So, anyone who's seen episode 216 ("Merry Christmas Charlie Manson") already knows that the Cartman family is the shit. So is Jimbo/Ned, for that matter. (Canon! Canon, I tell you!) And Bebe fucking rocks. No one can tell me differently.

BTW, this story is my version of fluff. And it will only be three chapters long. I actually had this chapter done a week ago, but I wanted to finish NNR before I started anything new.

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Cartman was starting to think that winning Wendy over was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. Harder than igniting a mob, or even getting a million dollars. And it wasn't even the task itself - it was the obstacles he was facing from every side.

Like Stan. That God damn animal-loving pussy was still enraptured with Wendy, even after all these years. And, really, how pathetic was that? To cling to some stupid, utterly unrequited crush ever since grade school, what kind of loser...

Oh. Well. Of course, his situation was completely different from Stan's. For one thing, he'd gotten further in a week with Wendy than Stan and his queasy stomach had in an entire year of 'dating.' For another, while Stan's relationship with her had deteriorated so that they were scarcely acquaintances, he still actually talked to her. Though most of their conversations started with him insulting her and ended with her punching him in the gut, but, still. It was a valid point regardless.

Stan wasn't really any competition for him - after all, he was clearly better than Stan, and in fact was better in very conceivable way than all the losers he surrounded himself with - but still, he didn't want to listen to Stan bitch when he finally won Wendy over. He had to get that hippie-lover a consolation prize before he could make his move.

And he knew just the Jew for the job.

Cartman had been aware of Kyle's lame little gay crush for several months now. He would have begun ridiculing him immediately and made his life as miserable as possible as soon as possible, but he'd decided the information was just too good to simply throw out there. The blackmail possibilities themselves were mind-blowing. So he'd decided to sit on it and bide his time until it would be most beneficial to him. And that time had finally come.

He waited until lunch was over and the group had disbanded, Kenny and Stan heading off to their last periods of the day, and hung back until enough people had left the area that he was sure no one would overhear their conversation. Kyle was already on his way to his next class, so Cartman hurried to catch up to him.

"Kyle!" he called in what he considered to be a very pleasant tone of voice. "I want to discuss something with you."

"I'm not doing your homework, I'm not lending you money, and if it's about my religion, fuck you," Kyle said without looking back.

"That's not it you butt-fucking Jew!" Cartman snarled, then composed himself quickly. "I mean, it's about Stan."

Kyle stopped, turned to face him, and gave him a scrutinizing look. "What about Stan?"

"Well, more specifically," Cartman said, "it's about the way you're lusting after him."

Kyle had a terrified, found-out look on his face for a moment before he snorted and rolled his eyes. "You are so full of shit, Cartman; I am not-"

"Give it up, Kyle. I know."

He seemed to mull this over, then glared. "How did you find out?"

"Please, it's only completely obvious. If Stan's head weren't so completely stuck up Wendy's ass he'd have noticed, too."

Kyle continued to glare. "So what? You're trying to extort me?"

"No, I-"

"You want money? Or do you want to turn me into your patsy?"

"No-"

"Well you can forget it, you sick little freak. I'm not doing shit for you; I know that even if I did you'd still tell anyway, because you do crap like that, you twisted asshole-"

"GOD DAMN IT I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU FUCKING JEW!"

Kyle looked at him as if he'd just stuffed his arm up a midget's ass and used it as a ventriloquist dummy. "What?"

"I'm trying to help you," Cartman repeated, calmer. "I want to help get you and Stan together."

"Why?"

"Because Stan has to get out of the picture, damn it! I want you to screw him until he forgets about girls! Or forgets about Wendy, anyway."

Kyle gave him a baffled look, then resumed glaring. "Forget it."

"What?"

"I'm not conspiring with you against my best friend, you tubby asshole."

"We're not conspiring, we're just plotting secretly against him."

"That's the definition of conspiring, fat tits!"

"Quit calling me fat, Jew! Look, you want Stan, right?"

Kyle mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"Yes, all right? YES!"

"Jesus, you don't have to yell."

Kyle scowled at him, then looked away. "But... Stan's not gay," he said a little mournfully. "So what would you even do?"

"Just leave it to me," Cartman said smugly.

--

Stan couldn't discover Cartman's real motives until after he and Kyle were sucking face. Cartman knew he had to be cunning. He had to be sly. And, above all, he had to be subtle.

"So, Stan," he said casually, leaning over in his seat, "Kyle's got a pretty sweet ass, wouldn't you say?"

"WHAT?" Stan shrieked. His mechanical pencil snapped in his hand. As the class was in the middle of an English test he'd shouted in an otherwise silent room, and everyone jumped and twisted around in their seats to stare at him.

"Mister Marsh!" their English teacher cried, outraged. "Detention after class!"

"But-! Cartman-!"

"All right, Eric, you'll stay after as well," she said waspishly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Normally Cartman would have bitched and carried on until the teacher realized it would be more of a punishment for them to have Cartman in detention than it would be for him and let him off, but detention was exactly what Cartman wanted. Now he could talk to Stan without anyone butting in.

Stan, on the other hand, sat and fumed. The moment the bell rang, he practically jumped out of his chair to get to Cartman. "Cartman, what the HELL-"

"Sit back down, Stanley!" their teacher barked, misinterpreting Stan's attempt to strangle Cartman as an attempt to sneak out of the class with the rest of the students and skip detention. He did so, picking up the chair he had knocked over in his haste, glaring at Cartman all the while as if those people who said 'if looks could kill' had simply not tired hard enough.

They sat there for a while, the only sounds coming from the squeak of their teacher's pen as she graded papers and the slow grind of Stan's teeth. Stan glowered at Cartman and Cartman smiled back pleasantly. It was hard to smile pleasantly at Stan, as he was one of the people he hated most, so he just remembered the look on Stan's face when Wendy kissed him in third grade. Smiling at his shocked misery was very easy.

At length their teacher stood, a stack of papers in her hand. "I need to visit the copier machine, but you're still being punished, so I'm locking the door from the outside. I'll be back in ten minutes. And you had better be in your seats when I come back," she added on her way out the door, giving them a threatening look they all knew she couldn't back up. She closed the door behind her, and then they heard the jingle of keys and the click as she locked the door.

The second she was gone, Stan vaulted out of his seat again. "What the fuck was that supposed to mean, Cartman!"

Cartman folded his hands on his desk. He had ten minutes to convince Stan Kyle was the man of his dreams.

He betted he could do it in four.

"I think you need to stop lying to yourself, Stan."

"Lying to myself!" Stan exclaimed.

"Give it up, I've seen you scope Kyle out in the locker room." He hadn't actually, but he noted the curious red color Stan's face turned with interest.

"I have not!"

"Don't feel bad; it's not your fault. Gayness just runs in your family."

"WHAT? My dad is straight!"

"Yeah, except when he's screwing a bunch of other guys in a pile."

"That was because he's stupid, not because he's gay."

"Okay, what about your uncle?"

"What about Uncle Jimbo?"

"Oh, come on. He's been living with his 'war buddy' since the war ended. That's thirty-eight years. They host a TV show together. They pack one tent when they take those long, private 'hunting trips.' He can say 'fag' without getting bleeped. Read between the fucking lines!"

"Uncle Jimbo and Ned are not gay!"

"Stan, serioushlay. They're obsessed with handling guns."

"SO?"

He sighed. "Okay, forget your uncle and his life partner." Stan made a protesting noise, which Cartman ignored. "Let's get back to you."

Stan glared and crossed his arms.

"Your last girlfriend - dude, you might as well have worn a shirt that said 'Kyle, Please Come Over Here And Satisfy All My Gay Fantasies.'"

"What!" Stan cried, outraged. "Why would you say that?"

"Oh, come on. All the girls you could ask out, and you pick Red?"

"What was wrong with Red!" Stan demanded.

"Oh, nothing. She was just on the basketball team. She just liked to wrestle and play tackle football in the mud. She just never wore makeup or skirts. She just had bright, red hair-"

Stan scowled. "If you're trying to say Red was gay-"

"Ugh, no, God damn it! I'm not saying she was gay, I'm saying you're gay! You were dating the female version of Kyle!"

"I was not!"

"You were so! The only difference was she had tits and she didn't fall over when I kicked her in the crotch!"

"I still can't believe you did that to my girlfriend," Stan muttered, shaking his head.

"Ey, fag, that isn't the issue here. I'm saying you don't like females, and you need to realize it before it starts affecting your health."

Stan went back to glaring. "I do so like girls. That's why I always throw up around them!"

"Yes, hm, since you brought it up, let's investigate that phenomenon, shall we? What else makes you throw up?" Cartman help up a hand and began ticking off his fingers. "Surgery, heights, motion sickness... does any of that turn you on?"

"No!"

"So," Cartman said with mock concentration, "all the things that make you throw up are things you don't like..."

Stan bristled. "It's because I get nervous! Not because girls make me sick!"

"The only reason you didn't throw up on Red is because she's butch enough to fool your stomach," Cartman attested firmly. "Stan, it's obvious. Even Red realized it. Why do you think she broke up with you?"

"What!" Stan yelped, outraged. "You told Red this bogus theory and that's why she dumped me?"

"No, asshole! Aren't you listening? She realized it herself, because it's obvious. And she broke up with you because she thought it was fucking creepy that you were dating Kyle's female clone."

"I wasn't. Red wasn't anything like Kyle."

Cartman sighed. "Look, just admit you want to french Kyle until you're so breathless your asthma kicks in."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Why not? Because I'm not gay!"

Cartman scowled and kneaded his forehead. "God damn it, why are you being so difficult? Why are you plotting against my happiness? Do you just hate me or something?"

"What are you talking about now?" Stan asked, looking half enraged and half confused.

"Admit it!"

"No!" Stan scowled at him. "I know what you're trying to do, asshole. You're trying to screw with my head and fuck up my friendship with Kyle. Well it's not going to work, fatass."

"God, and you bastards wonder why I never help you. You make it so fucking difficult."

The teacher returned then and told them they could leave. Stan stormed off and Cartman watched him go, glaring.

If Stan wouldn't turn gay, he had no choice but to kill him.

--

Kyle stood out in the otherwise empty school parking lot, leaning against his dad's truck. He had his hands buried deep in his pockets and he was looking down at his feet, which he'd been pushing the snow around with.

He'd been waiting for Stan for the past twenty-five minutes, during which time his stomach had twisted up into knots. Cartman had told Stan. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. He'd been stupid to think Cartman wouldn't. And now Stan didn't want to have anything to do with him.

"Hey, man. Wow, you waited for me?"

Kyle jumped and reached out to steady himself against the door. He gaped at Stan. "What?"

"Sorry I made you wait so long. That fat asshole got me in detention," Stan said, making a face and hitching his backpack up his shoulder.

"He did?" Kyle said, his face screwing up confusion. It had finally occurred to him that Cartman hadn't told... which actually made him more suspicious. "Why?"

"Oh, God, get this - he was trying to convince me I had a thing for you."

... He hated Cartman. So much.

"I don't know where lardass comes up with this stuff," Stan said, shaking his head. Kyle considered shaking it off with him and living the rest of his life in silent misery, but that sounded less than pleasant.

"Um, actually, Stan..." he said, and trailed off. Stan stared at him a moment, as if expecting him to finish his sentence. When Kyle didn't he blinked, and seemed to puzzle over the words, and then his eyes widened a little and he said, "Oh. OH..."

"Yeah," Kyle said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh. Well. I mean, that's cool, man." He hesitated. "Of course, I'm not... I don't..."

"Expected as much," Kyle interrupted, turning away and opening up the driver's side car door. "Look, let's just drive home and forget about it."

Stan, however, didn't move. "Hey - hey, Kyle?"

Kyle sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes?"

"Do you think Uncle Jimbo and Ned are gay?"

Kyle blinked and stared at him. He tried to figure out what that had to do with anything. "Well, yeah. You mean they aren't? I thought your family just had a 'don't talk about it' policy."

Stan licked his lips and looked at the ground. "And, ah. Do you think Red's butch?"

"Well, she was a pretty big tomboy. Why?"

"Well," Stan said. He shuffled his feet, and then he looked up and gave him an intensified look. "I was just thinking, if Cartman's right about that, what else is he right about?"

Kyle's lips parted in shock as Stan took a step forward and braced a hand against the open car door, cornering him against the car. He leaned forward and Kyle's thought process got as far as Oh, God before Stan kissed him. He went about it cautiously at first, as if he weren't sure this was such a great idea, so Kyle reached and grabbed both ends of his scarf, wound it around each hand once, and yanked Stan forward. Stan stumbled into him, his hand slipping from its hold on the door and sliding along the window until he reached out and grabbed Kyle by the shoulders. Just as Stan was starting to gain some self-assurance and began to kiss Kyle more confidently, there was an audible crack, and Stan hollered in pain and fell over.

They both stared, Stan with his right leg drawn up to his chest, clutching it below the knee, as Cartman swung the baseball bat back up over his head, getting ready to strike again.

"Say goodbye, hetero!"

"Cartman, Jesus Christ!" Kyle shouted.

"Gah!" Stan said, waving his arms frantically. "Cartman, I'm gay! I'm gay!"

Cartman paused in his downward swing of the bat. "Really?"

"Yes!"

"You're not trying to trick me into not beating you to death?"

"No! I swear!"

"Give me that!" Kyle snarled, yanking the bat out of Cartman's hands. "Leave before I break your neck, fatass!"

"Fine," Cartman huffed. "You guys are such ungrateful sons of bitches. You should be thanking me right now."

"You hit me in the leg with a baseball bat!" Stan cried, outraged.

"Oh, don't be such a pussy."

Kyle swung the bat at Cartman's head, and he ducked and left the parking lot as fast as his legs could carry him. Kyle was dangerous enough on his own; Cartman wasn't going to stick around when he had a weapon.

--

Now that Stan was taken care of, Cartman could move onto the next stage of his plan: Bebe.

Although Cartman was, of course, a genius, he had to admit there were many things about the female mind that baffled him. If he was going to have a chance with Wendy, he would need the assistance of a chick. And who better than Wendy's best friend, that slut Stevens?

"Whore," Cartman said the next day at lunch, catching her before she met up with Wendy. "I have a proposition for you."

"Forget it, Cartman; I don't sleep with fatasses," she said breezily, walking past him.

"God damn it, that's not what I want!" Cartman snapped. She stopped and turned to face him.

"I'm listening."

"I want you to cooperate with me in my task to win Wendy over."

Bebe looked him up and down, and then she arched an eyebrow at him. "You need my help?"

"I didn't say that," Cartman snarled.

"But you do, huh," she said, placing a manicured finger against her chin. "What's in it for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You think I'm going to expel that much effort without some sort of payoff?"

Cartman sighed. "Fine. I'm prepared to offer you any of my mother's sex toys in exchange for your assistance." She made a face.

"I don't take secondhand stuff, don't be disgusting." She tapped her chin. "I know what I want. Three days."

"Three days?" he repeated, and she nodded.

"If you be my slave and do everything I say for three days - today after school, tomorrow, Sunday, and until the end of school Monday - then I'll help you in any way I can."

"That's four days, bitch!"

"It's seventy-two hours," she said matter-of-factly. "Do we have a deal?"

Cartman grumbled and finally said, "Fine."

"Good," she said, smirking and patting him on the cheek. "I'll meet you by your car after school. I feel the sudden urge to go shopping coming on."

--

Somewhere between the last bell of the school day and the third break from shopping for coffee, Cartman realized he had greatly underestimated Bebe.

He'd always considered her a dumb whore with huge tits that choked on a lot of dick. As such, he'd always been confused as to why she was Wendy's best friend. Wendy held a certain disdain for stupid, spoiled whores, after all. But now he saw that under that perky, blond exterior she was a crafty, shrewd, opportunistic bitch. She had him running up and down the shopping mall, carrying her bags like he was her bitch. If it were anyone else she was doing this to, he would have applauded her. But because it was him, he wanted to decapitate her and then swing her head around his head by all that fuzzy blond hair while giving a triumphant viking war cry.

"How much coffee do you drink?" he asked with distaste, as he brought her her fourth cup of it (dry venti half-caf Arabian Mocha Sanani).

"Tweek got me hooked," she said, taking the cup from him and taking a sip. He gave her a disgusted look.

"Tweek? God, I know you're a whore, but don't you have any standards?"

"Hey, all that twitching he does? Excess energy. I'll have you know he can do five times a night."

"That is more than I ever cared to know, skank." Bebe gave him a smug look. She appeared to be very pleased that she was going to cause nightmares.

God, the things he did for Wendy.

Bebe pulled him into an underwear store next. He tried to valiantly look at the ceiling while she tried to pull him into a discussion of which thong would look best on her. "I thought skanks like you didn't wear underwear," he finally bit out, when the mortification became to great to will away.

"Now there's an idea," Bebe said, looking like she was seriously considering it.

Cartman thought he was going to be ill. He had to leave the store and lean over the balcony, taking deep, slow breaths. The intercom crackled, and a nasal child's voice said, "Free pony rides at the orange smoothie cart."

Cartman made a face - where were that child's parents? - and suddenly a huge swell of people came rushing toward him, for he was between those people and their pony rides. He couldn't fight the current, and was pushed back all the way to the escalators. Someone's stray elbow knocked him off his feet, and Cartman fell backwards down the up escalator. He tumbled in place until gravity took over, and then he hit the floor on his back and groaned.

"Cartman?" Bebe called, letting the down escalator carry her down to the level he'd landed on in no hurry at all. She walked to his side and bent over him, placing her hands on her knees as she looked him over. "You okay?"

"Bitch... hate you..." he wheezed out.

"What was that, Cartman?" she asked, tucking her hair back and cupping a hand around her ear.

"Hate you..."

"You say you want to hold my toes apart while I paint my nails? Great! You carry my bags," she said brightly, dropping them by his side and heading toward the exit.

"Hate... you..."

--

TBC