Good Cop, Bad Cop, Fat Cop

Love Meme

2009-08-09T02:56:57Z

Give Love!

2009-04-07T20:35:37Z

The Offer In A Meme

2009-03-29T03:51:07Z

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.

Love Meme?

2008-10-13T23:35:09Z

♥THE RP LOVE MEME♥
V2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

Prompt 7.A.7 - Batshit

2008-07-27T02:36:28Z

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*

The wooden sign over the arch said "Welcome to Camp Wataweenee". As the busloads of boys and girls drove inside for the three weeks that far too many children suffered in life, the counselors prepared the cabins for all of the boys and girls who would be shedding their city trappings for some fresh country air, complete with puberty, ridicule and a lifetime of cringing memories.

There were the priviliged offspring of the rich and famous, as well as the children deemed by some societal entity as being "at risk". When the bus from South Park, Illinois, drove up, the group was mostly made up of those at risk children, many of whom would recount tales of summer camp while butt raping inmates in maximum security, many years later.

A young girl stepped off the bus from South Park. She wasn't pretty, certainly not in any way that would suggest the vast numbers of men she would entertain in the future. This young girl was spunky, funny and had an early fascination for the freaks of the world. Since leaving Nebraska in shame, Liane had been searching for friends, people who, like her, were of dual natures and personalities.

From another bus, there was a boy who was being stared at and mocked, because, dude, kids are fucking mean. This kid looked like some kind of a clown, with green hair, white skin and a gross mouth all scarred and red. He was assigned to the same cabin as Liane, so she went over to introduce herself.

As they chatted, a limo pulled up to Camp Wataweenee, and from inside, a boy emerged. He was handsome, sure, but there was something about him...something dark. Something sinister. Something that made Liane take notice and made her nipples stand at attention.

"Will you be needing anything else, Master Brucie?" A man stood there, handing the good looking kid his leather bag.

"No, Alfred. I'll see you in three weeks." The boy strode up the cabin steps, where Liane stood with the other, strange looking boy. "Hello, Bruce Wayne."

"I'm Liane, and this is my new friend..." She turned to look at the strange boy.

"Tululea Does the Hula in Hawaii Krapowski." The kid muttered, looking down at his shoes.

"I beg your pardon?" Bruce looked at Liane, trying to figure out why she was assigned to sleep in a boy's cabin, and then at the white faced kid.

The boy squared his shoulders, and glared at the rich, handsome Bruce. "Tululea Does the Hula in Hawaii Krapowski. It's an old New Zealand name. My parents gave it to me so no one would notice my last name has shit in it."

"I didn't notice at all. Did you notice, Bruce?" Liane tried to sound unfazed, but it was a little hard to do when you tried to think about getting that name on a tag for the orientation.

Fortunately, kids are kids, and they came together that summer, as three friend bound by fun, by the sun and by the shared knowledge that they were all inner freaks. They were inseperable, that summer, and the next, and the one after that. Liane, Bruce and Krapkid all hung out, and over time a bit of a rivalry developed as surely as Liane's breasts. This, of course, would have dark consequences many years later, when Gotham was torn asunder by the two former friends, who shared everything but a smelly sleeping bag, all that time ago, in a world away.

*cue ominous Dark Knight music*

"You summonned me here, Alfed, with the signal." Eric waddled through the hidden tunnel underneath Wayne Manor.

"Actually, sir, that was not a summoning signal. It was a bevy of fireflies." Alfred grimaced, sure that this new arrival could only make matters worse.

"Fuck, who cares? I'm here, dammit, and we're going to straighten this shit out, once and for all!" Cartman's face was set in the kind of chinless determination that was reminiscent of...well, that was the question, wasn't it?

They hurried over to where Harvey Dent was speaking to the press. In the audience was Bruce Wayne, and somewhere, glued to a set, was Krapkid, now using the handle, The Joker.

"The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming." Old Harvey was really working himself up into a near hero lather. Eric stepped up to the podium, and shoved the man aside before stepping up on a box to speak.

"Shut up, Dent. You two faced blonde boywhore. Jesus Fucking Christ, you're more prissy than a McDreamy sandwich. What kind of pansy ass name is Dent, anyway? Did your parents name you after that thing in your chin? Shut the fuck up." Cartman turned to the crowd, as the bulbs flashed and the whispers died down. "Let's turn the clocks back. A year ago, you were all talking about Scarecrows and Falcone, and now look at you! You thought it was going to be easy, didn't you? You thought that you could just claim weapons of mass destruction, and no one was going to bother trying to find them. You thought that life was going to be one big fucking Schwartzenegger movie, and that one guy in a rubber suit was going to make the world safe for you all. Well, looks like you were wrong, bitches."

"Excuse me, but who are you?" One reporter with a cheap suit and even cheaper watch demanded.

"I'm Eric 'Poison Oak Does the Mambo on Dancing With the Stars' Cartman, bitch, and my mommy's name is Liane." Bruce Wayne's eyes filled with tears, as he stared at the fat kid on the box, and not because he was trying to imagine the long lost boy in a mini Batsuit, either. Across town, the Joker was shouting, "That's MY boy!", as he stared at the screen. The two men, friends in childhood, torn asunder by sorrow and unanswered questions, now facing the truth before them.

"You pansyfools want Batman and the Joker gone so shit can get back to the way it was. But I know the truth: there's no going back. You've changed things...forever. Gasoline will never be ninty nine cents a gallon again. A loaf of bread will cost more than a six pack of beer, and it all is because of your greed. Well, I'm here to put a stop to this motherfucking shit right now." He looked right into the camera of the station with the highest ratings, and he said the words that Gotham, and the world, needed to hear.

"You will respect my authoritah!"

And the crowd cheered.

*cue pansy ass emo Tori Amos song for chicks*

In the garage, two men stared at each other, over a little round boy.

"Mommy said that you needed to know the truth, Dads, because it all started with that trip to the cave that Mommy had with Bruce..."

"I remember." Bruce smiled, shaking his head.

"And it ended when Mommy took Krapkid to the circus."

Joker laughed, but not in a creepy Sid Vicious way. "I never felt so at home in my own skin, or hers."

Cartman looked up at the two men, and took each of their hands in his sticky, dirty, ones. "Don't you see? Mommy knew best all along, knew you both so well. She saw the freaky deaky side of both you assholes, and she licked it. You both did her. Hell, I bet you did each other. And look at you! Did your balls drop off? No!"

"Eric, you can't leave us to return to South Park. I might slip farther into sicko tendencies, like having young boys live with me wearing tight costumes." Bruce didn't like to beg, except for the highly paid hookers he had in his office.

"And I might do shit like blow up fairies." Joker pleaded, smoothing his hair back. "Displaced rage and all that. What if we end up killing each other?"

"Kill each other? You could never kill each other! What would you do without the other? Think of the franchise, the sequel, the chick in the catsuit that's just around the corner!" Cartman looked up in those eyes of his two daddies, and pleaded like that bug eyed kid asking for a Red Ryder BB Gun. "No. You can't let this end here. You can't! Don't you see? You...you complete me, and each other, and the only shot that a comic movie has at an Oscar, dudes."

"He's right, Bruce." Joker held out his arms.

"I know, Tulelea Does the Hula in Hawaii Krapowski." Bruce honored his friend with his real name, and a tearful hug that lasted just a little too long, what with Joker rubbing up on the vinyl a bit.

"Let's go get pizza, my treat." Bruce took both of their hands, and they walked out to the street together.

"Not fucking Domino's, Bruce. What kind of cheap ass sponsorship deal is that? I want Papa John's." Eric waddled down the dark streets of Gotham, between his two daddies, bitching about garlic sauce and Pepsi versus Coke. The truce wouldn't last any longer than a cupcake at Rosie O'Donnell's house, but it was a nice night for a Batdance under the moon, for Cartman and the two sides of his paternal coin.

Eric Cartman
South Park

Mmmmm

2008-07-26T23:37:01Z

Which one do I pick? Heroes fic or Dark Knight fic?

Making Friends Easily

2008-02-09T16:43:01Z

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."

The barkeep just shook his head as a large, elephant faced alien shoved Eric rudely, then shouted something in his face he couldn't understand. Before he could react, the guy with him got in Cartman's face.

"He said he doesn't like you."

"Oh, yeah, well, mirrors don't like him, fuckface."

"I don't like you, either. You better watch yourself. I have the death sentence in twelve systems."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I've met Satan and defeated Saddam Hussein, biyatch. I ain't scared, I'll kick your ugly ass and feed you an Altoid." Cartman waved his pudgy hand in front of his nose. "Damn, dude, don't they have Listerine in space?"

"YOU'LL BE DEAD!” The man shoved Eric harder, but suddenly, some old guy put his hand on the stranger's arm.

"This fat child isn't worth your trouble. Here, let me buy you a drink."

The pair of ugly bad guys with equally bad breath pulled their blasters, but the old man and Cartman had their light sabers out with a brilliant flash of speed and skill. It only took a few seconds before the Mos Eisley Cantina was able to open an alien sushi bar. Putting away their weapons, the two looked at each other.

"I thought I told you to be more cautious, young one."

"Obi Wan? Dude! What the fuck happened? You look freaking old! That Ashley chick wore you out, huh? I knew that was gonna happen. Too much poontang, dude." Cartman walked with Obi Wan, past the shitty band, to the back of the bar.

"No, padawan, it's the space travel and the sun on this miserable rock. Terrible for the skin, and you can't find a good Avon rep out here, not since the Sand People ate the last one. But that's not important now. We need to get you back home to Earth."

"No, dude! I need to go see Yoda! I need to complete my training and face my biggest fear in the cave, dude!" Cartman pouted.

"Yoda's in Vegas this week for the 40th Anniversary Star Trek Fan Convention. He's entered a fanfic in the slash competition." Obi Wan frowned and sadly shook his head. "He's done some Wesley Crusher crossover with the Winchester boys that screams 'Gary Stu', but Yoda never could take constructive criticism."

"Yoda writes fanfic?"

"Yes, young one. There isn't much to do out there on that swampy planet. A Dell rep got lost there, and now our master has a laptop and too much time on his hands. He's been doing RP, too, but his Buffy is the worst I've ever read." A slight shudder went up Kenobi's spine, before they reached the corner booth.

At the booth, there were two beings seated. One was a fairly good looking guy, a little scruffy looking. The other one was a big, hairy thing that looked like a gremlin on steroids.

"I'm Captain Han Solo, and this is my first mate, Chewbacca…"

"Chewing tobacco?" Cartman frowned.

"Chewbacca." The human frowned back, while the hairy guy made a series of grunts. "I understand you're looking for transport to Earth. What spaceport? I don't fly into Dulles or O'Hare. You can't get clearance and the coffee sucks."

Obi Wan took control of the negotiations. "We need to get to Los Angeles, a wretched hive of scum and villainy, in order for this boy to attend the Tammy Awards. We'd like to avoid any…" looks around "Imperial entanglements, and John Stamos, if possible."

"Well, I can do it, but it's going to cost you." Solo leaned back in the booth.

"We don't have much money. I just got a new X box and the boy…well, he ate lunch at the new Taco Bell here."

"What have you got?" Solo looked skeptical.

Eric started emptying his pockets out on the table. He had a glow in the dark condom, unused, that he found in the men's room at the Mos Eisley McDonalds. There were three marbles, including a Tiger Eye that Chewie seemed to approve of. He had a broken kazoo, some watermelon Bubblicious, a slingshot, four small silver bullets and the ring he had run off with a while ago.

Solo picked up the ring, and looked at it closely. "What's this?"

"Oh, that's some shitty ring that this Aragorn guy was having a fucking cow about in the woods, dude. It supposed to be worth something, for a king." Cartman shrugged and tried to take his marble back from Chewbacca, who roared in protest.

Han was staring at the ring, turning it this way and that in his fingers. "Let him have it, fat kid. It's not wise to upset a Wookie."

Chewie grunted, and Cartman scowled. Obi Wan rolled his eyes and spoke, "So, are these terms acceptable?".

"Yeah, sure. What the hell. Hey, kid, are you sure you aren't Jabba's kid?"

Cartman started to speak, but Obi Wan put a hand on his arm. They all rose, and walked out of the bar to the spaceport. The Mos Eisley Jiffy Lube guy was just finishing up the oil change when they boarded. He stuck the clear sticker inside a window, reminding Solo to bring the ship back in three months, gave Chewie a coupon, and ran, just as the stormtrooper burst through the entry door and blasted, hitting everything but the fleeing ship.

It wasn't a long flight. But for some reason, they noticed the flashing police lights as they came up Pacific Coast Highway. It was two in the morning, and the sirens started as the cruiser chased the Millineum Falcon.

"Pull over, Captain Solo. You can't outrun them, they're CHP." Kenobi leaned over Solo, watching the rear view mirror.

"Chewie, go into hyperdrive. We'll get rid of these guys." Solo started pushing buttons and levers.

Cartman was strapped into his intergalactic booster seat behind Chewbacca. He started shouting over the high pitched whine of the hyperdrive failing. "This goddamn piece of fucking shit can't outrun a pogo stick. Pull over, I'll fix it. They'll accept my authority!"

"Eric...I don't think..."

"PULL THE FUCK OVER!"

So, they pulled the Falcon over to the shoulder of Pacific Coast Highway. Through the cockpit window, Obi Wan, Han and Chewie watched Cartman approach the male and female cops. There was a lot of armwaving. Then there was some yelling. Cartman made a run for the ship, but the cops caught his arm and turned him around.

"This isn't looking good, old man. I don't think these guys respect the kid's authority." Solo would have been amused, if they hadn't pulled out nightsticks.

"Turn on the outside speakers." Kenobi tucked his hands inside his robes.

"...and you know what? Californians and Republican fucktards are responsible for all the wars in the world, you fucking dogshit pigs. You're supposed to be public servants, and I'm the public, so go get me a fucking Yoo Hoo, Sugartits!" Cartman was bobbing his head back and forth, screaming with a red face.

"Did he just call that stormtrooper...er...woman cop...SUGARTITS?" Solo stared, appalled.

The male cop turned and looked at them, pointing to the ship. But Cartman shrugged. He seemed to calm down and walk cooperatively, but then suddenly spun and headbutted the male cop in the nuts, since he couldn't reach his chest. The cop went down hard, flailing like a whiny bitch boy overactor, and Eric ran up the ramp, yelling as he closed the hatch.

"GO! GO! GO! Take off, fucktard! It's all gone wrong!"

The Millinneum Falcon finally hit hyperdrive, just in time, before they could be passed by a white Bronco and a line of police cars.

The men inside looked at each other grimly. They were now even more wanted than before. There was no way that the Empire, and Access Hollywood, wouldn't hear about this. By tomorrow, they'd be all over the news, and facing a review by the International Soccer Federation and The JDL, not to mention the CHP and LAPD.

Eric sat in the back, a blanket over his shoulders, staring dejectedly at the chess board. It was all his fault. He struggled with the disease of obnoxiousness all his life, and every time he thought he had beaten it, it happened again. He never would have a friend, not like this. A loud fart echoed through the ship, causing Chewie to howl all the way in the cockpit. But Eric just stared, wondering why his life sucked worse than John Stamos'.

Eric Cartman
South Park
More than 150!

A Father...or so I thought.

2008-02-09T16:39:57Z

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]

I been searching the world for my dad, you see
He didn't give nothing to my Mommy but me
and I needed to find him, using me some clues.
This Watcher man came to town one day
He was kinda ugly, not much to say,
just grunted, and nodded, and told me my daddy's name was "Hsu".

"What the fuck are you talking about?"
I was mad as shit, started to shout.
The man just looked at me, and he started to laugh.
"Yeah, you're his boy, that I can tell."
And I told that asshole to go to hell.
Ain't no fucking way some Hsu was my real dad.

So I went to see him, I hid out well.
Until they took that freak to jail.
They said my daddy committed a crime of rape.
Now I don't know what all that means,
but I knew a jailbird daddy wasn't my dream.
Especially not one with a girly name like Hsu.

I tell you I had to sit and cry,
I even punched Kyle right in the eye
when he said something about my daddy being a bitch.
Now I know that long haired Duncan dude,
said Immortals can't ever reproduce.
But I think someone had messed around with Hsu.

I mean, dude, look at him and look at me.
There's a beefcake resemblance, don't you see?
The eyes, the body, that manly snarl and stare.
Why, I bet, if you could see,
a picture of him, same age as me
Hsu and me would be two peas in a pod.

Well, I couldn't wait, I had to try
To look that asshole in the eye,
and find out if he really was my dad.
So I stole a gun, from Mulder's desk,
And used it to shoot up a judge's bench.
And got my ass thrown into that same jail.

And it didn't take long, before I saw
That damn Hsu boy, in the hall.
So I walked up and looked him up and down.
Well, he was meaner than a bear
had a bunch of ugly hair,
and eyes as blue as the mold on a dead dog's ass.

He said to me, "Who the hell are you?"
And I laughed and said, "I come from you."
"Remember that transvestite hooker you met in Denver?"
I saw the horror in his eyes,
Just as soon as he realized
That his cross dressing fun had come with a high price.

He said "I couldn't be your father."
And I told that fool not to even bother,
I heard there were ways to get his fish to swim.
He swore it wasn't possible,
That he wasn't my daddy, that I had been fooled.
And I told that bitch boy to stand up and fight like a man.

Well, we came to blows, hard and fast
I kicked his shins and I kicked his ass.
And still that fucker wouldn't break down and confess.
A few days later, I got out of jail
when Kenny came and posted bail.
And I waited every day for Hsu to come to court.

But I found out, from outside
that Hsu committed hsuicide.
I guess that Watcher dude got it all wrong after all.
If he was Immortal, like those other fucks
He wouldn't die from a pill, that fuckin' sucks
Someone would have had to cut off his nappy head.

But I guess I really am fucking glad
That Hsu...or Dieter...wasn't my dad.
Cuz, dude, that shit would have really sucked.
I'd be Eric Haag, don't you see?
And all the kids would make fun of me.
But it's still not as bad as a sissy name like Hsu.

So my search goes on, I'll walk the line,
I'll keep searching till the end of time.
And I won't stop, I won't fucking give up.
Somewhere out there is my dear old dad.
And when I find him, he'll be glad
that my Mommy was an empty headed slut.

Eric Cartman
South Park

When I Look In The Mirror, I See A House

2008-02-09T16:36:12Z

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.

It smelled worse than the turkey farm on the edge of South Park.

So it was easy to look all green and sickly when he got to the emergency room at Princeton. Kyle, Stan and Kenny stood around the bed and looked properly worried, as a bunch of doctors asked him questions.

Foreman checked his notes. "What year is this? Who's the president of the United States?"

"It's 2005, moron! I thought you had to go to school to be a doctor! And we all know who the president is! It's that stupid fatass dude with the slutty daughters and the pinchfaced wife. What is this, social studies?"

"It's all right, little guy. Now, tell me, is there a history of disease in your family? Cancer, heart disease, anything?" Chase made notes in the file, smiling at Foreman.

"Uh, let's see, Mommy was patient of the month at the free clinic, and she has her own parking spot. We get letters from the CDC a lot. But...no...see, I never met my daddy. I don't even know who he is."

Cameron looked sad, and patted his hand. "I'm sorry. But we can still figure out your symptoms without his medical history. Well...WE won't. We'll all run around and do the wrong invasive and expensive tests, and look confused a lot. Then House will come in in the last ten minutes as you're about to die and figure out you got bitten by an Indonesian monkey flea, and that two Bayer aspirin can save you. But we'll all be really happy if you don't die."

Kyle leaned in, and whispered in Cartman's ear. "Dude, I don't think any of these guys are old enough to be your daddy."

Cuddy turned around from the mirror she had been checking out her hair in.

"Is that true? Is this all a fake so that you can find your father? Are you wasting this hospital's resources and money on some kind of paternity quest? Little boy, I would strangle you...if it wouldn't break a nail."

"Listen, beyotch, I will sue this hospital, and your tight ass, if you touch me. And where is this House guy, anyway? And what kind of accent does this Chase guy have. Dude, that's some Crocodile Dundee faggy Russell Crowe shit there, dude. Hey, hey, hey! Did you just touch my ass, dude? I will fuck you up. Don't be getting all slashy washy on me, Foreman...you ain't no Dr. Foreplay, dude."

All of a sudden, the room darkened, and a glowing light appeared around the doorway. As a creepy fog seeped in around the edges, Cartman's eyebrow lifted. He could feel the presence of the dark side, just like Obiwan told him he would. The force flowed around him, through him, down his leg...oh, wait, that was pee pee. Standing up on the gurney, Cartman ignored the fact that his hospital gown was open across the back, and the groans of everyone in the room who could see it. It was a moment of destiny, dude, when one snark master met the other. He was ready. Pulling out his lightsaber, he turned it on, and watched the buzzing, glowing light grow, as the door burst open.

In the fog, he was a commanding presence. Advancing as the innocents in the room backed against the walls, House looked at the fat kid standing on the gurney, and imperiously pointed his cane at him.

"Boy, who are you and why are you here?"

"I'm here to find my father, and to bring him to the Force, dude."

"I am not your father, Luk...I mean, Eric. I never porked your mother."

"So? That means nothing. Fate still brought you here...it is your destiny, fatass."

"You're calling me a fatass?" House lifted an eyebrow. "I think it's time you met the business end of my cane, boy."

They circled. Well, House circled, as the others shrank away, watching the epic showdown. House's cane began to glow, a deep purple neon light coming from it. When they parried, the crashing sounds of saber hitting orthopedic walking stick echoed down the hallways. House stopped, glaring.

"Vicodin break, dude?" Cartman offered helpfully.

"Don't mind if I do. Want some?" House took out the bottle and downed two.

"No thanks, dude. Mommy says those things make guys impotent." Cartman made a face. "Don't care now, but might someday."

"I'll keep that in mind. You ready?" House took stance.

"Yeah, dude, why not?" Cartman swung, and they fought more, until a shriek of terror came from down the hallway.

"STATAN!!! SHE'S COMING!"

House turned, barking orders to the others to run for it. Even Kyle, Kenny and Stan started to run, but Kenny tripped, and Stacy Warner stepped right in the middle of his forehead with her spike heeled shoe.

"You killed Kenny, you bastard bitch! What the fuck?"

House backed away in horror, watching as bolts of lightning shot from Stacy's fingers into the fat little boy, causing him to arch, moan, scream, flail, wail, cry, sweat, piss, heave, hurl, wriggle and whimper like a little girl. "Foolish boy. You and House could have stood together, serving me, but you came here without any medical insurance! Now...now you will die! Die, boy!"

House looked at the fat kid, then back at a woman he served and once loved. In a courageous and swift move, he picked up the woman, who shrieked in outrage as the bolts shot around them both. Opening the vaccum door to the tubes that went to the lab with urine and blood samples, he shoved that skinny bitch inside, before hitting the button that sent her screaming into the basement.

Going back in the room, he sat down on the gurney, exhausted and sweating. He had redeemed himself, and he felt peace. Or maybe it was just the Vicodin kicking in.

"Cartman...I really am not your father."

"Yeah, I know, dude. But for a minute, when you got all badass on that bitch, it was like looking in a mirror, dude."

"Eric...buy a new mirror, and get out of my hospital."

"That was cold, dude. Real cold."

"You want warm and fuzzy, try ABC."

Eric Cartman
Misc. Comics
South Park

Shame at Sunnydale High School

2008-02-09T16:31:38Z

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?"

It had been a while since Buffy Summers had come to Sunnydale High School. The glory years of mayhem and chaos were over, and things had changed a lot. Now, all of the Scoobies were graduates, off to do their jobs in the real world.

Principal Wesley Wyndam-Pryce came out to greet Cartman as he got out of the taxi.

"You must be young Master Cartman. I'm Principal Wyndam-Pryce. Welcome to Sunnydale High."

"Dude...do you always talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you got a stick up your ass? And what's with the two last names? No one else got two last names, dude. It's kinda faggy, if you ask me." Cartman followed him in the hallway.

"I'm British, young man." Wesley frowned disapprovingly.

"Like that's an excuse for anything, dude. Look at Sting, dude. He's British, and he only has one name. Thus, not faggy. Think about it, dude."

"Sting is a rock star. I'm a respected member of the academic field." They get into the office, and Wesley sits down. "Now, what can I do for you, little man? You said you were looking for your father?"

"Rock star, my ass, dude. He started out as a teacher, dude, and the little girls were hot for him. 'Don't stand, don't stand, don't stand so close to my British one name not faggy ass...'. See? Anyway, yeah. I think my daddy may be from this school, and I intend to find out."

"Yes, well, many of our alumni have returned to work here at Sunnydale. Was there anyone in particular...you wouldn't be Spike's child, now would you? Dear lord...that would be frightening."

"I don't think my mommy would do the nasty with anything called Spike, dude. I mean, come on. You have to wonder what kind of mother names her kid that. Do you just unwrap the little diaper and go 'Oh, yeah, dude, this kid's a Spike, alright'? Or did his mom stay stoned all the time and mix him up with the dog? Who else you got?" Cartman leaned back in the chair, and let out a silent but deadly fart.

Wesley's unflappable cool was withering under the assault to his sense of smell. He stood, quickly, and opened the door. "Why don't we walk? We can just find our way through the school and you can meet a few of the gentlemen and see if they fit."

"You got any Yoo Hoo around here, dude? That damn flight was drier than my great granny's cooter, which spews dust everytime David Hasslehoff comes on TV, you know?" Cartman waddled along, down the hall.

"Well, I'm sure our cafeteria lady can find something for you to drink, ah...yes, here she is." Wesley opened the door. A frowsy looking brunette pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and flicked the ashes into the pot she was stirring. She was dressed in a stained polyester uniform smock, and her hairnet was askew. "Miss Chase, young Mr. Cartman is visiting and was wondering if you might have any Yoo Hoo?"

Cordelia pointed one scuffed toe of her orthopedic shoe towards the large steel refrigerator. "It's in there, next to the beer you keep for that new night janitor you personally hired, Wesley. And you better requisition me some new drawers and support hose for this uniform, and soon. Mine are wearing out. So, little boy, whose kid are you?"

"That's what he's trying to find out, Cordy." A Yoo Hoo was opened and handed to Eric, who slurped noisily.

"Didn't you used to be the head cheerleader?"

"How much do you think that's worth at the WB, kid? Now go on. I got tater tots to thaw."

Wesley and Cartman went back out, and walked slowly. "Dude, who else was here, that could be my daddy?"

"Is your mother a man?"

"No...not...this season...why?"

"Then is likely isn't Giles...hmmm...Oz? No...I don't think so. Xander, maybe, but he would have confessed by now. I know, we'll go straight to the source."

"The source, dude? Isn't that from Charmed?" Eyebrow lift.

"No, not that source. I mean the ultimate source of information and knowledge. Miss Buffy Summers. We'll go find her, she'll know."

Four hours later, Cartman staggered into the gym. He was bleeding, pissed and he spilled his Yoo Hoo along the way. When he spotted the tiny blonde woman, he yelled across the gym.

"BITCH! You had better be the right Buffy. I've been wasting the last four goddamn hours! I met a Joan, and a Buffy robot, and a Buffy slayer who never even heard of anyone because like omigod she's still a sophomore and I met some old fashioned pregnant bitch who had NO clue who the fuck a Buffy or a high school was because she was wandering around some old biddy's castle calling herself Elizabeth. Then I ran into this crowd of teenaged blondes who aren't Buffy, but oh, wow, wouldn't it be so totally rad if they made a new Buffy starring Paris Hilton and Nicole could totally be Dru, omigod?" Cartman's pointing and rocking his head back and forth, as the woman walks over to him.

"I'm Buffy Summers. What do you want?" A crowd was forming, as Wesley, Oz, Zander and the rest of the gang came in to watch the showdown between them.

"I'm looking for my daddy, beyotch. My mommy dated some guy from here. She called him her 'Angel'. Got a clue in that head of yours who she means, or has all that peroxide melted your brain?"

"ANGEL! DID YOU SAY YOUR FATHER IS ANGEL?" A young man's voice came from the door, and Connor charged in the room to face down Cartman.

"Dude? Was I even talking to your bitch ass? Who the fuck are you?" Cartman stands, his hands on his hips.

"My father is Angel, not yours. You understand me? He's mine."

Buffy does a spin kick, knocking Connor down, and then kicks Cartman, who howls in fury.

"Oh, that is so it, bitch. I don't give a fuck who you are, Slayer Slut, your bony ass is toast. As soon as I can get up." Cartman rolls this way and that, trying to get up, while Buffy stalks off, into the locker room.

Connor helps Cartman up, and he snorts. "Look, kid, Angel isn't your father. I know that for sure, dude."

"How do you know?"

"Because, man, we would be having flashbacks, angst, guilt, falling to his knees in anguish...the whole nine yards. Nothing, kid. And besides that, most of the chicks he screws end up dead, anyway."

"What's that Buffy chick's problem? Dude, I haven't seen anyone that tight since the Olsen Twins learned how to drink."

"She wound up as a gym teacher here, cuz she spent so much time slaying that she didn't get any homework done."

"I thought all gym teachers were lesbos, dude."

"Exactly."

Cartman walked over in front of the crowd in the bleachers.

"I've fucking had it, dude. You know what I think? Can anyone give me a D minor?"

Wesley looked nervous. "Don't do it, Eric...just...don't.."

"Owwww weeeeeeelllllll"

"Cartman, dude, don't do it..." Connor looked around nervously.

"Weeeeellllll....
Well, Buffy is a bitch, she's a skinny bitch,
She's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world
She's a Stupid bitch if there ever was a bitch,
She's a bitch to all the vampie boys and girls!

On Monday she's a bitch, on Tuesday she's a bitch
On Wednesday through Saturday she's a bitch
Then on Sunday, just to be different,
She's a Super silver bullet woody beyotch!

Come on, you all know the words!

Have you ever met this Slayer bitch?
She's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world!
She's a mean old bitch and she has stupid hair!
She's a bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch,
Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch:
She's a stupid bitch!
Buffy Summers is a bitch, and she sucks a dirty bitch

That Buffy! She's a big flat, fucking bitch
Big ugly, hairy fuckin' bitch, that's Buffffffffffffaaaaayyyyyyy!
Yeahhhhh...Chaaaaaaaah"

Eric had danced, he had kicked higher than a Rockette, and he had the crowd clapping and stomping along. He was so into it, that he didn't notice they had stopped clapping, and they all stood silent, their mouths hanging open, staring. When he finished with the slide to his knees on the polished gym floor and an arm flourish, he looked up.

"What? No applause?" Silence. "She's right behind me, isn't she?"

They all nodded.

****************************************************
"And in other news this evening, officials say that the explosion and fire at Sunnydale High School can be traced back to the school's gym teacher, one Elizabeth 'Buffy' Summers, who has disappeared..."

Kyle looked at Eric, who was relaxing after getting back home to South Park. "So, dude, what do you feel ashamed of? You didn't burn down the school!"

"I kissed the cafeteria chick, dude. I wanted another Yoo Hoo."

"Did she have the hair net on?"

"Yeah."

"Dude."

"I know." Cartman hung his head.

Forgiving Myself - Revelations

2008-02-09T16:27:49Z

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?”

Caspian looked at the round little kid, thinking that even as short as he was, he would be good eating, with an open fire, a little garlic…

“Hey, crazy guy…yeah, dude, look, my friends and I are trying to find out who my friend’s daddy is, and we were wondering if you could help us, man.” Stan was nervous enough to pee his pants, and his voice was a little shaky.

“What’s in it for me, darling?” The huge man leaned against the wall.

“Mfummbelefiefie mompsosle” Kenny nodded, frantically.

“Dude, he said we could get you out of here.” Kyle was looking at the dirty cell. What a pit.

“If you could do that, boy, then you would be valuable to me. I might consider helping you.”

“Don’t jerk me around, dickhead, or you’ll regret it. I’m not as humane as the hospitals here.” Eric Cartman was as cold as a toilet seat in December, as he spoke to the man. “We’ll get you out, take you to Bordeaux, let you call some friends, have a little wine, maybe some French fries, and you give me the name of my father. Deal?”

“First you have to get me out. But…if you can, then yes. We have a deal.”

Cartman pulled out some gum, a solar calculator, a Popsicle stick, a copy of “Big Titties Galore”, some pipe cleaners, an old Indian arrowhead, a leftover chewy granola bar and a marble from his backpack.

“Little boy, what are you doing with all of that?” Caspian laughed, snatching the magazine and looking through it.

“Shut up, dude! My mommy watches old McGuyver reruns! I know what I’m doing!”

Within minutes, with a great deal of cursing, the door sprung open, to the prisoner’s delight.

“Now what?” Caspian said, as they got outside.

Cartman, Kenny, Stan and Kyle all slipped on their sunglasses, and then mounted their Big Wheels. “Now, my brothers, we ride.”

Bordeaux, two days later

The battle was raging, with Caspian and Silas fighting Duncan.

“Motherfucker, goddamn, paint my face blue and call me an oompa loompa! Knock it off, you guys! No one kills anyone until you bastards tell me which one of you turkeys is my father!” Cartman waddled over and picked up Silas’ axe, as Kronos and Methos come out to see what all the yelling was about.

From out of nowhere, Cassandra comes running, her hair flying, screeching. “Kill METHOS! Kill them all! Kill, kill, kill!!!!”

Cartman spun around, and didn’t realize Kenny was behind him. The axe sliced cleanly, severing Kenny’s head from his body.

“You made me kill Kenny, you crazy ass bitch! Fucking bitch! Shut the fuck up!”

With that, Cartman swung, and cut off her boobs, and they flopped down on the ground, oozing silicone.

Kronos looked at Methos with an “I told you so” expression, as Duncan stared in horror. “Young man, you just cut your friend’s head off. How can you live with this the rest of your life?”

“Dude, shit happens all the time. You have to get over it, dude.” Kyle shrugged, and Stan nodded.

Cartman yelled, his face growing redder. “Goddammit! Which one of you crazy assholes is my daddy?”

Methos looked at the others, and they all started laughing. Setting down their swords, they all laughed long and hard, much to the growing fury of the little boy holding the ax. “Boy, none of us can ever possibly be your father.”

“Oh, yeah, dude? Why not? And don’t lie, bitch, or we’ll put all your asses on “Jerry Springer”, fatass, and when the envelope opens, some fucking heads will roll! There’s no holy ground that can save your bitch ass when you’re on Jerry’s show, dude!” Eric was yelling, as Kyle and Stan chanted “Jerry, Jerry, Jerry” in the back.

Duncan was the one who finally spoke, kneeling in front of the fat kid. “Boy, we’re Immortals, and we can’t father children. Ever.”

“Why not, dude? Your wieners don’t work?” Stan walked up.

“It’s that sissy ass long hair, huh? I bet it is. I bet you smoke pot and your little swimmers think you’re a sissy ass girl.” Kyle stayed back, standing guard over Kenny’s body, which Caspian was staring at. “Don’t even think about it, dude.”

“My sissy ass long hair has nothing to do with it, and there’s nothing wrong with my equipment.” Duncan frowned as the Horsemen snorted and Cassandra laughed. “No Immortal can have a child. Ever. It’s part of the rules of the game.”

“Dude, that sucks.”

“Yeah, but it’s canon, so what are you gonna do?” Silas shrugged.

“What’s canon, dude? Is that that slow assed song they use on the lightbulb commercial?” Cartman frowns, frustrated that he used all his mom’s frequent flyer miles for this shit.

“It’s the rules of our game. It ties us, binds us, it holds our world together.” Methos spoke, in a very scholarly manner.

“That sounds an awful lot like ‘the force’, dude. I’m calling rip off, here.” Kyle wagged his finger, as Stan nodded.

Eric was crushed. Another failed search for his father that led nowhere, and now he had killed Kenny. It was too much.

“Let’s go, guys. I killed my friend…I killed Kenny! Oh, God! What have I done, what have I done!”

Duncan put his arm around the sobbing boy. “Hey…like you said…things happen. Sidekicks can look like an enemy in the dark. You have to go on, it’s what he would want. Forgive yourself, boost the ratings, move on.”

“You’re an asshole, dude. Oh, and that sissy hair? Yeah, cut that shit, receding hairline boy. You think killing your friend is just something I can get over? Huh? That’s my friend, dude! There can be only one! Okay, three. But, damn! It isn’t like a girlfriend or something! Bros before hos, dude!”

Cartman, Kyle and Stan loaded up Kenny on the big wheel. Tying a rope to the back of Cartman’s, they pulled it along, and rode away.

“Hey, Cartman…now we’re just the three horsemen. It’s not the same, dude. It doesn’t have the same ring to it.” Kyle shouted over the wind.

Cartman’s heart was heavy. Not only had he failed again in his search for his father, but he had to forgive himself for killing his friend and brother in arms. It would be a long ride home to South Park.

Eric Cartman
Misc Cartoons / South Park
1128 words

Betrayal

2008-02-09T16:24:17Z

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!"

In the elven woods of Lothlorien, a weary group of men sat in fellowship around a campfire. They were tired, dirty and hungry. The quest that they had entered into was fraying their nerves, not to mention their ragged clothes.

Coming towards them, whistling the theme to “The Munsters”, came a young man on his own quest, a journey that he vowed to never cease, not until he found the true identity of his father. Under the canopy of branches and leaves, he trudged, valiantly towards the camp.

“Goddamn shit piss mother fucker Jennifer Lopez’s fat ass!”

“Who is it? Who are you?” A tall man stood and strode over in a very manly way, to grab Cartman by the collar. “Who are you, and why are you following us?”

“Dude! Take a fucking chill pill, beard boy! I’m just here looking for someone.” Cartman twisted and batted at the man’s arm until he let go. The others sat and stared at the rotund little boy with the large Jansport backpack.

Frodo glared, “He’s here for the ring. Aragorn, he’s after the ring.”

“Fuck you, bug eyed boy. I ain’t after your freakin ring. I’m looking for my father. My real father. So…which one of you guys got busy with my mommy? Hmmmmm? You better talk, dudes, cuz I’m not leaving until somebody gives me an answer.” Eric waddles over and sits on a rock next to Boromir. “Dude, you look just like that guy in the movies.”

“What is a movie? And what makes you think that one of us sired you?” Boromir glared at the fat kid.

“Oh, yeah, dude, I forgot…this is like olden days, Little House on the fucking Prairie, right? Movies are these…” Cartman purses his lips and thinks, his eyebrows lifting. “magical creations made by wizards who use great sorcery and lots of money to create shit that will be out on DVD before you can say ‘Gigli’, dude.”

Frodo’s eyes got bigger, and even Aragorn came to sit by him, leaning forward in interest. “Does this magic require a spell, or a staff?”

“Oh, hell, no, dude! Most of the time it doesn’t even require a writer or a script! And you look like this actor, in a bunch of shitty movies Mommy has on DVD, dude!” Cartman point at Boromir, and then he turns to Aragorn. “You, too, dude, only this different guy. I forget his name, but Mommy screams it in the shower, sometimes. Gino…Vito…Toppo Giggio…whatever, dude.”

Boromir laughs, “Well, this handsome fellow must be popular with the maidens, I’ll wager.”

“Uh…not really, dude. The guy you look like, he gets killed most of the time. Usually by the good guys. Like…every fucking movie, dude, and he never gets the chicks. Sucks, yeah, but it’s true, dude. If I see that dude in a movie, I know he ain’t getting any and he’s a dead dog.”

Aragorn was now laughing. “I suppose this one who looks like me dies, as well?”

“Nah, dude! He totally gets to boff all the hot babes! And even when he’s like a total asshole, the babes still give it up, dude!” Cartman nods.

“And who do I look like, in the magic?” Frodo leans towards the storyteller.

“Okay, um, dude, you kinda look like that guy who lost to Kelly Clarkson on ‘American Idol’, and you do NOT want to know about the movie he made. Stinkeroony!” Cartman holds his nose.

Boromir scowls as Aragorn laughs out loud, and he stands, pulling his sword. “There is no magic! He’s after the ring! I say we kill him. He lies, no one looks like me who dies!” They all jumped at a large dark spot on the dirt ground. “What was that?”

“Floorshadowing, dude. It freaked my ass out the first time I saw it, too. And I have a ring. I have Ring Dings.” Cartman pulled a box of the treats out of his backpack.

“Ring Dings? What is that?” Frodo looked at the box, curiously.

“Ooooh, no, dude. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, bug eyed boy. Which one of you is my daddy? And let me see your ring. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” Cartman waves the snack box temptingly.

“Okay. Here. You can see it for a moment.” Frodo hands him the ring, getting a wrapped cake in return, which he devours.

“Cool, dude!” Cartman puts the ring on his finger, after giving cakes to the others. Instead of making him invisible, it only slims him down to a normal looking size. “Dude! This fucking ring is broken! This sucks ass, dude!”

Boromir licks cream filling off his lower lip and shrugs. “It’s only one ring, boy. You can’t expect it to make you invisible. Now give it to me.”

Cartman keeps the ring in his pudgy fist. “I don’t think so, dude. Who’s my daddy? You want the ring, I want an answer.”

“None of us bedded your mother, boy. Now give Frodo the ring.” Aragorn finishes another cake.

Cartman smiles. “There’s another magic I know. It’s a game from back home. It’s called…um…Ring, Ring, Now I Can Sing. Okay, so, you guys sit on the ground in a circle, okay? Now, put your hands cupped behind your backs. Okay, now sing this song:

Shootin at the walls of heartache,
Bang, bang!
I am the warrior!
Well, I am the warrior
And victory is mine!

Okay, dudes. Now you try. And while you sing, I’ll circle around and drop the ring in one of you guys’ hands. Okay?”

Confused, they started to sing, and Aragorn might be king, but the guy can’t carry a tune to save his life. Cartman cringes, and slips on his backpack. “Oh, and you have to close your eyes, cuz then it’s a surprise who gets the ring.”

As they sing, with their eyes closed, Eric slips off towards the woods, with the ring in his hand. Boromir hears a twig break and opens his eyes. “He’s running with the ring!”

“Ooops! Later, dudes!” Running into the woods, Cartman puts the ring in his pocket, and keeps trucking, with the others hot on his tail.

While all of that is going on, a small wrinkled creature comes up to the fire, and pokes at the remaining Ring Ding left in the abandoned box. Holding it up, he smiles.

“Preciousssssss.”

Eric Cartman
Misc. Cartoons/South Park

Most People Wish I Spent More Time With My Dad

2008-02-09T16:21:08Z

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.

“I thought I was your whole reason for existing? Huh? Me and Mommy and that guy you keep wearing the Speedo for.” Cartman finds a file about someone named Duane. Ooh, this looks interesting.

“Oh, yeah, him. If he shows up, make sure you don’t tell him you’re my kid. Say you’re an agent or something.”

“Why? Goddammit! Now that we found each other, we don’t need to be ashamed of our love, Dad!” Eric opens a file and chokes at the smell of cigarette smoke. “Dude, this basement fucking sucks. You guys never heard of ventilation? My tender pink lungs need fresh air. Hey, when do you think that guy will show up?”

“What guy?”

“The guy with the ‘emerald green eyes that can pierce into the darkest corners of my soul’.”

“You’ve been reading my online journal again, haven’t you, Eric?” Mulder looked over the top of the file. “I don’t know. He usually shows up for sweeps.”

“Dude, no way. Mommy was reading it and I looked over her shoulder. She’s pissed, Dad. I’d watch your ankles when she gets here, man.” Eric pulled out a picture from a file. “Dude! Who’s the blonde hottie? I’d like her count her chocula.”

Mulder comes over and takes the file out of Cartman’s hands and glances at it. “Marita Corvarrubias. Dangerous. You don’t want to mess with her. Now get out of the files and come sit at my desk. I have to go on a search and obtain mission.”

“For what, Dad? Huh? Can I go? Please, Daddy? Huh? Can I. Can I? Huh, Dad?” Cartman waddles behind Mulder to the desk.

“No. This is a dangerous and complicated mission, involving hot liquids and crowds.”

“Coffee, dude?”

“Yeah.”

“I know, dude, pink packets, not blue…whatever, Dad. Look, don’t fucking come back here without a Yoo Hoo, or the shit’s gonna hit the fan, ‘kay?” Eric climbed up in the chair, with some effort and sat there, looking sweet.

“You just sit there. Don’t answer the phone, don’t open the drawers, don’t talk to anyone and DON’T open any files, Eric. I mean it. You’ll get a spanking.” Mulder walked to the door, pointing his finger.

“Dad, seriously, we gotta talk about your S&M shit later, dude. This thing about spanking is just gross, dude.” Eric shakes his head.

“Just be good. I’ll be right back.”

Ten long minutes passed, and Cartman couldn’t take the pressure. Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a large black marker and looked for something to write on. The poster behind Dad’s desk looked good. Where it says “I Want To Believe”, Eric writes “But my balls are itchy” and adds a smiley face, just as someone comes in.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Special Agent Eric Suck My Balls Cartman. Why do you need to know?”

“Where’s Mulder?”

“He went out on a dangerous and complicated mission.”

“Coffee?”

“And Yoo Hoo, dude.”

“He’ll be gone a while. Is Walter running around here?” The man sat on the edge of the desk.

“Dude, that old guy? He couldn’t run around the inside ring of a fuckin Cheerio, dude. Baldy’s trying to get jelly stains off his tie.”

“How’d that happen? Never mind, I don’t care. So who are you?”

“I think, fatass, the question here is who are you? Just who are you to be asking about my daddy?” Cartman’s head wobbles side to side.

“Special Agent Alex Krycek. And did you say Mulder is your father?”

“Dude! What do you think? Don’t I look like my mommy and daddy?”

“If your mother is who I think it is, then I would say you got her height.”

“Don’t fuck with Mommy, dude. I don’t care what color Daddy thinks your eyes are, I’ll fuck you up, dude.” Cartman was indignant, twisting around in the chair and waving the marker.

“What did he say about my eyes?” Krycek leaned over the desk, staring intently at the pudgy child.

“Dude, he said they were the intense color of radioactive cat turds.”

“I’d give my right arm, just to hear him say those words to me, someplace quiet…like the woods.” Krycek’s eyes got dreamy.

Eric jumped and pointed down. “Dude! Did you fucking see that? What the fuck was that?”

“Oh…that? Shadows from the sun, I guess. Floorshadowing.”

“We’re in the basement, dude. You need some fucking therapy, dude.” Cartman twirls his finger next to his ear.

“Nyet. I need a shrink like I need a whole in the head, ditya junior. Tell your father I’ll see him later.” Krycek turned to go.

Cartman stared at the second shadow on the floor. Creepy. “Dark doorway, across from his place, dude?”

“Yes. And you’d better get that marker off the poster. He’ll be pissed.” Krycek laughed and walked out.

Eric tried everything. Spit only made it worse. The wipeys in Mommy’s desk weren’t helping. The paint thinner he found in the closet was good, except the fumes in the closed basement were thick and overpowering. Cartman farted, loudly, and then lit a match to try and clear the rancid air.

Sitting outside on the street, he was wrapped in a blanket when Mulder came up with his coffee. No Yoo Hoo! Cartman scowled.

“Eric! My God! What happened? What…the whole office is destroyed!”

“Dad, I tried to save your poster. But…uh…that Krycek guy showed up, and he was really pissed about me being your son. So he…he threatened me…dude, he said he’d take me out to live with some family in Nebraska or Montana or some shit. But I scared him off, dude, and that’s when there was this explosion…”

“Krycek! That bastard tried to kill my boy! That’s it. No more handcuffs and kissing for him. Poor Eric. Let’s take you home.” Mulder gently led Eric to his car.

“Can we stop for Yoo Hoo’s and Cheesy Poofs, Dad? I’ve had a rough day. You think I can get Worker’s Comp for this, dude?” A couple of sniffles and a smile up, and Cartman’s in the game again.

“Anything you want.”

So Cartman got his treats, and a day with Mulder.

Most people wish Eric Cartman was their little boy.

But there can be only one.

Daddy, that is.

Eric Cartman
Misc Cartoons / South Park
1181 words

One Question For Show and Tell

2008-02-09T16:17:23Z

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.

Entering the classroom, he stood in the front of the room, waiting for the eyes of the children to turn to him.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Finally, it was Stan who turned and stared, yelling out his greeting of respect.

“Dude! Is that a dress you’re wearing? Look Kyle! Cartman’s wearing a dress!”

Mr. Garrison turned from the board, and blinked. “Eric, cross dressing is something that I have an understanding for, but this is “Show and Tell Day”, not “To Wong Foo Day”.

“Padawans, shut thy traps. It is I, Master Eric, Jedi Knight. I am here to show you the ways of the force. But first, before I go forth with this Show and Tell, I must know one thing about each of you.”

Eric was talking, huffing and puffing, as he climbed up on the table in the front of the room.

“Dude, what the fuck? You can’t be a Jedi! You have to be in High School before you can be a Jedi, dude!” Stan was staring at the long, flowing robes that Cartman was struggling with as he climbed. “Your mom’s gonna be pissed if you tear her robe, dude. Didn’t that come from Victoria’s Secret?”

Cartman could sense he was losing the crowd, so he pulled out the lightsaber that Yoda gave him, and pushed the button. A long, pink light extended out, to the ooohs and ahhhs of the class. Eric frowned, reminding himself he needed to talk to Obi-Wan about the pink, dude. But it was okay for now.

“This is a lightsaber. An elegant weapon, from a time where skill and grace mattered. Now, kids just rely on AK-47’s and spitballs. But the lightsaber is the weapon of a Jedi. This was given to me by Master Yoda, who is living proof that size does not matter. Now, the question you must all answer is this: Dark or Light? Which side will you choose?” The cold air around Cartman seemed to darken, which made even him shiver in the chiffon robes.

“I like light meat. It goes better with the cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving.” Wendy piped up, impressed by the size of Cartman’s wand.

Mr. Garrison piped up, “Now, children, I must say that dark meat has its pleasures as well. Why I was just telling Chef last night at the Pussycat bar that I was rediscovering my love for dark meat…”

“I’m not talking about MEAT!” Cart man sputtered, waving the lightsaber. “I’m talking about the Force, you stinking morons! I’ll feed you all to the bantha if you don’t shut the hell up! Dark side or light side of the FORCE! Which one?”

Kenny mumbled, something about the dark side guys got more chicks, while the light side guys found out that the hot chicks were their freaking sisters.

“Dude, you got a point. But as my close personal friend, Anakin ‘Big Balls to the Wall’ Skywalker can tell you, the dark side can turn you from a slightly stiff boy with attitude into a full on asshole. So watch out for that, dude. I decided to ask everyone I meet if they are on the light side or the dark side of the force, dude, so I know if I have to kick some butt!”

Stan laughed. “Dude, you can’t get your leg up high enough to kick butt, even in that dress.”

Cartman lost sight of the peaceful flow of the force long enough to throw the lightsaber at Stan, but it bounced and sliced Kenny’s head off.

“YOU KILLED KENNY, YOU JEDI BASTARD!” Now Kyle was pissed. First Eric has sliced off his mom’s hair in church and now this? Oh, hell, no.

"Eric...this is not appropriate behavior for Show and Tell Day." Mr. Garrison frowned sternly.

"Suck my balls, how would you, Mr. Garrison, like to?" Eric can do a snappy Yoda snark with the best of them, he thought.

Cartman took advantage of the shock and throwing up from some of the class long enough to grab his lightsaber and waddle out to the door. Provided Wes Janson was there with the X-wing fighter for the ride that he promised and got the message for the time it was needed, Eric’s escape should be smooth.

“I must leave for a meeting of the Council, dudes. Then I have a dentist appointment. So remember, you have to choose the light or dark side, dudes. Just write it down and let me know, okay? Don’t try. Write or write not, buttholes. There is no try. Yeah, and uh, I gotta go.”

Eric ran, the floral robes floating behind him. Out on the playground, he looked around for the fighter.

“Goddammit! Where’s my ride?”

He sat, dejected, his grand exit ruined. Ah, hell.

Eric Cartman, Jedi Knight
Misc. TV / South Park
927 words

Love Meme from that stinking Hsu bitch

2008-01-26T23:01:19Z

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.

The Game of Life

2007-10-01T17:48:08Z

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

*****

Dear Padre,

I wasn’t going to answer your letter, because Mr. Garrison says that I should avoid priests, because I am a handsome little boy without a strong father figure around to guide my innocent little mind, and to protect my innocent little ass. But Kyle’s mom says that the church is stopping some of that stuff with lawsuits, and I could use lots of money, so I guess I’ll answer you.

Latin girls like sex. That’s what Chef said a lot. He said that they liked sex every day and night, and that they will take you to these special shows with donkeys and shake their maracas at you. Don’t go out with the dirty slut who screwed her brother. That’s just sick, dude. Of course, he was a poet, and you know all those poet guys are all stupid fags, talking about flowers and trees and ravens. What they needs is a good ass kicking, and then they’d stop trying to rhyme everything and write something good, like a comic book. And stay away from the guy with the big sword. Taking that up your butthole is gonna hurt, and you know Jesus isn’t going to help you with that faggy stuff. There’s no such thing as Kosher lube, dumbass.

So my advice to you is to go with the Latin honey, and show her a good time with the old pokety poke in the confession booth. Chicks dig priests, dude. Mommy has lots of dirty fanfic smut about Father Dowling and that gay bitch who played a priest on “The Thornbirds”. Make her wear a Catholic schoolgirl’s costume and play “spank the naughty ho” for Halloween. But remember, celibacy is what makes you guys want to hide your tickle pickle in the butts of altar boys, so go have some fun. Then you go to confession, say a Hail Mary, cross yourself and drink some grape juice. All clean.

In Jesus’ Name,
Cartman

*******

Dear Cartman,

I’m a twenty four year old Playboy Playmate of the Year, with a 36D-24-35 body made for sin. I love sex, and I think I might be addicted to it. I love to walk around naked all the time, just ready to have sex whenever my man asks me. I have natural, golden blonde hair that’s long and beautiful, and I’m quite beautiful. My lips are full, and can suck the chrome off a trailer hitch.

But all the guys I meet think I’m a gold digger, when it’s not true! I don’t need fancy clothes, jewelry or furs to make me happy. I’m a simple girl, at heart, and only want to find a man who will give me affection and all the sex he wants to have. Is that so much to ask? I’m willing to sign any prenuptial agreement!

I’m so lonely! Why can’t I find Mr. Right?

Signed,

Beautiful Blonde Nympho

******

Dear Ho,

Your first words were “Hi, Sailor!”, weren’t they? You put mirrors on your own shoes. Your favorite pair of earrings is your knees, right?

Hey, at least you aren’t some nasty, money grabbing, greedy bitch.

I don’t think I can give you the right advice, but I know someone who will listen to all your problems and give you his opinion, over and over, right there in his office. Just call my daddy, Denny Crane, at 555-550-5555, and tell him he owes me for this one.

Pimpingly yours,

A good son

******

Dear Cartman,

I’m a beautiful, classy, sexy singer, with a successful career. I also am a shaman for a pack of hot looking wolves. I have lots of friends, and life is pretty good.

But I met this guy, and he really gets my motor running. The problem is, well, he’s a car. But now he’s human. I just don’t know what to do with this. I’m in love with my car. I gotta feel for my automobile. He’s my little deuce coupe, and you don’t know what I got. I know I should take it slow, but I can’t drive 55, not where he’s concerned. I want to burn some rubbers with him, because he’s so hot. But can this last, or will we run out of gas before we reach the finish line?

Signed,
Hot Little Mama Not From Pasadena

******

Dear Hottie Andretti,

Before you get your jiffy lubed and your tires mounted and rotated, step back and ask yourself a few questions. What’s the Blue Book value of this relationship? Is he going to trade you in for the first convertible that lets him scoot up their tailpipe? What kind of insurance do you have, in case of a heart on collision?

My advice is to go slower than Kyle’s mom when she’s driving in the rain. If you put this romance in the fast lane, you might find out too late that this guy’s a lemon, and there’s no warranty on a broken heart. Enjoy the ride, but keep both eyes on the road, and stay out of the back seat, till you know that there won’t be any moving violations. And whatever you do, don’t drive this romance under the influence. Who knows? Maybe you can drive this car, and maybe he’ll love you. Just watch for life in the fast lane.

Oh, and keep him away from the wolves. You don’t want them pissing on his tires, right?

Mechanically,

Cartman Earnhart

"Better the devil you know..."

2007-09-23T00:25:09Z

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

Violent Opposition to Livejournal

2007-08-10T22:43:34Z

“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.

“Mmmmpf, msmpn mpf.” Kenny shook his head and stared at the screen, while Cartman’s fat fingers flew over the keyboard.

“THEY KILLED OUR JOURNALS! THOSE DONKEY RAPING, GOAT BLOWING SHIT EATERS!” Cartman screaming in rage, as Stan and Kyle stared at the screen in disbelief. When they brought up the email address they used, bigdongman at Yahoo dot com, there was a letter from the Livejournal Abuse Team.

Dear Stanley Stud,
The Livejournal Abuse Team is here to protect our site from sick, twisted perverts who seek to use our nice, clean Internet site to show disgusting graphics of a sexual nature that will overstimulate young children and turn them into criminal pedophiles. It has been reported to us that you have been posting graphics of a sexual nature, and therefore it is the decision of the Abuse Team to ban you, block you, pretend you never existed and keep your money for your permanent account. We have also reported you to the authorities in your area, you sick perv, and we hope that you spend a long time in prison for your vile crime against nature and humanity.

You make us sick, and that’s pretty hard to do.

With Bannation in Our Hearts,
Dick.Small AT sixapart.com – Executive Flying Monkey – LJ Abuse Team

The four boys stared in awe at the screen. They were no longer simply four young kids from South Park. They were celebrities. Martyrs. Heroes.

Yeah…HEROES. Goddamn Petrelli style!

As they looked around the site, they saw that people they didn’t even know were rallying to their cause. People were yelling. Cats were being macroed. Butters started a petition. It was the biggest thing to hit South Park since the Terrence and Phillip fiasco. A fundraising drive was started to hire Denny Crane to defend his South Park boy and the others, in this fight against tyranny and censorship.

But in San Francisco, no one responded. No one said anything, except for a couple of guys talking about pedophiles and child porn. But there was absolutely nothing in the way of intelligent dialogue.

And this pissed Eric Cartman off.

Finally, after five long days, during which the town had a parade for freedom, a blood drive for victims of the reaming done by rabid goats, a charity concert by Vanilla Ice and Hot Chocolate and a Politicians for Porn party, Livejournal made an official statement, which Mr. Garrison took the opportunity to use as a class lesson in civics and social studies.

“Now children…let’s examine the post that Mr. Berkowitz posted.” Mr. Garrison turned on the overhead.

“Dude! That’s not Barak!” Kyle shouted out from his seat, as they strained to see the fuzzy image. “That’s a poodle.”

“No, I think it’s a sheep.” Said Stan.

“Now children, I’m pretty sure that’s Mr. Berkowitz.”

“IT’S A FUCKING GOAT, YOU BLIND BITCHES!” Cartman yelled. “I know, because my mommy used to keep one in her room on the third Tuesday of each month.”

“Why Eric, I believe you are correct. It’s an anonymous cartoon goat.” Garrison tipped his head to look, nodding.

“It’s about fucking time. I thought these morons would never figure out how to make a sockpuppet, the fucking morons.” Cartman rolled his eyes.

“ERIC! There will be no abuse of puppets in this classroom!” Garrison pointed his own puppet covered hand at his students. “Now, let’s take a look at the opening. The opening is the guide to the rest of the letter. It tells the reader the purpose of the communication, and the important topics being addressed.” Garrison read aloud, while pointing to the words on the projection screen.

We are sorry it has taken so long to address the concerned community members. From reading the recent comments there's a lot of misinformation regarding the two users who were permanently suspended on Friday. In this post we're going to try and condense and reiterate all of our recent policy clarifications as well as address the most frequent questions we've seen.

“Now, can anyone translate this from business language to common use English? Stan?”

“Yeah, they’re saying that they’ve been jerking off, cuz they didn’t think anyone noticed that they were butt raping us and those two Harry Potter freaks.”

“Very good, Stanley. Now, Kyle, can you elaborate?”

“Well, it says they want to give us the short and straight story of how they fucked up.”

“Now children, when you look at the letter, does it look like they condensed or gave a short explanation?”

“No, Mr. Garrison.” The kids all shook their heads.

“Very good. Now, let’s go past all of the Terms of Service, because the fact is, children, that they don’t really use those to judge anything. Let’s go here, to this part.” Garrison scrolled down, and pointed as he read:

We do not review content until it is reported to us. We will accept all reports of material that is reported to us, regardless of the source, but we will only take action when that material violates our policies.

“I reported them for a group that told girls how to starve to death. I also reported one that taught people how they could beat their kids in places where no teacher or social worker can see the bruises.” Wendy piped up helpfully. “But they told me that they couldn’t do anything at all!”

“Well, Wendy, that’s because those things don’t offend them. But do you children remember when we discussed alternative lifestyles and homophobia? Now, here are the art pieces that got the other two members banned.” The graphics flashed on the screen.

“EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” The entire classed yelled out, and Kyle puked right next to his desk.

“Dude, what the hell is that on his cheek? Is that mayonnaise?” Kyle wiped his mouth.

“It’s whipped cream, dude.” Stan squinted.

“No, children. Those are body fluids. Now, let’s show the graphic that Eric posted. As you can see, the nudity is full frontal.”

“Holy shit, Cartman! Is that you? What the fuck are you doing to that stuffed goat?” Kyle stared, while Kenny mumbled.

“I was four! I was trying to post it in my journal so my grandma could see it when she was writing her Supernatural slash fiction.” Cartman was defensive, but undaunted, since his newfound celebrity had brought him courage he had never possessed before. “Enough of this bullshit! It’s time for action!.”

Stan, Kyle, Kenny and Cartman all stood and went to the front of the class. They ripped off their ordinary school clothes, and revealed that they wore leather panties, with red capes. Picking up their shields, they looked at Mr. Garrison.

“Those flea bitten twatmonkeys had five days to fix this. Five days! The time for talking is over. It is not enough to debate what a student should do, or a citizen of South Park. We must ask ourselves what a free man would do. If we don’t stand and fight, then Internet tyranny will reign, and what will happen to all my daddies? Daddy Mulder, who wants to butt rape Krycek in the Lincoln Bedroom. Daddy House, who can’t decide between so many places for his cane. Daddy Hsu! Daddy Methos! Daddy Wesley! This must stop! This is not madness, THIS IS SOUTH PARK!”

The four strode out of the class, and boarded Cartman’s porta potty TARDIS. The Doctor would understand. He understood the fight against evil masters. He understood everything. The four soldiers didn’t look back. Only the strong and the hard get to be called Parkans. Only the hard. Only the strong.

The TARDIS landed on a brand new BMW, scratching the fucking shit out of it, in the Six Apart parking lot. As they came out, a young blonde man came running up, tears running down his face.

“MY CAR! You scratched my BABY!”

“No way, dude! Britney Spears did it! We saw her! She went that way, dude!” The boys tried to look innocent, which was hard with the outfits that they wore.

“That bitch! She’s been pissed off since I got married. Hey, who are you guys?” Brad grimaced as he looked at the rolls of pale fat spilling over Cartman’s leather briefs.

Kyle looked at the others, and lied. “We’re on a mission from God, dude. They called us because a giant Stay Puft marshmallow man was seen entering the building, and we have to investigate. So, ummm, who are you, dude?”

“I’m Brad. I invented the Internet.” The sun glinting off his hair was blinding.

“I thought Al Gore invented the Internet?” Stan looked confused, while Kenny mumbled.

“Okay, I invented Livejournal. Then I sold out to a giant corporate entity.” Brad started to walk them to the entry of the building. He waved his magic decoder ring in front of the security device, and they were in! Was it really this easy?

Suddenly, a man appeared. He was dressed in a butler’s uniform, with weird hair and a strange, creepy expression. “Brad, I’m mad, for you, too. But who are these young friends of yours?”

“Aaron! They’re here to save us from some kind of marshmallow monster! Did you see that Britney Spears scratched my Beemer? I think I’m going to be sick. I need to lie down or something.” Brad led them through the dark hall, and a strange, wild eyed woman ran up. She was dressed like a maid, but her eyes looked like she had been doing speed or drinking coffee for days. It was fucking creepy. “Chica! Have you seen the monster that came in? These guys are going to kill it. Oh, and did you see my car? That bitch, Britney, just because I wouldn’t get that tattoo.” Brad rambled as they went on.

Cartman’s superior hearing picked up the sound of…tap dancing? When they neared the elevator, there was a girl in sequined hotpants and a bustier, tap dancing like a poodle on crack who needed to pee. Aaron turned to grin mockingly at the boys. “That’s Rachel. We let her dance for the customers, and no one suspects a thing.”

“Suspects what, dude? That she can’t dance?” Cartman’s eyebrow lifted, just as the elevator descended. There, in a black corset, feather boa, sky high heeled shoes and enough makeup to clean out Sephora, was a man. Not an attractive man. A man. In fishnets. “Holy fucking shit, dude. What the hell is going on in this place?”

“It’s staff meeting day. We have to talk about the big issues here at Livejournal.” Brad turned to the guy in the elevator. “Barak…Britney scratched my caaaaaarrrr.” The whine was sad, and the four boys immediately mocked him by imitating it.

“Finally. You guys are going to meet and talk about your confusing policies about content?” Stan piped up, adjusting his shield.

“No.” Barak shook his head.

“Capricious and draconian deletions?” Kyle queried.

“Not a chance in hell.” Aaron snorted.

Kenny mumbled, the sound nearly lost behind the shield.

“NO! We’re not talking about refunds, First Amendment, lousy customer service, employees who can’t keep their mouths shut, selective censorship, homophobia, shady charity donations, bait and switch, false advertising, IPO’s, liability, right wing neo-Nazi pressure groups, Miller versus anyone, public policy, pedophiles, deleted journals, or any of that SHIT!” Rachel roared over the sound of her tap, tap, tapping.

“So…dude…what do you guys meet about?” Cartman pulled out his sword, and pointed it at Barak’s throat. “Choose your words carefully, corporate bitch, for they just might be your last.”

Barak smiled. It was an evil grin, and then…he farted. And farted again. Pretty soon, they were all farting, all except for Brad, who was cowering behind Cartman. “Why, we’re going to discuss world domination.”

They all reached up, and unzipped their foreheads, and the eerie glow of the blue light filled the hallway.

“Holy shit, dude. Slitheen!” Kyle was ready to run.

“NO RETREAT! NO SURRENDER! THAT IS PARKAN LAW! TODAY, THESE BASTARDS WILL KNOW THAT FOUR FREE MEN…” Cartman looked behind him and sighed. “…AND ONE CORPORATE SELL OUT STOOD AGAINST TYRANNY. THIS IS WHERE WE FIGHT! THIS IS WHERE THEY DIE! THEY WILL LEARN TO RESPECT MY AUTHORITY!” Cartman roared in caplock rage, waving his sword around at the slimy things emerging from the human suits.

The Slitheen who was in the Aaron suit blasted Kenny, who splattered all over the tasteful corporate décor.

“You killed Kenny, you homophobic alien bastards!” Kyle pulled his sword, and got ready to fight.

Stan, however, leaned over to Eric. “Dude…Insane Journal. Forty dollars for a permanent account with four hundred icons.”

The boys looked at each other, then at the monsters in front of them. What to do? Fight an unspeakable monster? Or move on to another place without a fight?

“Let’s go, guys. Fuck this shit. We’ll get Daddy Crane to sue their bitch asses.” Cartman flipped off the monsters and started waddling down the hall, his red cape and belly flesh flapping in the breeze of the air conditioner.

“We’re going to let them get away with this? What the fuck, dude?” Kyle was ready, itching for a fight.

Cartman patted him on the shoulder, with the wisdom of the ages in his eyes. “Live Parklander, grow stronger. Fight another day.”

They strode out, getting back in their TARDIS to return home. Brad remained there, in the parking lot, sobbing over the loss of his perfect vehicle. The monsters inside the building turned on each other, as monsters are known to do. As they began to leave, Cartman noticed a herd of rabid goats entering the building. Darwin’s Laws. Or was it more Murphy’s? Either way, the destruction would be complete, and happen by their own hand.

Three weary warriors of innocence returned as heroes to South Park, with an extra blonde. They fought the good fight, followed the goat path, saved the cheerleader, saved the world and discovered the most important truth of all, the secret that those LJ monsters didn’t understand.

Money talks…bullshit walks.

And the battle was over, for today. Nestled in their beds, with cream on their poor, leather chafed willies, three little boys knew that they were triumphant. They did it for honor. They did it for freedom. It was for the fricking children!

Let freedom ring. Ring a ding ding!

Last Of the Timey Wimey Lords

2007-07-04T23:08:03Z

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!”

“Destroy the Earth, you will not.” The voice was unreal, a mix of Dagobah and something…Northern. “Out there, they are fighting. Win they will, I tell you.”

Just then, the guards came in, and the leader saluted to the man in black. “Master Vader, sir, we have located two of the prisoners. All of the men and servants, and even the Doctor, snickered a little at that name.

“Excellent. Bring them to me. And fetch Captain Harkness. My final triumph over my fellow Timey Wimey Lord must have witnesses, so that he can squeal like a little girl.”

“Yes, Master Vader.” More hidden smirks, as the men march out.

Soon, six of them return, and they are dragging a blonde woman between them. Dressed in a tiny, metal plated bikini, with sheer green veils as a skirt, and her hair up in elaborate coils, Rose Tyler stares at the green creature in the cage. “Doc…Doctor? Is that really you?”

“Rose. My Rose. Safe from him, I thought.” His pointy ears drooped in disappointment and sorrow. “Master Vader, do what to her, do you? Humiliation is not the way of the Timey Wimey Lords!”

The Master Vader stopped polishing his helmet in the bowling ball machine. “Well, actually…” He leaped up to sit on the long table. “…it kind of is. Did you ever see pictures of your other regenerations? Not pretty. But I can’t take credit for your lovely Rose’s outfit. She works at Torchwood.”

The Doctor turned his gaze up from her metal encased breasts, and into her big, brown eyes…no…those eyes. Rose nodded. “On that alternate universe, Torchwood is both a defender of the planet agency and a strip club. I monitor alien life between lap dances.”

Just then, several men march in, floating a large, grey carbonite casing of a man between them. Master Vader stood and danced in effeminate glee as they stood it up. Pushing the controls, he backed away as the pure carbon casing began to melt, and Jack’s face became more and more flesh. “Ah, yes, Captain Jack Harkness, future Face of Solo.”

Jack fell forward, sweating and pale, shaking from carbon sickness and a bit of hypervodka still not slept off while he was in there. Rose caught him, and he happily snuggled his head between her bosoms, much to the Doctor’s displeasure.

“Oh, Jack…what did they do? Look at you! You sick, twisted monster!” Rose shouted at Master Vader, who merely shrugged.

“I had nothing to do with that. Captain Harkness got bored with being tied up and whipped, and he asked us to do that. Said it gave him a head rush.” Master Vader smirked happily. His evil plan was coming together nicely.

Rose ignored the man, snuggling and crooning softly to Jack, before kissing him gently. “I love you.”

“I know.” Captain Harkness nodded, with a grin. “I love me, too.”

Just then a man came running into the room. "Master Vader, Master Vader!"

"Oh, what is it now?" He sighed and looked at the underling.

"He's here...a ship has landed. He's here. He demands to see you, my master."

"Tell him he doesn't have an appointment. Come back later."

A short, black robed figure entered the room. The underling looked from one to the other. "He MUST be allowed to speak, Master Vader."

"He's using an old Jedi mind trick on you, you fool!"

The short newcomer lifted the hood of his robe, and spoke in a way that commanded the attention of everyone in the room. "GODDAMMIT! Where the hell is my DADDY?"

"Eric! Eric the half-Jedi-half-Timey Wimey Lord! My son!" The Doctor's creased face showed his relief, as well as his concern that his beloved boy was in danger.

"THIS...lump? This is the last of the last of the last of the Timey Wimey Lords? And a Jedi one at that?" Master Vader would have been more amused, if he weren't so annoyed. "It matters not, Doctor, for my evil plan is about to begin. Does anyone have a stopwatch?"

"Damn, if my teaboy weren't touring with the London company of 'La Cage a Faux'..." Jack looked almost contrite. Almost.

"I didn't come alone, Master Vader. I brought help." Cartman was remaining calm, his Jedi cool unflappable.

"Eric, NO! You can't expose your sister!" The Doctor shouted in terror, but it was too late. A woman burst into the room in white robes, the gown of a senator with the hood draped over her bun hairdo.

"This is your sister?" Master Vader looked from Eric to the black woman with the horrid hairdo.

"No, you twit. I'm A SISTER. As in the first black woman companion. But do I get any respect? Do I get this bloke to shed a tear? Did I get to shag Shakespeare? Well...actually, I did. But besides that? I've been traipsing all over the planet for the last year, telling the story of the Doctor to every stinking person I could find. And you're going to lose!" Martha pointed at Master Vader in fury.

"Calm down, bitch! No one's going to replace you! You're every bit as popular and loved as Rose over here." Eric, the Master and everyone else in the room burst out laughing. "Sorry...sorry...just couldn't pull that one off. Anyway, start your fucking countdown, asshole!"

"Errr, Eric, this is a family show, so language we must watch. Profanity leads to anger, anger leads to letters. Letters lead to cancellation." The Doctor pointed one long finger at the boy.

"Right, right, I fucking forgot. It's Torchwood that gets the good shit. Oh, well...where were we? Oh, yeah, the final countdown. Get on with it, dickweed."

Dramatically, Master Vader swings his arm, and the clock on the wall starts counting down. They all stand there, as the seconds pass, bored. Waiting. Waiting.

Finally Master Vader turns to Martha and asks, conversationally, "So, anyway, what were you doing, you know, on your travels?"

"Oh, right. Well, I was telling everyone the story of the Doctor, and Eric told me that they all needed to have one unified thought, at exactly the right moment."

"No..." Master Vader backed away, as the Doctor's face brightened. "NO!"

All of a sudden, millions of voices rang out. From every corner of the Earth, they all said just one word. One word of faith in the Doctor. One word, with one belief. One uniting concept.

Martha strained to hear. "Did they say it? I can't hear!"

"Pull those buns off your ears. They said it."

Master Vader stared in horror at the screens. "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The sound of the voices filled the room. "Bananas...bananas...bananas..."

"Bananas?" Rose looked down at Jack.

Jack shook his head. "This shit is bananas?"

"B-A-N-A-N-A-S!" Cartman turned to the Doctor, and a beam of light descended from the ceiling to the cage, which melted and it was blinding. Everyone hid their eyes against the strong flashes of super banana yellow lights. When it stopped, and it was over, the Doctor stood before them, tapping one high heel.

"Holy shit, dude! That's not our Doctor!" Eric screamed in very un-Jedi like horror. "This is going to warp my innocent little mind!"

"What? What? WHAT?" The Doctor looked down, horrified.

"Oh, sorry...that's the twelfth regeneration, isn't it? My bad." Martha pulled out the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, and pointed it towards him. In no time, he was back to his old Tenth self again, much to Jack's bitter disappointment. That'll teach them to cancel her contract, though.

Master Vader tried to run. But the banana peel on the floor slowed him down, and Cartman used his Jedi-Timey-Wimey-Lord powers to fling Cheesy Poofs at him, one lodging nastily in his nose. He crumpled to the floor, and the Doctor took him in his arms.

"C'mon...regenerate! It's just a little junk food. You can do this!" The tears. The angst. The creases around his eyes that were similar to the ones before. Cartman hoped that shit wasn't genetically woven.

"My next incarnation...is...as...Jim...Carrey..." Master Vader gasped as the Doctor pulled off the mask. "I won't do it. Can't...I...win..."

"Right, well, I can understand that. Oh, did you tell Eric?" The Doctor held his dying lover, and sniffled nicely.

"What? What the fuck?" Cartman waddled over, staring down at the dying Timey Wimey Lord.

"Eric...I...am...your...mother..." The Master drew one long, last breath, and died.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Everyone turned to look at the Doctor, who sadly rose to face his son.

"Well, you see, things got a bit slashy on Gallifrey and some weaving was done when we were all stoned, so a bit of m-preg and well...that's the story. So, anyway. Earth is saved. Things are great. Let's go for daiquiris." The Doctor headed out, with the group behind him.

Much later, the Doctor and Eric stood in front of the tall pyre, watching the third to the last of the Timey Wimey Lords go up like a Roman candle. The sorrow was heavy. The somber mood unbroken. Wes Janson stood nearby, and he watched as father and son put their arms on each other's shoulders and knees, and Eric finally spoke.

"So, uh, Dad...got any hot dogs?"

"No, Eric."

"Marshmallows?"

"No."

"Let's blow this pop stand, have Wes drive us through In n Out."

"You're a very wise little Timey Wimey Lord, my son."

"Fuck yeah, I am."

Your Letters and Rants Go HERE!

2007-05-03T19:07:01Z

This is the place to leave a letter for Eric. Please specify if it's requesting advice or Cartman style justice.

Of course, it could be both, now couldn't it?

Submissions are screened, but by submitting the letter, you are telling Eric to have free rein in his response. This ain't no Dear Abby, folks.

And if your letter is picked, feel free to come on the "show" post and RP it up. If you want to have a courtroom confrontation in front of Judge Cartman, with another muse, let him know.

RotM - Hero Part 2 - Dr. Who, The 10 1/2 Incarnation, Saves Torchwood

2007-03-10T22:41:24Z

Two signals were sent. Two heroes were sent for.

One of them was aboard the TARDIS. His tall, lanky frame strode with purpose and determination, with his three companions behind him. There was the lovely Rose Tyler, and her fiance, Lord Byron. And then there was the stunningly beautiful Aislinn.

The TARDIS landed on a hill outside of Cardiff, not three miles from Torchwood Three. As The Doctor and his companions stepped out into the sunlight, British military vehicles pulled up. Prince Harry came up to greet them.

"I thought you were headed to Iraq, Your Highness." The Doctor greeted the young Prince.

"This matter took precedence, Doctor. Dr. We'Evil threatens the security of the entire world, not just the oil supplies." Harry led them down to the command center. "The Prime Minister has gone so far as to reactivate the second team, Doctor. I'm sorry. I know how you feel about your son..."

"SON?!" Rose, Aislinn and Byron all spoke in unison, turning their heads to look at the Doctor, who was uncharacteristically flabbergasted. Truly nonplussed.

"Your Highness, you can't be serious. There's no need for such an extreme measure." The Doctor was trying to think fast, trying to find a way to stop the Oncoming Mini-storm.

"You have a son? I thought you said you were sterile." Rose and Byron were both asking the same questions, but were interrupted when lightening and thunder crashed across the sky.

Suddenly, a blue portable toilet, the kind they use at construction sites and rock festivals, flew from the sky, zigging and zagging until it crashed and landed next to the TARDIS. Everyone recoiled in horror at the stench emanating from the time machine.

"What is that?" Aislinn held her nose and gasped.

"The TURDIS." The Doctor was quiet, now that he saw there was no way to avoid the inevitable arrival of the ten and a halfth Doctor. "He's here. My boy is really...here."

"Yes, Doctor. We had to send all the way to South Park, but we've brought your son here to help you fight Dr. We'Evil, save Torchwood Three and it's team, and save the world."

The door opened, with steam, glowing lights, and toilet paper streamers. In a dapper suit, with a long, black hooded cloak, one person stepped out to the ooh's, ahhh's and groans of the assembled soldiers. He waddled down the path, until he was standing in front of The Doctor.

"Father..." Cartman keeps his hands clasp before him, completely calm.

The Doctor pales considerably, but he looked down at the boy in front of him. "The Prince has been expecting you."

"I know, Father." Cartman nodded, wisely. All knowing. As only a Jedi Junior Time Lord can.

"So, you have accepted the truth?" He seemed both sad and nauseated.

"I have accepted that you were once Vanilla Ice Cartman, my father." Another wise nod, and a sigh.

"That name no longer has any meaning for me!" The Doctor yelled, his hand going up to run through his hair and a gesture both sad and scene stealing. Then his voice softened, and he tentatively asked the question he was afraid to hear the answer to. "And your mother? Is she still..."

"Trading blow jobs at the truck stop on Route 60 for for some Oreos and 80's CD's? Yeah. She is. But she asks about you a lot, says no one could rim..."

"Well, right, then. We should get going. Dr. We'Evil and all that." The Doctor turned and took Aislinn's face between his hands to gently kiss her goodbye. Then he stepped over to Rose, and gently took her face in his hands, and softly kissed her goodbye. Last, he took Byron's face gently in his hands, and licked up his cheek.

"Oh, fucking hell, can we go now? Saving the world and all that? Fuck!" Cartman trudged off towards Torchwood, his cloak floating majestically in the Cardiff fog. "Goddamn commune hippies."

The Doctor didn't glance back at his friends and lovers, as he ran to keep up with his son. Captain Jack Harkess was in there. Waiting. Breathless. Likely tied down to a piece of furniture.

It was time to save the world. Father and son. Together. Again. For the first time.

They had to knock out two inept and sensitive guards, in order to get into Torchwood Three. It was indeed lucky for them that Cartman had eaten Taco Bell for lunch.

But inside, they hid and looked at the scene before them. Jack Harkness was, indeed, being tortured by Dr. We'Evil and his dastardly band of Fem We'Evils. Nothing in this incarnation could have possibly prepared The Doctor for the horror he was witnessing. Jack was dressed in the same pink babydoll and high heels that the Fem We'Evils wore, and he was giving Number Two a lapdance, to the sounds of ABBA's Dancing Queen.

It was beyond cruel. And that steeled Cartman's resolve in one thing. No matter what happened, he was going to do something about shaving his happy trail when he grew up. It also pissed him off.

"What weapons have you got, Dad?" Cartman whispered, using a bit of the Force.

"I forgot my machine gun. But I have a sonic screwdriver! Brilliant?" He held the item up with a smile.

"SCREWDRIVER? SONIC SCREWDRIVER? What the fuck are you gonna do with that? Join Habitat for Humanity and build them a two bedroom Craftsman in the Gulf Coast? How the fuck have you...never mind." Cartman pulled out his light saber, rolling his eyes. "Just follow me. I guess you can screw any weevil I miss with my saber."

They crept in, carefully and quiet, which wasn't hard because Jack really knew how to shake his moneymaker, keeping everyone distracted. In no time, they had most of the Fem We'Evils neutralized and tied up. Their sonic gun nipples were taped over.

And then, finally, they were ready to take on...Dr. We'Evil. But Mini Wee saw them first, and let out a squeal of outrage, charging at the Doctor, for a head butt to the nuts. Now, it doesn't really matter if you're an Earth guy, or a 950 year old alien Time Lord. A head butt to the pills is going to hurt. A lot.

Over the screams of the Doctor, and the sound of Swedish pop, Cartman lit up his lightsaber with a rebel yell. "You bitches hurt my Doctor Daddy! Now you die!"

It was bloody. Weevil bitches bleed like you wouldn't believe. It was only with the Tenth Doctor and Ten and a Halfth Doctor stood united before Dr. We'Evil and Mini We along with Captain Jack Harkness, who managed those stripper heels with the same offhand cool that he handled everything else, that the evil weevil seemed to understand the enormity of his mistake. Naturally, in the face of the oncoming storm, and having his bitch ass whipped, Dr. We'Evil folded like a house of cards in an earthquake.

But Mini Wee kept up the fight, kicking and screaming like his ass was on fire. It was time for Eric Cartman to show his legacy. It was time to use the wisdom that hundreds of years of Time Lords had gained. One eyebrow cocked, Cartman turned off his lightsaber, and strode up to the weevil midget, and headbutted him. It was by using his head that Cartman was able to prevent the destruction of the planet. Obi Wan would be proud. Yoda would be pleased. Mulder would die if he could see this shit.

Back outside, they all stood in the night that was eerily lit up by the lights of the police cars. Aislinn and Rose hugged the Doctor with relief. Byron hugged Jack with relief mixed with something more, most likely because of the outfit. Eric Cartman smiled, nodding, and walked slowly towards the TURDIS. He didn't need a parade, or rewards, or congratulations sex. His reward for his heroic actions was the knowledge that he had joined with his long lost dad to save humanity. Well, that and the book rights. We'll see who even thinks about that Potter guy, once he sells the rights to this shit.

Heroes are often born to their roles. No matter if they were created in the back room of a intergalactic whore house after too much wine and the best blow job in twelve systems. The Doctor looked up over the heads of the two women, and saw his son walking into his time machine/portapotty. There was no small amount of pride on his face as he waved goodbye.

"That's my brilliant boy." The Doctor murmured, as the TURDIS lifted up to the heavens, on it's way back to South Park.

RotM - Hero Part 1 - Dr. Who, The 10 1/2 Incarnation, Saves Torchwood

2007-03-10T19:47:19Z

Torchwood Three - Wales

In the dim, but oddly flattering, light of Torchwood Three, Jack Harkness is in his office, singing under his breath while reading his reports.

Bend over like a doggy, here comes the loggy!
We can do it like a monkey, or a froggy.
You can play with my Sony, grab my pony.
I don't like blow-up dolls cuz they too phony!
You liked from the back side? The rough ride?
So dip-dip-dip dive!

Boy, you look good, you need to back that ass up!
You're a big fine man! Back that ass up!
Call me big daddy when you back that ass up!
Ianto quit playing! Back that ass up!

The silence is ripped apart by loud, wailing alarms, signaling an intruder. Jack leaps up, smooths his hair in a mirror, and then grabs his weapon. After stopping to arm himself with a machine gun and a pistol, he joins Owen and Toshiko to take position.

"What the hell is happening?" Owen shouts over the loud alarms and explosions now growing closer.

Tosh looks at him, "I'd say that since the intruder alarms are going off, maybe we have intruders."

"There's no time to analyze that right now, we can't let them take the facility." Jack takes cover behind a table as the door explodes and the intruders burst through the door.

In the front, there are half a dozen We'Evils. Jack's jaw drops, when he sees them. They're tall, with long, silky blonde, red or black hair. Their faces are as hideous as any weevil Jack has ever seen, but their bodies are like that of centerfolds, clad in frilly pink babydoll nighties and platform high heels. The only alarming part of this picture were the barrels of the sonic boom guns poking out of the nipple holes.

"Get DOWN!" All three of the Torchwood team members dove for cover as the Fem We'Evils began firing.

After the firing stopped, and the smoke cleared, Jack stuck his head up and saw a man enter the room. He was bald, with his pinkie held up to his ugly weevil mouth. He was dressed in a pale blue Nehru jacket with matching pants, and next to him was an exact double, only much, much smaller.

"Rise, Torchwood bitches. You are my prisoners! Surrender to me, your new master. I am Dr. We'Evil, and this is my Mini Wee. Which one of you is Captain Jack Harkness?"

Both Tosh and Owen pointed to Jack, and Mini Wee ran over and kicked him in the shins.

"OWWW! What the hell..." Harkness hopped around for a minute, as Mini Wee flipped him off with one tiny middle finger and a scowl.

"That's for what you did to Frau, twenty years ago! You bastard!"

Dr. We'Evil waved his hand, glaring at them all with one eye. The other was all squinty. Then he signaled to Number Two, who turned on the satellite and video feed.

"This is a communique to the British Government, and the world, from Dr. We'evil. We have taken control of Torchwood Three and Four...yeah, you thought that one was lost, didn't you? But NO! My operative, Fat Weevil Bastard, has it under his command, and his ass. You'll never find it! Wales is mine, and soon, I will own the entire world! Unless you pay me the sum of ONE BILLION DOLLARS, I will destroy fifteen major cities of the world with my *finger quotes* 'SONIC CANON'. To demonstrate the power of my weapon, I will now destroy the Fox News studios!"

The video feed switched to Bill O'Reilly, who was in the middle of a rant about left wing liberals and suddenly, his hair was on fire before he melted into a puddle of plastic goo and the studio was engulfed in flames. Dr. We'Evil cackled a We'Evil laugh of glee, before turning back to the camera with a sneer.

"You have twenty four hours. Otherwise I will fire on every major economic capital of the world. Tokyo! New York! London! Los Angeles! Paris! Nashville!"

Jack interrupted, much to Mini Wee's annoyance. "Nashville?"

"Okay, so not an economic superpower. But someone has to stop Reba from making another CD."

"Oh...okay. Go on." Jack nodded and sat down.

"Do not even THINK about rescue attempts. If you should try to enter Torchwood Three, my FemWe'Evils will be forced to sexually torture Captain Jack Harkness, on live television! Bwahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!"

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

At Torchwood One, a call was placed to Prime Minister Tony Blair, and to Buckingham Palace. Then there were calls to leaders around the world. Then a call for fish and chips. And then they prank called The White House, to ask if Bush had Prince Albert in a can.

And then...the order was made.

Bring in the Doctors. Both of them.

Right now.

To be continued.................

24 Ways to Die

2006-10-08T04:15:44Z

The following events take place between 12:18 and 1:14 or so, give or take a few minutes because my watch is a piece of cheap shit.

"I WILL FIND OUT! YOU CAN'T KEEP THIS SECRET FROM ME!"

"I don't know anything! I swear! I'm just the delivery guy!" The prisoner was screaming, sweating bullets. His hands were cuffed to the metal chair, and Jack Bauer was pacing in front of him.

"DAMMIT! DON'T PLAY INNOCENT WITH US! WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?"

"You know who I work for! You know that!" The kid had pissed his pants the minute he had been dragged in and cuffed down. He couldn't understand how this simple drop had gone so wrong. It was supposed to be an easy job...his first job.

"YOU'RE GOING TO TALK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Jack pulled his gun out, and fired a shot through the delivery guy's leg. "TALK TO ME! I'M YOUR ONLY SHOT AT GETTING OUT OF THIS ALIVE!"

The delivery guy screamed in agony, then began to babble.

"Jack! This is taking too long!" Chloe fretted, scowling at the mess the kid made on the floor.

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?" Jack whirled on her, frustrated. The kid probably knew more than he was letting on. But there was no time for these games, it was all going cold, even while they were talking.

Suddenly the computers and monitor screens all lit up with a picture. All eyes in CTU turned in unison to see the image of a person...a very fat person...dressed in flowing robes and a Captain Jack Sparrow Halloween mask. He began to speak, pointing at the screen with a lightsaber.

"This is a communique from the Anti Hippie League. We have what you are looking for, dudes. And we will demolish it, unless my daddy steps forward and surrenders, bitch!"

"WHO ARE YOU?" Jack shouted, his gun in hand, and looked around the room. "EDGAR! GET ME A TRACE ON THAT FEED!"

Chloe came up and tapped Jack on the arm, which made him flinch and point the gun in his face. "Jack...Edgar died."

"WHEN? REALLY?"

"Yeah, Jack. Yesterday...or last season, depending on how you look at it." Chloe shrugged, nodding.

"JESUS, CHLOE! I HAVE NO TIME FOR THIS! WHO DO WE HAVE LEFT AROUND HERE? I NEED A FUCKING SCORE CARD TO KEEP TRACK OF THE PEOPLE KILLED OR FIRED IN THIS PLACE!" Jack paced like a caged animal in the middle of the operations floor.

"Jack, stop yelling at me." Chloe pulled out a pistol, pointing it straight at Bauer, and a collective gasp went up in the room.

"CHLOE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? WHY AREN'T YOU SETTING UP THE PROTOCOL TO FIND THIS TERRORIST WHO HIJACKED OUR DELIVERY?" Jack was screaming, veins bulging in his neck, as he stared down the barrel of her glock.

"I warned you, Jack." Chloe fired, hitting Jack in the chest. He falls, and the place erupts in mayhem.

"He's flatlining!!!!" One of the medics screamed. But through the side door came medics that looked a lot like Julia Roberts and Kevin Bacon. In no time, Jack was revived. But he was six degrees of pissed off as he looked up at Chloe.

"What the hell did you shoot me for?"

"Look, Jack, I like you. I trust you. I have put my job on the line for you too many times to count. But I swear to god, if you don't stop yelling at us..." Chloe looked down, shaking her head. "Take a pill, get laid, do what you gotta do, Jack, but lay off the yelling."

"Okay, okay..." Jack got up, and sat down in front of a computer. "Who's the President of the United States right now?"

"What time is it?" Buchanan looked around. "This changes pretty often."

"It's 12:47." Chloe chews her lip.

"George W. Bush." Someone calls out.

Jack spins around in his chair to gape at the person. "Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell did that happen?"

"Well, Jack, Logan got arrested and you went on that China trip, and while you were gone there were these hanging chads, and..." Buchanan looked contrite, but Jack waved him off.

"Never mind, I'll deal with him later. Right now, we have to deal with this hijacking. CTU can't survive, can't be secure if we let this go. Chloe, let's put a tracker on that feed, and then we can do some sensory deprivation with that delivery guy..." Jack starts typing in the computer, and Chloe looks over his shoulder.

"Jack...what the hell is this?"

"Oh, I'm just making my Netflix list. Been dying to see Brokeback Mountain, and they're always out of it in the West Hollywood branch of Blockbuster."

"You live in West Hollywood, Jack?" Chloe and Buchanan looked at each other.

"Yeah, so?"

"Ooookay...let's see...we've traced the feed! It's coming from a small RV parked across the street in the IHOP parking lot!" Chloe couldn't believe it.

Men with guns spilled out of the building, taking tactical positions as Jack weaved his way over to the small Winnebago. He could smell it, knew the target was inside. He burst through the door, gun drawn, and was shocked to find some fat kid sitting there with the bag.

"Hello, Bauer. I've been expecting you. Ah ah ah...I'd put the gun down, if you want your precious delivery." Eric Cartman was diabolically pleased with how well his plan had gone, since he had the great Jack Bauer in his lair.

"You're just a kid." Bauer uncocked the pistol, but kept it at the ready.

"Actually, Bauer, I may be your kid. I've heard rumors that you might be my daddy. You'll be needing to piss in this, dude, so a DNA test can be run." Cartman tossed an empty Yoo Hoo bottle over.

"I'm not your father, Kid. Now give me my delivery." Bauer was starting to sweat, and his nostrils were flaring. Not a good sign.

"It was easy, you know, to steal your package, Bauer. You're slipping." Cartman slid the thick, black bag over.

"I'll keep that in mind, kid. You've committed treason, stealing government property. I could have you in jail for that." Bauer took the bag, glaring.

"Yeah, and I can have my other daddy, Denny Crane, crawl up your tight ass with a microscope, you fucking pansy. When he's done with you, those Chinese sonzabitches will look fucking sweet, Jack! Now go on. You can't touch me. Take your precious delivery, and get out."

Jack knew he was right, and it pissed him off. But he left, stalking back to CTU, and the team was told to stand down. In the situation room, he put the thermal bag on the long table and opened it carefully. Then he removed the boxes, and spread them out, gingerly lifting the lids.

They were all right, and he let out a sigh of relief before picking up a slice.

"WAIT! GARLIC DIPPING SAUCE! WHERE THE FUCK IS THE DIPPING SAUCE FOR THIS PIZZA? THAT FUCKING BASTARD! CHLOE, TRACK THAT KID!"

Chloe reached in her desk for the gun, with a fresh clip. "I warned you about that yelling, Jack..." And she climbed the steps, heading straight for the situation room, while Eric Cartman rode away from the scene of his triumph, laughing.

Meme

2006-09-17T13:04:33Z

1.Your Middle Name:
2. Age:
3. Single or Taken:
4. Favorite Movie:
5. Favorite Song:
6. Favorite Band/Artist:
7. Dirty or Clean:
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings:

1. Do we know each other outside of LJ?
2. Whats your philosophy on life?
3. Would you have my back in a fight?
4. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest?
5. What is your favorite memory of us?
6. Would you give me a kidney?
7. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:
8. Would you take care of me when I'm sick?
9. Can we get together and make a cake?
10. Have you heard any rumors of me lately?
11. Do you/have you talk(ed) crap about me?
12. Do you think I'm a good person?
13. Would you drive across country with me?
14. Do you think I'm attractive?
15. If you could change anything about me, would you?
16. What do you wear to sleep?
17. Would you come over for no reason just to hang out?
18. Would you go on a date with me if i asked you?
19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?
20. Will you repost this so i can fill it out for you?

All For Nothing - RotM

2006-08-23T18:51:12Z

Cartman had traveled a very long way, through time and space, to arrive in Paris. Jet lag and hunger made him a very unhappy young man as he entered the courtyard where the King’s soldiers were fighting with four guys with long hair and some faggy outfits. Cartman turned to some peasant standing nearby.

“Who are those guys up on the ledge?”

“The young one is a stranger to me, but the other is the captain of the Cardinal’s guard.”

“Listen, Frenchy, I think soap is a stranger to you, dude, but I need to find the tryout table so I can sign up for the auditions…” Just then, the captain took a bad step and fell to the stones below with a sickening sound. He landed in a bloody heap at Cartman’s feet, while the women screamed and ran back. “Yo…now that’s what I fucking call Captain Crunch, dude.” Leans over the body. “Hope you had a great summer, ass face, cuz that was a fucking bad fall. Sucks to be you, huh?”

Eric looked around, as the soldiers surrounded him with their swords drawn. “What? I didn’t fucking kill him. You best be putting your pansy swords away, or I’ll get all medieval on your Frenchy bitch asses. That’s right, American here. We don’t take no shit off you bitches. Now…where’s the sign up table?”

A large man, one of the guys who had been fighting, came over and looked down at the rotund child. “Boy, my name is Porthos. What table is it that you seek?”

Cartman crooked an eyebrow up. “Dude…what the fuck? Who the fuck put that do-rag in your hair like that? You look like a transvestite reggae singer. Who the fuck did your hair, dude? Ziggy Marley? Holy shit.”

Athos warily made his way over to the pair, looking serious and grim. “Boy, you heard Porthos. Tell us what you seek and we will point you in the right direction. You’ve gotten yourself into a dangerous situation, monsieur. Let us help you.”

“Dude! I don’t need help from a bunch of longhaired hippies! I just want the sign up table for the Mouseketeer tryouts!” Cartman screeched over the din of some bitch running around selling truffles.

Aremis laughed, holding his sword to the crowd of inept soldiers. “We are Musketeers, boy, the three most famous Musketeers in all of France. There is no table. The Cardinal has disbanded the Musketeers and they are trying to arrest us.”

“Look, dude, I came here all the way from South Park to try out for the fucking, goddamn Mouseketeers! I wanna be a Mouseketeer! I can dance, I can sing, I can grab Britney Spears’ titties!” Cartman’s face was red from shouting.

Aramis nodded, sympathetically. “I understand, young man. You want to become a Musketeer, so that the young ladies will find you irresistible. That one…” He points his sword towards d’Artagnan on the ledge. “…wants to find honor his father, who was one of us.”

Suddenly, a dark man strode forward, smirking. “I killed the boy’s father. I betrayed him and I murdered him, and I will kill his son, as well. I am Captain Rochefort!”

“YOU MURDERED MY FATHER!” d’Artagnan jumped down from the ledge, and stalked over, his face a twisted mask of youthful rage. “This is the most devastating news a man can hear! You bastard!”

Cartman looked at the raging guy with the bad hair and shook his head. “Dude, trust me, there’s a lot of worse things you can hear.”

“Like what?”

Porthos thought, “Like that your penis has fallen off, while you were sleeping.”

“Like your face is being pecked by a crow.” Rochfort chimes in.

“Like your wife has left you to run off with some aging guitar player.” Aramis adds, nodding.

“Like someone has drugged you unconscious and you’re trapped in a freighter headed for China and for another fucking season you aren’t going to get laid or even get to eat anything.” Athos shook his head, clearly disgusted.

“Like, for instance, Salad Dressing Dude here could have told you that he WAS your father. Now that sucks, pal. I’ve seen it happen.” Cartman does his best Vader voice, with the breathing and sounds, “Luke, I am your father. See, Darty? That’s a lot worse.”

The three older Musketeers all nodded, shrugging. “He has a point, there.”

“Of course I do! So, look, Darty, when you kill the showy, weenie, hippie bitch, you can yell ‘THIS IS FOR MY DADDY!’. Then you go get some poontang and a beer, and you feel better.”

“This is France, we drink wine.” Athos corrects.

“Yeah, yeah, and you eat fucking snails, man. You’re all a bunch of freaks. So, anyway, where do I audition to be a Mouseketeer? Dude, I wanna be a star, be on TV like Britney, Christina and that Justin dude, cuz he gets up with that Diaz chickaboomboomboom. I wanna sell records and get a free pass to Disneyland for life, dude.”

“Boy…for the last time, we are Mus…” Athos started, but Porthos and Aramis nudged him.

“Let the boy audition.” Porthos grinned, slyly. He backed up and gave Eric room in the square. “Let us see this talent, young man. We’re waiting.”

So Eric pulled off his jacket and sweatsuit to reveal a skintight red vinyl catsuit. The Mickey Mouse ears were taken out of his backpack and reverently kissed before being bobby pinned securely on his head. He pursed his lips, and began to dance, imitating the moves perfectly.

You see my problem is this
I'm dreaming away
Wishing that heroes, they truly exist
I cry, watching the days
Can't you see I'm a fool in so many ways
But to lose all my senses
That is just so typically me
Baby, oh
Oops!...I did it again
I played with your heart, got lost in the game
Oh baby, baby
Oops!...You think I'm in love
That I'm sent from above
I'm not that innocent

At the end of the number, there was nothing to hear but shocked silence and the retching of a woman in the back of the crowd.

“Okay, so look, do I get my fancy Mouseketeer ears or what? I’m gonna need a big size on those things, but that’s because of my big brain, Mommy said. And fucking spell my name right, and not in French, assholes.”

Porthos, Aramis and Rochefort all started laughing, great guffaws of mirth, while Athos tried to be kind. He knelt by Cartman, and looked at him seriously. “Boy, we aren’t singers. We’re the Three Musketeers. We fight, as bodyguards to the royal family. There are no mouse ears, only our swords and our honor.”

Porthos waved his hand, dismissing Cartman. “You’ve amused us, now run along, we have a swordfight to finish, Musketeer style.” He stood and took guard against one of the Cardinal’s men.

Eric glared at all the peasants, soldiers and the Musketeers laughing. Then he pulled out the lightsaber that Yoda gave him, and he let the power of The Force flow from the dark side. “Oh, yeah, biyatch? With that fucking hair, you look like the MOUSSE – Keteers, you hippie fucking freaks. And me? I fight my battles Jedi style.”

In a few seconds, Cartman had carved the inept soldier into more pieces than a whole fryer cut up, and then turned off his weapon, tucking it down the cleavage of his catsuit so he could grab his clothes and backpack. The others all stared, slackjawed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Mouseketeers, my ass. We Americans might be loud, uncouth and uncultured, Frenchy, but we know how to open up a can of whoopass. Biyatch!”

When Cartman got home, he sadly put away his ears and catsuit. That dream would never happened, he realized now. He felt a tiny piece of his childhood innocence die, as he ate his chicken potpie and watched the reruns of Tom and Jerry: The Smoker’s Banned Edition.

In his next life, Eric Cartman decided he wanted to come back as a Three Musketeer. Then the whole fucking world could bite him.