cut out parts of their brains? Are you going to stand by and let that happen?" She stared at Stan as though he personally were chopping up monkeys.
"Oh no! How awful!" Wendy exclaimed. "We have to do something, Stan!"
"Come to our meeting tonight," the woman said, pointing at the leaflet in Wendy's hand. Stan found himself staring helplessly at the flyer. The sad, wounded eyes of a puppy covered in sores stared back at him pleadingly.
"...So you've totally got to come, Kyle!"
Kyle pressed the 'end' button on his mobile phone and ended the voicemail. It was rare to hear Stan rage about anything, but when he did it almost always involved animals. Four legs good, two legs bad... He shook his head and inspected his red-raw skin. He had practically jumped in the shower upon getting home and scrubbed himself so hard that some of his spots had started bleeding. His ass was actually bruised. That fucking freak.
His phone rang again; he answered it while getting changed.
"Dude, I said I'd come!"
"Maybe Stan's into that sort of thing, Kyle, but keep it in your pants with me, yeah?" The giggling that followed was all too familiar to Kyle.
He rolled his eyes and pulled on his long-sleeved t-shirt. "Oh, hey Kenny. I take it you got Stan's message?"
"Yeah. You going?"
Kyle sighed. "Yeah. That's what friends do, right?"
"Yeah, plus I got one of those flyers shoved at me, too. There's free wine and nibbles; I'm fucking there!"
"You wanna walk there together?"
"Dude, I'm already outside your fucking house!" The call cut off and Kyle heard his front doorbell ring. He got dressed as fast as he could and ran down the stairs, just as his mother was engaging Kenny in conversation.
"... And how are you, Kenny?"
"All the better for seeing you, Mrs. Broflovski," he replied in a sickly sweet voice. Kyle cringed in horror as he watched Kenny's eyes glaze over and settle at her chest region.
"That's great, Kenny, but we'd better be going!" He all but shoved Kenny out onto the porch as he grabbed his coat.
"Kyle! That's no way to treat your guest!" his mother remonstrated.
"We're just in a hurry, Ma," he said, speedily fastening the buttons.
"Well, make sure you're back by ten, Bubbeleh," she replied. "And Kenny, you make sure he doesn't lose track of time. I know how you boys are about band practice."
"Umm, sure, Mrs. B," Kenny said uncertainly as Kyle nudged him sharply in the ribs.
"Love you, Ma," Kyle called sweetly as he shut the door.
Kenny stared at him.
"Band practice?" he queried incredulously.
Kyle shrugged. "It's the only activity on tonight where she doesn't know anyone's parents."
"You've got real sneaky in your old age," Kenny commented admiringly. Kyle punched him hard in the arm.
"Ow! What the fuck did you do that for?" Kenny rubbed his arm.
"For staring at my Mom's boobs!" Kyle snapped back. "You're not even subtle about it! She thinks you're shy and have issues with eye-contact!"
Kenny shrugged. "I can't help it; she has a fantastic rack. It's all full and maternal; you could just nestle between them after a hard day's work and all your cares would just vanish." He sighed. "You're so lucky; once upon a time you got to suck on them titties—"
"Sick, dude! That's my mom!"
They walked along in a comfortable silence, Kyle grateful for the fact. He liked hanging out with Kenny — he wasn't much taller than him, for one, and that made him feel less of a freak — but he was so damn handsome that Kyle felt subhuman in comparison. How did he miss out on zits? Why did he get to have straight blonde hair? Kyle knew he was never going to be model material, but every time he saw his reflection, he just figured God was taking the piss.
"You okay?" Kenny asked quietly. "I didn't freak you out too much, right?" He peered through his bangs at Kyle, head hunched into his coat like a turtle trying to hide in its shell.
"It's cool," Kyle replied, noticing the threadbare patches on Kenny's jacket. "I've got a scarf if you want it; Mom insists on way too many layers," he lied. He was fucking freezing, but he had a padded coat and Kenny needed it more than him. He took the scarf off and placed it around Kenny's neck. Kenny didn't argue.
By the time they reached the venue, even Cartman had beaten them to it.
"About goddamn time you lazy Jew!" he shouted.
"Shut your fat mouth, you freak," Kyle growled back, shoving past him as Wendy pushed the doors to the community centre open.
"You okay, dude?" Stan asked as they went inside.
"Fine," Kyle lied. There was just no way he could explain to Stan what had happened in the showers; he felt like he kind of understood why Julie Spencer in ninth grade hadn't wanted to say anything when the police interviewed her about having her boobs felt up by the 'FunTyme' arcade manager who had greasy hair and smelled of milk. Apparently he'd said she could play the games for free. That was an awkward time; Kenny had said if he let her play 'Cheerleader Rampage II' then the very least she could do was suck him off. It had taken the police three hours to talk Julie out of the toilets.
Cartman gagged as he entered the community hall. "Oh my God, it stinks of hippies!" he complained, coughing dramatically.
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Why are you even here, fatass?"
Cartman looked outraged. "Because, Kyle, I care deeply about the plight of those poor, defenceless animals!"
Kyle continued to glare at him. Cartman stared back.
"And Stan said he'd buy me some Snaky S'Mores."
Kyle trained his frosty glance onto Stan, who merely shrugged.
There was a convenient row of three seats nearby. Stan offered one to Wendy before sitting down next to her. Kenny had made a beeline for the buffet, and was stuffing as much food as he could into his jacket. Cartman went to take the last remaining seat, but instead gestured for Kyle to take it.
"Would you like to sit down, Kyle?" he asked in a sickeningly saccharine voice.
Kyle felt himself grow red. "No, thank you," he managed to spit out, subconsciously rubbing his ass.
Cartman smirked and put his hands on Kyle's shoulders. "I knew you wouldn't be able to sit down after I'd finished with you," he whispered in his ear. A couple next to them stared, aghast.
The rabble started to quieten down as a woman in cheesecloth and dreadlocks took to a makeshift podium near the basketball hoop. Kyle noticed that Kenny was still clearing out the buffet.
"Hi everyone, thank you for coming. My name is Clarice, and I'm the president of MYOPIA — the Many Young and Old Protestors against Injustice to Animals," she announced in a reed thin voice. "As you all know, the evil, animal torturing corporation Harrison Life Sciences have taken residence here in South Park and we have to put an end to their... their butchery!"
The crowd cheered in angry agreement. Kyle stuck his hand up, but Clarice ignored him.
"We have formulated an effective strategy to—"
"Excuse me?" Kyle piped up.
"An effective strategy to take down—"
"Hey, lady!" Kyle yelled. Everyone turned to look at him.
Clarice sighed in irritation. "Yes, little boy?"
Kyle felt his blood simmer at that; if there's one thing he hated, it was that particular epithet. Like he needed reminding.
"What do Harrison Life Sciences do?" he asked.
Clarice looked at him as though her were retarded. "They torture animals, and—"
"No; what do they actually do?"
She looked blankly at him, so Kyle continued. "You said they were an evil corporation. Evil corporations have to make money to keep being corporations. I'm no economics expert, but I'm pretty sure you can't make money just from torturing animals. The animal torture must be a by-product, so what do they do?"
Clarice sighed. "They're a research company who work in neuroscience—"
Kyle got up. "Right. Thanks. That's all I needed to know."
Stan grabbed his arm. "Dude, where are you going?"
"Home," he said simply. "This isn't about animal torture. This is about legitimate medical research, and I'd be a hypocrite if I tried to stop that."
Clarice glowered at him. "Go ahead and leave, animal torturer!" she screeched, taking out an inhaler from her pocket and putting it to her lips. She breathed in hard.
"Dude! How could you?" Stan gasped hotly.
"Yeah," Wendy piped up. "These are innocent creatures being mistreated; how could you be so heartless?"
Kyle pointed at Clarice. "And she's a hypocrite!" he said firmly, and the whole congregation gasped.
Clarice turned purple with rage. "How dare—"
"You're using an inhaler to stave off an asthma attack. How many animals do you think they tested those drugs on? You're trying to stop something that you reap the benefits of every day; you hypocrite."
Clarice was speechless as the crowd looked at each other in surprise. She appeared to compose herself.
"I... I... That... That was done a long time ago, before we became better educated on how we should treat—"
"And how do you think they create pioneering cancer treatments, test them on trees?" he replied breezily, getting into his stride. "It's not nice, but neither is building houses on animal territory or breeding them just for food. It's what we do to survive, and that's the choice you have to make. Do you want to die of some horrible disease, or inject a few mice to find a cure that'll improve your quality of life?"
"The little spotty kid's right!" someone announced. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Soon, all but ten of the congregation simply got up and left. Stan and Wendy stared at Kyle in horror.
"Dude!"
"What?"
"Yeah, Kyle's right," Cartman said. "Goddamn hippies..."
Kyle inwardly grimaced; he never enjoyed it when he and Cartman had the same opinion on anything. Thankfully such occasions were few and far between.
Wendy looked forlorn. "Come on, let's go," she said sadly, and Kyle almost felt bad for speaking his mind as she brushed gently past him.
"Wendy, wait up!" Stan almost knocked his chair over in an attempt to reach her, but not before he shot Kyle an angry glare. Kyle bit his tongue; he would have liked to point out Stan was only so enthusiastic about this whole MYOPIA group so he could get his tongue in Wendy's mouth, but Kyle knew — when it came to animals at least — his intentions were true. He wondered if Stan would feel quite the same way if it were snakes being experimented on.
The exit was swiftly blocked by Clarice and two burly — and armed — guys with torn combat pants and Birkenstocks.
"Where do you think you're going, saboteurs?" she demanded haughtily.
"Home. This is a total bust," Stan said.
"Thanks to Kyle," Wendy added crossly. Kyle stopped feeling guilty and firmly decided she could go fuck herself.
The two men pointed their guns at them. Clarice smiled darkly from behind them.
"Oh no," she said. "MYOPIA are going to shut down that torture chamber, and seeing as you drove away all of our supporters with your evil propaganda, you're going to have to do it." She eyed Kyle and her eyes glittered with malice. "Maybe once you're forced to see the truth, you'll think twice before spreading your ignorant, animal-hating lies!"
Cartman nudged Kyle. "Man, she's totally hot for you. Poor bitch."
"Dude, no way," Stan said firmly. "We're fourteen."
"Thirteen," Kyle and Cartman corrected.
Wendy tugged on Stan's arm. "Stan! We've got to help!" she pleaded.
"What!"
"We've got to save those poor animals! They have a right to a happy, safe life!"
"You do realise they're just going to get killed in the wild, right?" Kyle commented.
"Dude, seriously, just shut up!" Stan hissed.
"We have to save all innocent life on this planet; and if any of you kids refuse, I'll fucking kill you!" Clarice yelled, grabbing one of the guns.
"Okay, okay; Jesus!" Stan promised, palms aloft in surrender.
At that moment, Kenny returned from the buffet with his pockets bulging.
"What did I miss?" he asked through a mouthful of vol-au-vents.
"My mom's going to kill me," Kyle whispered as Stan cut through the wire fence, barely visible against the dark night in his black ops gear.
"Well, we wouldn't be here if you hadn't shot your big fat Jew mouth off," Cartman grumbled. "See, this is why you guys keep getting gassed; you just won't learn your place."
"Don't belittle the massacre of my people, you fat fuck!"
"Guys, this isn't helping!" Stan hissed back. From the corner of his eye, Kyle saw Kenny casually hold a napkin out to Wendy.
"Sausage?" he offered.
"Thanks." Wendy took one of the chipolatas and Kenny started to snigger.
"Do you like my sausage, Wendy" he asked between giggles.
"Eww!" She dropped the chipolata on the floor.
"Damn, don't waste it, bitch!" Cartman said, outraged.
Stan cut the last piece of wire and bent the bottom of the fence back enough for them to squeeze through.
"Okay, I've got it," he said into the walkie-talkie.
"Good." Clarice's voice crackled over the speaker. "Now head for the centre and deactivate the alarms."
"Dude, how are we supposed to do that?" Stan asked as he crawled through the newly formed gap under the fence, beckoning for the others to follow suit. Kyle crawled under without any difficulty, so did Kenny and Wendy. Cartman, however, got stuck half way through like a pig caught in a trap; Kyle imagined if the fence were pressing any harder against his fat gut, he'd look like a string of sausages.
"You need someone to get into the air ducts and crack the code on the circuit breaker there," Clarice explained via the walkie-talkie. "According to our plans, that will cause the doors to automatically unlock."
"So, we basically need someone tiny and nerdy," Cartman commented as Kenny and Kyle pulled him through the gap in the fence, tearing his balaclava in the process.
One by one, they all stared at Kyle.
"Goddamn it!" he muttered.
They snuck past the dozing security guard without many problems, although they kept bumping into each other.
"Damn it; I wish we could use a flashlight or something," Stan whispered.
"If you need a light, we just need to pull down Kyle's underpants and let his fiery balls guide the way," Cartman replied.
"Shut the hell up, Cartman!" Kyle realised he shouldn't have been remotely surprised by Cartman bringing this up.
"What?" Wendy sounded legitimately confused.
"Just ignore him, babe."
"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!" Cartman sang loudly.
"Shut up, fatass!" Kenny hissed, covering Cartman's mouth. "You're going to get us caught!"
"I'm flattered you think my balls are 'great', Cartman," Kyle commented calmly.
"They're great, Kyle, but terrible. Like Genghis Khan."
"Like you even know who he is."
"Sure I do, I know loads about cricket!" Cartman protested.
"Seriously? It's taken you this long to start these jokes?" Stan said contemptuously as he opened the door with a skeleton key.
"What? It's not my fault it's taken Kyle so long to get his first pubes."
"Shut up, Cartman!"
"Dude, he's had them ages."
"How do you know, you fag?"
Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation as he held the door open.
"Just... just get the fuck in there."
The five of them crept along the long corridor in silence.
"Hey, you guys," Cartman whispered. "I brought some tea in a flask. Very English, is tea. And so are biscuits. Like, over here, biscuits are those shitty bread things poor people have with gravy. Over there biscuits are, like, cookies. Fucking retards; they should learn to speak English like us instead of whatever the fuck they speak in...."
"England?" Kyle offered sarcastically.
Cartman ignored him and put a gloved finger to his lips in dramatic thought. "But wouldn't it be great if we had some English biscuits for our English tea? Like, they have bourbons, which are all chocolatey, and ginger snaps..."
"Do you ever stop thinking with your stomach, fatass?" Kyle hissed.
Cartman stopped dead and his smile widened. "You know what? I just thought of something! In England, they don't call them 'ginger snaps'; they call them 'ginger nuts'. Which is totally awesome, because Kyle's got some ginger nuts we can dunk in our tea!"
"Shut the hell up, lardass!" Kyle spat.
"Wow; I've always wondered how you make a ginger snap," Cartman said, sniggering.
They continued in silence for a little while longer, passing the door to the staff room. Wendy squeezed Stan's hand.
"I hope we get there in time," she whispered. "The idea of those poor monkeys being tortured like that; it's just horrible!"
"It's okay, babe," Stan whispered back. "We'll free them."
"And thwart a load of life-saving medical discoveries in the process," Kyle muttered under his breath.
Then Cartman started humming 'Bright Eyes'.
"You've got some ginger pubes,
That sprouted around your ball sac,
There's nothing else we can do,
But wax your crack..."
"Cartman, leave Kyle's pubes alone," Stan said wearily.
Kenny chuckled. "Yeah, leave Kyle's pubes alone, you queen."
Wendy stopped dead.
"We're here," she whispered, pointing to the large imposing 'Keep Out' sign over a door with a security key code lock and a small air vent beside it. Wendy and Cartman carefully prised off the cover to the air vent. Stan clapped Kyle on the shoulder.
"You ready?"
"Yeah, yeah," Kyle grumbled, hoisting himself up and crawling into the vent.
"You see anything yet, dude?" Kenny asked.
"Yup, got it." He jemmied at the gunmetal grey box in front of him with a screwdriver. "I've just got to get the cover off and cut the right wires."
"Awesome," Stan replied.
"Yeah," Wendy agreed. "I know you think it's right to maim and torture animals for the heartless progress of mankind..."
"Wendy, save the moralising until you have to take life-saving drugs," Kyle spat back. He saw Stan sigh and put his arm around Wendy.
"Shit, dude. I'm sorry," he said.
"Forget it."
"Kyle..."
"I said forget it."
Wendy looked to Stan for clarification. He shook his head.
"Doesn't matter," he said.
"Come on, you guys. It's not natural!" Cartman protested.
Stan rolled his eyes. "Cartman, are you still going on about Kyle's pubes?"
Cartman looked to Wendy for support. "I mean, come on, Wendy. Say you were unfortunate enough — or blind enough — to be dating Kyle instead of Stan, and you were, like, getting all hot in the bedroom, and he was all, 'Oh yeah, Wendy; you're so hot you're making my balls really fucking tight,' and you were all, 'Oh, Kyle; let me suck them; I totally dream about sucking your balls!' and then you unzipped his pants and pulled down his white cotton underpants, and there's this firm, young ball sac nestling between his thighs and this weird foreskin-less dick because his parents are freaky penis-chopping—"
"You've put way more thought into this than a heterosexual man ever should," Kenny commented idly.
Cartman ignored him. "Yeah, and you're all, 'I wanna suck those balls like a vacuum cleaner sucks up marbles,' so you dive in to gobble those balls up in your warm, wet mouth..."
"Dude! Don't talk to my girlfriend like this!" Stan snapped as Wendy gave Cartman a death glare. "And Kenny, stop laughing. You're just encouraging him."
Kenny bit his hand to muffle his giggles, but Cartman was in full flow and Stan's demands fell on deaf ears.
"And then you see those gross ginger pubes, just sprouting there like a creepy ginger cornfield. You just know they're going to make a little ginger moustache when you're going down on him, and when you look up at him pleadingly with his balls in your mouth — because you totally would look up pleadingly when you're 'bagging a guy — he's going to see those ginger pubes tickling your upper lip like a big old 'tache of pubes. Even he's going to be grossed out..."
"Shut the hell up, Cartman!" Kyle yelled, just at the time lights started flashing an angry red and a huge siren blared.
"Shit!" Kyle roared.
"Oh nice one, you fucking Jew!"
"I did what that idiot woman told us to do, you fat fuck!"
"Oh no, what should we do?" Wendy pleaded, looking to Stan for support.
"You should totally suck Kyle's balls, that's what," Cartman said. "At least one of us would die happy — clearly he was jacking off back there..."
Kyle quickly shimmied out of the air vent and stabbed Cartman in the arm with his screwdriver.
"Ow! What the fuck?"
"How about we get the fuck out of here?" he suggested, glaring daggers at Cartman.
They dashed for the exit as fast as they could.
"Kyle..." Wendy's voice was uncertain and timid.
"Wendy, words cannot express how little sexual interest I have in you or your mouth," Kyle replied, to which Wendy appeared relieved. He tried not to feel too insulted.
Suddenly, their way was blocked by swarms of armed officers. One of them raised a megaphone to his lips.
"Don't move; you're surrounded!"
"Aww, crap!" Stan muttered as a rifle nudged him in the arm.
"We're just peaceful protestors!" Kyle offered. Kenny started raising his hands in surrender; the officers immediately started firing. Stan and Wendy jumped one way, Kyle and Cartman the other. Kenny was caught in the crossfire, pinned to the wall by hundreds of rubber bullets fired at close range.
"Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"
"You bastard!" Kyle eyed the lead officer angrily.
"We said don't move! We can't risk everyone's safety by ignoring the actions of vicious thugs who hide behind demonstrations," the lead officer retorted.
"We have to get out of here!" Cartman was starting to go purple in the face.
Kyle spotted the sprinkler system overhead, but it was Stan who grabbed his screwdriver and flung it against the 'Test' button. While the officers were distracted by the gushing water, they made their escape, barrelling through the wall of people and running as fast as they could to the exit.
As they got outside, Kyle noticed half of MYOPIA sneaking into the back laboratory.
"Those bastards set us up!" Kyle hissed as they reached the security guard's hut. Stan stared and tensed up.
"Dude, that's the last of our problems," he replied, pointing at the TV playing in the security guard's shack.
"...And we've just received CCTV footage from inside the Harrison Life Sciences building of the five mystery saboteurs," a balding reported announced from only a few feet away, judging by the familiar backdrop. To their horror, the footage showed Cartman in his torn balaclava.
"Oh no, he's completely recognisable!" Wendy moaned.
"No way, bitch," Cartman raged. "Lots of people have my hair and eyes..."
"Yeah, but not many of them have your fucking girth," Kyle spat.
Stan drew himself up to his full height. "We have to get out of South Park until this dies down," he announced, tugging Wendy's hand.
The four of them ran as fast as they could to the railway station, which was almost abandoned. Fortunately, a train stood at either platform. Stan looked to Kyle.
"Right," he said, panting. "We need to split up. Wendy and me will go west, you and Cartman go east."
"Whoa, wait. Why do I have to go with the lard bucket?" Kyle asked. Stan dragged Kyle over away from the others.
"Because, dude, Wendy needs me!" he whispered desperately, jerking his head subtly towards Wendy. She was beaming at Stan, her fingers were clasped together and she glanced up at him coquettishly.
"You're so brave," she sighed. Kyle rolled his eyes.
"Urgh, whatever," he grumbled. "You owe me."
He grabbed Cartman's arm. "Come on, asshole; we're heading east."
Kyle sat hunched in his seat, chin resting on his knees, as he listened to the news report through his phone.
"...And police are still looking for the remaining mystery fugitives; one of whom has been reported killed when police tried to prevent him from smashing in the windows of Harrison Life Sciences and threatening all the workers in there at nine P.M last night..."
Damn it; Kyle hoped Stan thought that Kenny's death was worth a proper make-out session with Wendy in a train carriage. He had already stuffed his Kevlar vest and black top into his back pack and put on a white t-shirt and his padded jacket in the hopes of looking a little less conspicuous, but he still tried to hide himself whenever he heard the carriage door open.
Cartman was still snoring on the seat next to him, the buzz-saw noise emanating with the rise and fall of his chest. It wore Kyle's nerves down further with every breath. He caught a glimpse of the drool caked on Cartman's chin and turned away, disgusted, to look out of the window. They had passed through a bunch of towns he only recognised from maps. Kyle figured they would stay on the train until it terminated, and find somewhere to hide in whatever dump they wound up in.
Bored, he started to text Stan.
'Hey dude, where are you?'
Just as he pressed the 'send' button, the deep voice of the train guard sounded over the tannoy.
"We are about to reach our final destination. Please take all your suitcases, backpacks and explosive devices with you when you leave the train, and beware of thieves, homicidal maniacs and turf wars operating in the area. Welcome to Newark, we hope you have a pleasant stay."
Kyle poked Cartman sharply in the ribs. "Oi, fatass, we have to get off."
Cartman yawned and stretched. "Man, that was quick. Where the hell are we?"
"Newark," Kyle replied, grabbing Cartman's arm and jostling him off the carriage. He was sure Newark was supposed to be a fairly significant place to him, but for the life of him he couldn't remember why. They slipped past the guard, who was busy inspecting the undercarriage of the train with a Geiger counter.
"We have to hide somewhere; lie low," Kyle advised as they walked through the exit. Cartman nodded, stroking his chin in thought.
"Right; we've got to find the seediest, most run-down neighbourhood where we can hide beside the drug dealers, crack addicts and people who watch 'Jerry Springer'." He paused and studied the area map outside the station, running a finger along the road to the harbour. "Which part looks most like Kenny might live there?"
Kyle said nothing and instead walked purposefully towards the city lights. Cartman followed, panting with exertion as he fought to keep up.
"Hold up, Kyle! Wait up, you stinking Jew! I need to find a disguise!"
Kyle raised an eyebrow at him but kept walking.
"I'm serious! My face was on that news report; I need to hide my striking features."
"There's no way you going to hide those striking features," Kyle scoffed, prodding Cartman in his flabby chest.
"You're just jealous, scrawny little Jew boy," Cartman retorted. "Are we in the poor white trash part of town yet?"
"I don't know," Kyle replied through gritted teeth as they passed yet another shabby looking gym. He was starting to feel weird; like he had a fever, except he didn't feel passive and exhausted as he usually did. He felt more short tempered than ever; even with Cartman mouthing off he normally didn't feel this wound up.
They passed a huge woman in the tightest leather miniskirt and a red boob tube as she sashayed up and down the street, occasionally coughing wetly into her hand.
"You got five dollars, boys?" she drawled, her blonde wig tilting as she moved her head.
"No," Kyle replied, picking up his speed. Cartman stopped dead, then chased after the woman.
"Hey, I've got five dollars..."
"Cartman, stop it!" Kyle yelled, but it was too late; Cartman had gone chasing after her down some sinister looking alleyway. He waited around for a few moments, avoiding eye-contact with the various hookers that started glancing his way.
He was about to go when someone tapped him on the arm. He whirled around and saw the ugliest blonde girl put her hands on her enormous hips, fat bulging out of a too-tight leather mini-skirt and red boob tube...
"Cartman?" Kyle's eyes widened in disbelief.
"What do you think of my sweet disguise? Nobody will recognise me now," he said, doing a twirl on the spot as though it were for Kyle's benefit.
Kyle's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Where did you get that?"
"I knocked out that prostitute and stole her clothes," Cartman replied blithely.
"What?" Kyle yelled.
"Alright, fine; I didn't knock out that prostitute and steal her clothes. Happy?" Cartman retorted.
Kyle sighed and closed his eyes. "Why do I have to be saddled with you?" he complained, opening his eyes to see Cartman shrug.
"Because Wendy gives better head?" he offered. Kyle rolled his eyes and strode ahead.
They walked on in silence. Kyle figured they were at least going in the right direction; the graffiti on the walls was becoming more frequent. As the sun dipped lower in the sky they stopped to take a breather near a tanning salon; or rather, Kyle stopped to wait for that fat fuck to stop panting like an asthmatic warthog.
"Jesus Christ, do you not even play Wii Fit?" Kyle complained, languidly examining his fingernails under the street light. They were crusted with dirt and he really, really needed to clean them.
"Wii Fit... Is for... gay-wads," Cartman huffed. "Screw... you... Jew..."
A couple of perma-tanned girls with super-straight black hair who looked as though they had been poured into their tiny dresses tottered out of the salon.
"So, I says to her, I says, 'You leave my man alone, you no good bitch,' and she's all, 'Don't you go dissin' on me; you think you're better than me?' Damn right I'm better than her..."
Kyle felt something strange tug at him in his very bones as he watched them pass. Cartman looked at him and laughed.
"Way out of your league, kid," he said, "but you might as well learn now that's the case for, like, every girl with all her limbs intact. And you don't have enough cash for that one with a leg missing who married the Beatle."
"We need to find somewhere to stay," Kyle announced, ignoring Cartman's comments. Now he was older he did his best not to react Cartman's legitimately hurtful comments about his looks and his religion. He rarely succeeded. At least with his religion he felt he had a leg to stand on; he couldn't really argue about the former.
A few blocks down, they found a suitably seedy hotel nestled between a gym and a pool club. The hotel had a neon heart emblazoned on the front.
"Is this a brothel?" Kyle mused, peering in the window. It looked ordinary enough; a few more crucifixes than he was strictly comfortable with, but apart from that it seemed... anonymous.
A man with a tight vest and slicked back hair laughed at him. He got up from his seat on the concrete steps and patted him on the back.
"No, little man. It's, you know, a place to take a girl for a little fun if the missis is home. You get me?"
"No," Kyle replied, but Cartman tucked his arm through Kyle's and batted his lashes.
"Oh, baby; this place looks perfect!" he simpered, to Kyle's horror. "Check out the cracks in the wall; they're, like, sooo cool."
The man put out his cigarette and gestured for them to enter.
"What the hell are you doing?" Kyle hissed at Cartman.
"Getting us a room," he replied. "I'd let you be the girl, but face it, nobody would believe that I'd drop my standards so low and you're a Jew. They'll just assume I'm after your money."
They approached the MDF desk and the mahogany coloured receptionist; Kyle seething. Cartman always drove him nuts but today was so much worse. He figured lack of sleep must have been getting to him.
The woman at the desk took exactly forty-seven seconds to stop twiddling her obviously fake hair extensions around her finger, pop her gum and look up at them.
"Yeah?" She glanced at the both as though they'd just crapped on her ledger.
"Umm, we'd like a room. Please," Kyle stammered. The woman leant back in her chair and felt behind her for a pen.
"Name?"
"Umm..."
"Mr and Mrs Smith." Cartman stroked Kyle's arm affectionately. "We just wanted some time alone, you know?" he explained to the disinterested receptionist.
"That'll be fifty bucks for the night," she said holding out her hand. Panic flooded Kyle's stomach as he felt around for his wallet, hoping he and Cartman could scrape enough between them. To his amazement, Cartman tossed a small wad of cash onto the desk.
"I think this should cover us for a few days, plus a little something for yourself. See that we don't get disturbed, huh?"
The receptionist gawped at him for a while, and then nodded. She gestured casually to Kyle.
"Bit young, ain't he? Looks like he should still be in grade school," she commented.
Cartman giggled girlishly. "Oh, he's older than he looks." He leant over and whispered conspiratorially in her ear. "I know he's not much to look at, but he's a Jew — and you know what they say about Jews." He patted the wad of cash on the desk. "And boy do I earn my keep — he's so fucking dirty. This one time, I had to put my finger in his ass while he was doing me. He loves it up the ass. I've lost, like, a watch up there; isn't that right, honey?"
Kyle bunched his fists in his pockets and tried to take calming breaths so as not to punch Cartman in the balls and give away his already flimsy disguise.
Cartman grabbed his hand. "Come on, my little Kosher Boy," he crooned. "I know a lucky little man who is going to be pounding some serious snootch tonight!" He yanked Kyle towards the stairwell as the receptionist dropped the key in Kyle's hand, staring at them with horror in her eyes.
"I hate you, Cartman," Kyle said in a low voice as the climbed up the stairs. "Let this be on record; I legitimately hate you."
-Friggingodess-
The room was on the third floor and serviceable, if grim; paint peeled from the walls and the fixtures were nicotine stained. There was a small couch and, predictably, one double bed. Cartman immediately spread out on it, making himself comfortable.
"Damn it, Cartman! Give me the bed, I haven't slept a wink!" Kyle demanded.
"Where are your manners?" Cartman teased. "I'm the lady, I should get first dibs. Besides, you're a midget; you'll fit on the couch. Or, we could always share," he offered in an attempt at a sultry voice. He patted the duvet next to him as though to tempt Kyle with the deal.
"Have you gone fucking insane?" Kyle raged. "Forget it, I'll take the couch; your fat ass barely fits on the bed anyway."
"I'm not fat; I'm a BBW," Cartman said defiantly.
"A what?"
"Big Beautiful Woman."
"Well, one out of three isn't bad, I suppose," Kyle shot back.
Cartman sighed dramatically. "Just because you can't handle all this jelly that I've got..."
"Cartman; ten children's birthday parties couldn't handle all the jelly that you've got," Kyle retorted.
Cartman stretched out on the bed. "It's Irene, remember? And it's sad that my body's too bootylicious for you."
Irene? Kyle struggled to recall him ever giving his dumb disguise a name.
Cartman rolled his eyes. "Irene? Hard life; torn between two lovers, an addiction to abortions? No wonder she ended up here, stuck in this dump with a goddamn Jew dwarf and having to pay the rent on this crummy hotel room herself, no less."
"Oh, great." Kyle slumped onto the couch. "Just what I need. And where the hell did you get all that money?"
Cartman smiled. "You know that prostitute I knocked out?"
Kyle glared at Cartman, who rolled his eyes in response. "Fine, fine; that prostitute I didn't knock out? I also totally didn't go through her purse, okay?"
"You are unbelievable!"
"Hey!" Cartman's voice had an edge of indignant rage to it. "We do what we gotta do to survive, okay? It's a hard life, and I've gotta pay for my abortions somehow..."
Kyle couldn't take it anymore. His skin was starting to itch and worse still, he realised he didn't have his medication with him. He got up, grabbed his wallet and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Cartman asked.
"Out," Kyle replied simply, slamming the door behind him.
Stan lay awake, Wendy's head resting against his chest as she slept. He was grateful they had found the hippie commune; when the community had found out just why Stan and Wendy were wandering the outskirts of Reno begging for a place to sleep they had fallen over themselves to help. The room was clean and felt reasonably warm, at least under all the crocheted blankets they had been given.
In any other circumstance — if the police hadn't launched a full-scale manhunt for them that stretched across the whole of Colorado — Stan would have been pretty fucking stoked right now. Wendy was in bed with him, actually in bed with him. Okay, they were both fully clothed, but still. They'd had a pretty intense make-out session beforehand; there had been definite tongue action and Stan was fairly certain he'd managed to feel a bit of her left boob, although it might have just been the way her sweater had bunched up.
She sighed and shifted against him in her sleep, and the action went straight to his dick. God, she was beautiful. He kind of felt like he'd taken it for granted and that seeing her lying against him, all sleep-softened ivory skin and inky black hair, was forcing him to take stock. She was like his Snow White, and only he could awaken her with a kiss. Not that he would; he rather liked just watching her sleep, nestling against him so trustingly, like he could protect her from the world.
God, if any of the guys knew what he was going through his mind right now, they'd think he was such a fag.
Gingerly, he took his phone out of his pocket and looked at his messages. One from Kyle. He opened it just as Wendy stirred.
"Stan?" She propped herself up on her elbows next to him. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Not long, babe," he replied, stroking the small of her back. "You okay?"
She nodded and rested a hand on his chest. "What'cha doing?" she murmured.
"Reading Kyle's text," he replied. "They're in Newark."
"Wow, they got all the way up to New Jersey?" she asked.
Stan sat bolt upright. "New Jersey?"
"Sure; right in the very heart."
"Oh, shit." He grabbed his phone and started dialling.
"What's the big deal? Newark's nowhere near as bad as it used to be."
"The big deal?" Stan spluttered. "The big deal is that it's Kyle. In New Jersey. Kyle is in the heart of New Jersey." He jumped up out of bed. "Fuck!"
"Stan! He'll be fine," Wendy insisted, sitting up and pulling the covers over herself. Stan shook his head.
"He won't be fine, Wendy. He'll be... Oh, for fuck's sake, Kyle; answer your God damn phone!"