Good Cop, Bad Cop, Fat Cop

What do you ultimately hope to get out of playing your character?

OOC: I know that this is a prompt for muns, but when Cartman and Dubya took over my brain, it was...well...whatever.

"Tell me again, Eric, why do we play this game?" George W. Bush sat in his man cave, at the new house he retired to, and squinted at the computer screen.

"World domination!" Cartman was furiously typing, using the two finger method, but still doing pretty well. "Listen, Dub, if you can rule the Internet, then you are destined for immortality and greatness. You can be fucking famous, dude! But it takes time. So just start slow."
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RP Love Meme // Show me love

LUUURVE MEME // my thread

Post a comment here, and I will write a drabble or fic of Cartman with your muse. If you have a mood or theme in mind, let me know.

I’m trying to live in the present, but I keep tripping on the past.

The news from Gotham was bleak. It was as bleak as a bleak house. As bleak as a Lindsay Lohan horror movie. As bleak as George Bush's post Presidency speech making prospects. It was...bleak.

Eric Cartman went about his normal life, trying not to worry about the events happening so far away. After all, it had nothing to do with him, with his life or his persona. He was just a boy. A fat boy. A rude, obnoxious, mean little fat boy from South Park. What could he have to do with the horror that was happening in Gotham?

*cue flashback music*
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Which one do I pick? Heroes fic or Dark Knight fic?

Mos Eisley Cantina – Tatooine

"I'm looking for Wes. Lt. Wes Janson. Dude, he said I could get a ride from him anytime, and I need to get over to the Dagobah system to see Yoda dude. And what the fuck shit is this? You guys ever heard of Yoo Hoo or Koolaid? This looks like bantha piss."
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Eric Cartman walked into class, dressed in black from head to toe and carrying a guitar. It was Share Your Dad day at school, and he stepped in front of the microphone and stared at the class.

"Hello, I'm Eric Cartman. This here's a song about a man I thought was my dad."

[sung to the tune of "A Boy Named Sue" by Johnny Cash]

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Cartman knew a lot of things, for kid.

He knew that if you shook up a bottle of soda and put it back in Kyle's refrigerator, that his mom would scream cuss words when she opened it. He knew that dogs will bump you on purpose, so that your ice cream cone falls and they can eat it off the sidewalk.

But he didn't know why New Jersey smelled the way it did.

Dude.
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He brought his wooden stake, silver cross, some silver bullets and a copy of "The Idiot's Guide To Valley Girl Language" with him, and when he got off the plane in Sunnydale, he moved through the airport with purpose and an air of determination.

"Get the fuck outta my way, you California hose hounds. Goddammit! Where's my taxi?"
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Budapest, Hungary

The steps echoed in the hallway, as four brothers in arms descended into the insane asylum. They were steadfast in their united mission, to set one brother free from the nagging question that plagued him. As they reached the cell the leader stepped forward, staring at the dirty, crazed man inside the cell.

“Dude! Is that a cockroach you’re eating?”
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ooc: Cartman is on a never ending quest to discover the identity of his father, across time and across the fandoms. No fandom is safe, and I apologize now for any liberties taken with canon or characters. These are not in RP game. These are just for fun. Mun figures if she's going to pick a fandom, why not start with the grand mac daddy of them all? Thus, we give you:

Eric Cartman in "THE LORD OF THE RING DINGS!"

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Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence
My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and then
Spin me around 'til I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure I was loved

“Dad? Dad? Hey…Dad? Yo, Dad? Daddy? Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Pop. Pa. Papacita. Big nose. Dad. Oh, Father? Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad…”

“WHAT?”

“Thanks for bringing me here for ‘Bring Your Kid To Work Day’. This is pretty fucking cool. FBI, file cabinets to play in…” Eric digs through the cabinet.

“Stay out of those files, Eric. My whole reason for existing is in those files.” Mulder keeps reading the file in front of him, about some transsexual werewolf.( Read more... )

The air around him was cold and still, as Eric Cartman, Jedi Knight, made his way through the hallways at school. It was “Show and Tell Day” and he drank his box of Yoo Hoo with deep reflection and sucking motion. When he had finished, he saw a trash receptacle across the hall, too far away to make in a simple shot, with his short arms. But Eric just smiled. He knew the Force was on his side. With a simple, underhanded toss, the drink box arched, and then landed with a thud on the floor, about three feet from the intended target.

“Goddammit!”

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to let the Force flow through him, and then peacefully walked on, leaving the trash there, so that the janitor could fulfill his destiny, and pick it up. Eric was wise in those ways.
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Eric Cartman, Jedi Knight
Misc. TV / South Park
927 words

Reply to this post with anything you'd like and I'll tell you why I friended you and two things I love about how you play your muse. The only catch? You have to repost this as well.

Oh, ummm, there's another catch. You get it Cartman style.

Dear Cartman,

I used to be a general, and my armies helped to destroy the Roman Empire. After I cut the head off of a very good man, I was filled with God’s love, and I became a priest. For centuries, I lived inside my church, never going out, until one day, I forgot all about being a priest and became a general again.

Now I can’t decide what to do. There’s this Immortal who everyone is trying to get me together with, but he has a big sword, if you know what I mean. Then there’s this lovely Latin lady, oh, and I met this woman who’s the incestuous sister of a famous poet. Part of me wonders if I should go back to the church, but part of me wants to be the General.

What do I do?

Signed,
Father ‘Fraidy Cat

*****
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A new column appears in the morning paper, as well as on the Internet. It's called "Dear Cartman", and it features the wise advice of one Eric Cartman. People from all over the world write to the eight year old for his unique perspective on their deepest personal issues.

Dear Cartman,

I can't hear the drums anymore! Even though they were driving me insane, I think that the silence will drive me even more out of my mind! Plus, he's keeping me his prisoner! Help me!

Signed,
Harold


Dear Harold,

Silence is golden. Shut the fuck up and put on some Motley Crue, if you want drums. What's driving you nuts is that no one's been banging your fucking bongos, Ricky Ricardo, so quit your candy ass whining, and tell him that even death row guys get a conjugal visits, for fuck's sake. This is why they have riots in prisons, and butt raping, and all that other nasty shit. Unless he wants to toss your salad, tell him to give you an overnighter.

And if he's driving you out of your mind, it's probably a pretty short trip. In reverse. So cut the Folsom Prison Blues and be glad you don't have to wear an orange jumpsuit, OJ.

Candy ass...and what kind of gay name is Harold?

Signed,
Notyomama


***************

Dear Cartman,

My brother is the successful one in the family. He's been a fighter pilot, and now he's a successful politician. Plus, he can fly! How can I ever hope to measure up to him?

Signed,
Not Peter Pan


Dear Not Peter Pan,

Kill him. Take everything that's his. Wear his favorite suit to his funeral when you have intercourse with his wife and girlfriend and secretary. Bury him in a dress.

Or, if you're too much of a hippie pussy for that, shut the fuck up and get over it.

Decisively yours,
Cartman


***************

Dear Cartman,

I'm an Immortal banker, and so good looking that I can't keep the women and men from chasing me around for my studly body. I'm rich, a warlord, tough and hung like a horse. I'm beginning to feel like everyone is jealous of me, and I don't have any real friends. At night, I cuddle up with my stuffed woobie bwankie, and cry myself to sleep, because no one understands my inner sweet side. How can I find someone who will love me for who I am, and just just judge me by my bank account, yacht, helicopter, killer bod and piercing pale blue eyes?

I'm so pathetically lonely! Help!

Signed,
A boy named Sue


Dear Bitch Boy,

Stop killing people, dumbass. It makes you seem unapproachable. Try something new, like doing standup comedy at open mike night, or singing karaoke. Chicks dig it when guys do stupid shit to impress them.

Or, you could just give all of your money to ME! Then you'd be poor and good looking, and chicks love that shit.

Seriously, dude, you have to watch the smug shit, or you'll get sucked into your own asshole, just like San Francisco. It's pretty fucking ugly. Try learning some humility. Poverty makes you humble, or at least look pathetic. Give it a try!

Smugly,
Cartman

“Holy shit, Cartman! What the fuck is going on with our Livejournal?” Kyle sat down on the cheap chair that Cartman’s mom used for the computer desk. Cartman’s house was the only place that the boys could blog freely, since Stan’s mom sold their computer to pay the light bill, and Kyle’s mom put in the PERVERTED JUSTICE 1984 virus, spam and independent thought blocker on their computer.
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The music was playing loudly, as the figure in swirling black turned and danced with glee. His shining black helmet gave him a terrifying visage, and the guards standing around stayed close to the wall, out of his range. He reached inside the tent, and pulled out the tiny, wrinkled old creature who just looked at him with sad, haunted eyes.

“Tell me, Doctor, what do you think of my achievements? My Death Star stands, ready and waiting to launch my final destruction of this planet you seem to love so dearly.” He lifted him up, sticking him into a nice little birdcage for safe keeping. “I tawt I taw a puddy tat! I did, I did taw a puddy tat!”
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