Ike rules. To the max.

And the Mole is murder on my spell check.

--

--

--

"Hey, Mole," Kenny called, making his way toward the smoker's bleachers. The goths threw him hopeful looks, which he ignored. The goth kids had been hounding Kenny to join their group for years, ever since they'd found out he knew all about hell. They wanted to grill him for answers.

The Mole looked up and frowned a little when he saw Kenny, bunching up his shoulders. Kenny leaned against the back of the bleachers next to him.

"I'm sorry I gave you a migraine," he said sincerely. "I just... I dunno. No one's ever really cared about my deaths before, least of all me. I mean, my brother and sister kind of watch their backs because they're half-convinced it's genetic, but that's really it."

The Mole was silent for a while, then he unbunched (which is most definitely a word!) himself and reached into his pocket. Kenny looked on curiously, and he pulled out a carton of cigarettes and offered him one. He took it, after a moment's consideration, and asked, "So are we cool?"

"The offering ov the cigarette ez supposed to signify my acceptance of your apology/explanation," the Mole sighed. "You know, it really ruins eet when I 'ave to explain eet."

"Sorry," Kenny said, grinning a little. "Got a light?"

He removed his cigarette from his mouth and lit it for him. "I don't 'ave a lighter," he explained when Kenny cocked at eyebrow at him. "I always just light my next cigarette on the last one."

Kenny took a grateful inhale while one of the goths shouted, "Ey! You said you didn't have any spare cigarettes!"

"Cry me a river, beetches," the Mole said flippantly while Kenny snickered a little. The Mole frowned a little at him. "What?"

"It's just the goths. They amuse me."

"They amuse you?"

"Yeah. I dunno how to explain it. I mean, my life is pretty shitty by the general standards, but I just think listening to them bitch about how much pain they're in because their parents didn't buy them a pony is funny as hell."

"We can hear you, you know," on of the goths called irritably.

"You know what I hate most about hell?" Kenny said out of the blue, and all the goths shut up and looked at him hopefully.

"... The eternal torture?" the Mole guessed.

"The little trinket shops."

The goths growled in frustration. The apparent leader of them threw down his cigarette. "Let's go," he informed the group, "they're just fucking with us."

The marched off in a very sullen, anti-conformist straight line. Kenny snickered again and the Mole cracked a smile. He had to admit it was rather amusing.

"Are there really treenket stores?" he asked, and Kenny nodded.

"They sell bobble-heads and snow globes and shit. Didn't you see them?"

"I wasn't zere for very long," the Mole explained. "All I saw was ze park with ze 'Please Do Not Walk On The Grass' signs and ze luau."

"The luaus are fun," Kenny said enthusiastically.

"Princess Diana was trying to hump ze punch bowl."

Kenny burst out laughing. He gripped his sides and doubled over, he was laughing so hard. "Oh man," he said, wiping a away a tear and grinning up at the Mole. "See, this is awesome. I could never talk to anyone about hell before - except Damien, that is, but I don't talk to him if I can avoid it. He's an emotard."

"Never met Damien."

"God, count yourself blessed." Kenny continued grinning at him, and after a moment, the Mole smiled back slowly.

"... 'ave you tried to hit on Butters yet?"

"Hm?" Kenny said, straightening up and leaned back against the bleachers. "No, not yet."

"'Ow do you even know 'im?" he asked curiously.

"You remember the summer before seventh grade, when you went to that activist camp and met up with Stan?"

"Of course."

"Well, that summer pretty much everyone got shipped off to camp. Cartman went to Lil' Dictator's Camp, Kyle's parents made him go to some Jewish thing, and I got sent to band camp because it was the cheapest, even though I don't play an instrument." Kenny shrugged. "So now I'm stuck in the class. Butters plays the triangle," he added, in an FYI sort of way.

The Mole arched an eyebrow at him. "You're in band class, and you don't play an instrument?"

"Yep."

"... This is such a stupid town," the Mole said. Kenny smirked.

"That's what Stan always says," he said, somewhat amused. "How many of his traits have you picked up?"

"A few," he said casually. "Why do you want to seduce Butters?"

"I figured he'd be the easiest guy to talk over to the other side of the fence," he explained. "I'm new at this, after all."

"That's the only reason."

"Mm-hm."

"You are a bit of a whore," the Mole said, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his standard-issue military boots. "Here; practice on me."

"Really?" Kenny asked brightly. "Thanks." He slide up to the Mole and inched his arm around his shoulder until it was resting on the middle of his chest where, were he a girl, Kenny would have been quite efficiently groping his breasts. "Hey baby," he purred, flashing teeth and pulling the Mole back into his body. "Even if a million monkeys sat in front of typewriters for eternity, they would never be able to type enough words to describe how hot that ass of yours is."

The Mole gave him a 'You're-got-to-be-kidding-me' sort of look. Kenny's cheesy grin faded. "No?"

"You actually used that on girls?" the Mole asked, shaking his head. "How often did you get kicked in the nuts?"

"Only a few... dozen... times," Kenny said, shifting his gaze to a trash can.

The Mole sighed and shook him off. "Here." The Mole turned around to face him. "First back him up against a wall," he said, placing his hands on either side of Kenny's head and stepped forward, invading his personal space.

"Right," Kenny said, looking as if he would be writing notes if he had a piece of paper with him, "Then what? Should I say 'Those are nice pants; they'd look even nicer in a wad on my bedroom floor-'"

"Don't say anything," the Mole groaned. "Especially not those bad pickup lines. Just do this," he said, moving his hands so that one arm curled around Kenny's back and pulled his body away from the bleachers, into him. His other hand cupped Kenny's face, absently stroking the corner of his mouth and chin before letting his hand drop and curl around the junction of his neck and shoulder. He pulled him down a little, and then stopped when he noticed Kenny was trying very hard not to laugh.

"What?" he asked, vaguely annoyed.

"Sorry," said, covering his mouth with his hand to try and stifle his snickers. "It's just... You're, like, a foot shorter than me... it's hard to take you seriously."

The Mole socked him in the shoulder, hard. Kenny yelped in pain and rubbed his arm. "That hurt!"

"Don't be a pussy."

Kenny grumbled for a moment, then a slow grin broke out on his face.

"Now what?"

"I just noticed something." The Mole sighed and waited for him to continue. "You haven't spoken in a french accent for the past fifteen minutes, at least."

The Mole stared a moment. "... Eet ez your eemageenation," he said thickly.

"Sure it is," Kenny said. He rubbed his arm once more and said thoughtfully, "Do you really think that'll work on Butters?"

"Worked on Stan. But zen, he was already gay."

"Oh, dude," he said, making a face at him. "I told you I didn't want specifics. And what makes you so sure Butters is straight, anyway?"

"Gaydar."

"Bullshit."

Kenny put his cigarette out against the bleachers and grew suddenly serious.

"That was a gay lesson, wasn't it."

"And you're a lousy student."

"No, I mean..." Kenny frowned at him. "I never gave you anything in exchange for it."

The Mole shrugged. "All I want to know ez 'ow eet 'appened."

"Hmm," Kenny said, looking pensively at his tattered tennis shoes.

--

When Stan got home from school, Shelly hollered at him that one of his stupid friends kept calling, and if he didn't find out what the hell he wanted, she'd rip the phone out of the wall and beat him with it.

Almost immediately after she finished threatening him, the phone rang again. Stan took the call up to his room, where Kenny immediately began interrogating him about the Mole. Mostly, he just wanted to demand to know why Stan had never thought to mention that, oh yeah, his boyfriend had died before.

Stan finally just gave Kenny the entire La Resistance story, and then Kenny's line got really quiet.

"You still there, Kenny?" Stan asked after nearly a minute of complete silence. His attention was then drawn to his window, which was having rocks chucked at it. He walked over and opened it up, and got beamed in the read by one of them.

"... I've got to call you back, Kenny," Stan growled into the phone and clicked it off, massaging his forehead and glaring down at Kyle.

"Sorry!" Kyle called up. "Didn't expect you to open the window."

"Kyle, why can't you use a door like a normal person?" Stan demanded, rubbing his temple.

"I tried. Your sister punched me in the face."

"Oh," Stan said. "Sorry. What did you want, anyway?"

"Come on down, man, let's go to the back-to-school dance."

Stan made a face at him. "I don't dance, Kyle."

Kyle gave him a bemused look. "But you're gay."

Stan scowled and moved back to shut the window.

"Okay, okay!" Kyle called up. "Sorry, Jesus. But c'mon, it's not like anyone actually dances at school dances."

He frowned a little. "So what's the point of going?"

"So that you can go with me," Kyle said brightly. He grinned at him, and Stan immediately caved in, as per usual when it came to Kyle.

"All right," he mumbled. "Let me change."

He met Kyle at the front door and they walked toward the school. Kyle hummed absently for a while, then said out of the blue, "I figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"How I got drunk at the wrestling match. I was drinking root beer."

"But root beer isn't alcoholic."

"But it's South Park."

Stan had to concede the point.

Kyle pulled out two tickets at the door, but they'd no sooner stepped inside the gym that Porschea materialized, grabbed Kyle, and dragged him away. Stan watched him go, scowling a little, but he couldn't say he was surprised. He should have seen that coming.

He made his way to the left wall of the gym and sat down next to the punch bowl, deciding to drown his sorrows in Kool Aid. This really is rather pathetic, Stan chastised himself. He really ought to stop going to stupid things like this, just because Kyle wanted him too.

Of course, he knew he wasn't going to stop. Just that he should. Just like how he knew he wasn't going to stop crushing on his straight best friend, even though he should.

Over on the other side of the room, standing watch over the coats, Wendy was feeling equally miserable. Except Wendy, unlike Stan, was also severely pissed off, and wanted to inflict her misery on a certain Clyde Donovan.

Even though he was now dateless, Cartman had decided to go to the dance anyway. He was standing off to the side with Clyde, insulting girls' dresses and guys' dance moves, and Wendy's hackles raised every time Clyde laughed flirtatiously. As she watched, Cartman imitated Jimmy dancing, and Clyde snickered.

Wendy maliciously doused Clyde's coat with fruit punch.

When Cartman did his impersonation of Timmy, Wendy found she couldn't stop herself from abandoning the coat table and marching over to the pair of them. Cartman scowled immediately when he saw her, which made her heart twist in a particularly painful manner, so she avoided looking at him. She stared Clyde straight in the eye instead.

"Clyde, come dance with me."

"I'd really rather not-"

"I wasn't asking," she said, grabbing his arms, digging her nails into his sleeves, and dragging him onto the dance floor. She seized one of his hands in hers, placed her other on his shoulder, and proceeded to lead.

"Clyde," she hissed, leaning in closer to whisper into his ear, "if you don't stay the hell away from Cartman, I will fuck you up So. Bad. I will make you cry your motherfucking eyes out."

"Wh-what?" Clyde choked, sounding terrified.

"Did I stutter?" Wendy hissed, stomping down on his foot as they spun around the dance floor. Cartman, back where they left him, grit his teeth as he watched her lean in and murmur into Clyde's ear. His hands involuntarily closed into fists, which meant his right hand crumpled the paper cup it had been holding, spilling punch over his hand. Growling, he turned around and stomped off, out of the gym, throwing the cup down as he went. He didn't turn around and he didn't come back, so he never saw Clyde flee from Wendy's grasp when the song ended, making small, fearful noises as he went.

At yet another corner of the gym, Kyle was trying to squirm out of his girlfriend's grip so that he could go talk to Stan. Porschea, however, would not be so easily brushed off. She clung to his arm and pouted, looking over at the black-haired boy sitting alone by the punch bowl. "You love him more than me, don't you?"

"Oh, come on. Don't make me answer that question."

Porschea bristled. "Well if you love him so much, why don't you marry him!" she shouted, gaining the attention of the entire gym.

Kyle looked around, noted that everyone was staring at him, decided things couldn't possibly get worse, then decided to hell with it, of course they could, and shouted back, "Because I'm holding out for a rich, lonely ninety-year-old man with no inheritance-grubbing grandchildren that can't get it up!"

"Ugh!" she cried, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "You can just go over to your boyfriend and screw him for all I care!"

"Fine, maybe I will!" Kyle said, walking backwards toward where Stan was seated and jabbing his index fingers at her. "He'd be better at it than you, bitch!"

Stan, by this time, had his face buried in his hands. He waited until Kyle came to a stop behind him, and then he said, "Do you have to break up with all your girlfriends like that?"

"My heart was just trampled," Kyle informed him in an authoritative voice, not sounding trampled in the least. "I'm vulnerable. Hold me." He wrapped his arms around Stan and buried his face in his neck, effectively pinning Stan's arms to his sides, rendering him helpless. Stan tried to squirm free, to no avail. Kyle was short and skinny, but he had a grip like a bear trap. Once he got his hands on you, the only way to escape was to gnaw a body part off.

Stan put up a token resistance and then slumped, resigned, while Kyle rubbed his face into his neck.

"Seriously, Kyle," he grumbled. "It was bad enough that your last words to Bebe were 'Stan's ass is hotter than your rack, anyway!'."

Kyle sniggered a little at the memory, then murmured, "They're just jealous," into his throat.

Stan tried to twist his head in a way so that he could look at Kyle. This proved impossible, because Kyle's forehead was pressed up underneath his jawbone, and Stan ended up with a nose full of Kyle's Jewfro. "... Jealous?" he repeated quietly. "Of what?"

"Ya'know, Stan, I'm supposed to be the oblivious one."

"What do you me-"

"Stan?"

Stan gaped at the Mole, who'd wandered over for a refreshing beverage of artificially flavored fruit punch, and instead found his boyfriend in the arms of another man. Kyle turned his face away from Stan's neck to look at him, but he didn't release Stan from his grip. The Mole stared dumbly at them for a while, then his eyebrows drew down.

"You told me you weren't coming to ze dance."

"W-well," Stan said, fully aware of how wrong this looked from the Mole's point of view. "I wasn't, but-"

"Forget eet, Stan," he said cooly, turned around, and left the gym.

--

Kenny was just approaching the gym as the door slammed open and none other than the Mole came storming out. Kenny blinked a few times, marveling at his luck, and hurried over, "Hey, Mole!"

The Mole looked up and noticed him. "I'm glad I caught you, man, I need to tell you something-" Kenny was cut off and nearly all the breath was knocked out of his lungs when the Mole came storming over and threw his arms around his neck in something that was more like a strangulation than a hug. Given how much shorter the Mole was than him, his back bent as he was dragged down.

Kenny really wasn't expecting that, because... the Mole wasn't the hugging type. He was more the grab-you-and-shake-you-while-calling-you-a-cock-sucking-asshole type. So Kenny blinked, alarmed and somewhat concerned, and was about to ask him what the hell was going on when he happened to look past him and saw Stan and Kyle leave the gym.

"... Erm," he said hesitantly, placed a tentative hand on the Mole's back. "It's okay, man. Just let it out."

The Mole stiffened and pulled his head back so that he could look him in the face, though he didn't loosen his grip on his neck. He arched an eyebrow at him, and Kenny saw that his eyes were completely dry.

"I'm not cryeeng," he said irritably, sounding insulted. "I'm pissed off."

Kenny gaped at him. "Hey, wait a minute! You were just putting me in a headlock so that I couldn't flee when you broke into one of your rabid spiels!"

"'Ow astute," the Mole said. "And I didn't even 'ave to explain myself zis time."

Kenny tried to twist free, but the Mole locked his wrist behind his elbow and trapped him in. "'E eesn't even gay! I'm being passed up for a 'etero! What ze fuck ees so great about zat Jewish beetch?" he demanded.

"Um," Kenny said helpfully.

"'E's short and scrawny and 'e 'as seriously issues with anger management and 'e's always beetching about something!" the Mole snarled. Kenny paused and gave this some thought.

"... You know," he said thoughtfully (hence the giving it some thought), "Kyle's actually a lot like you."

The Mole stared at him, blinked, then scowled. "Is ZAT why 'e was dating me?" he raged. "Oh, zose sons ov BEETCHES!"

"I'm sure that's not why Stan was dating you," Kenny soothed. "I'm sure he fell for your-" Kenny tried hard not to laugh "-authentic french accent."

He frowned at him and removed his arms from the other boy's neck, taking a step back and looking annoyed. "Zat fucking faggot God," the Mole growled. "Breenging me back to life just so I 'ave to deal with this sheet."

"Um, actually," Kenny coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I need to talk to you about that."

The Mole inclined an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well, I felt kinda bad that I wasn't able to tell you how I come back to life," Kenny said, digging his hands into his pockets and looking down at him. "So I did a little digging, and... I still don't know how I come back to life, but I know why you did. Damn, man, if you'd mentioned that you died during the American/Canadian war I'd have been able to tell you when you first asked."

The Mole's lips slowly parted as this sunk in. All thoughts of Stan and Kyle were instantly thrown from his mind. "You... know? You can tell me?"

"Yeah," he said. "It was because of me, dude. Satan asked me what I wanted for helping him out of a bad relationship, and I asked him to make everything go back to the way it was before the war, so..." Kenny shrugged.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and then the Mole looked Kenny up and down skeptically. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"I'm alive because of you?"

"Yeah," he said. "Crazy coincidence, huh?" Kenny smiled and him. "So now we're square for the gay lessons."

"... Hm," the Mole said. "Why do you want to bee gay so badly, anyway?"

"I enjoy straight sex too much."

The Mole gave him a blank look. "... What."

"I always die right before I come," Kenny explained. "Which freaks the fuck out of the chick, and is really fucking sexually frustrating."

"... I can eemagine," the Mole said, staring at him. "Le petit mort, huh?"

"Le what?"

"The little death. Orgasm. Eet's french."

"Oh," Kenny said. "Cool. Got any other little french phrases?"

"Well," the Mole said, coughed, and looked up at the sky. "I don't actually speak french..."

Kenny burst out laughing. "Knew it!" he wheezed out, hugging his abdomen with one arm and pointing the other at the Mole. "I knew it!"

--

Stan and Kyle left the dance almost immediately after the Mole. Stan accompanied Kyle to his house, scowling lightly at the ground. Neither one of them said anything until they got to Kyle's front porch, at which point Kyle smirked, turned around, and said, "Am I going to get a kiss goodnight?"

Stan glared at him. "Cut it out, Kyle."

Kyle's smirk was replaced with a light scowl. "What're you so pissy about?"

"God damn it, don't you get it?" Stan growled, pressing a fist against the side of his head. "I'm going to lose my boyfriend because you can't stop fooling around! Just cut it the fuck out, Kyle!" He started to yell. After so many years of dealing with Kyle flirting and not meaning it, Stan was finally fed up with it. "It's not funny when you pretend to hit on me, it's just fucking annoying, so stop it!"

He stopped and saw that Kyle was glaring at him, his teeth clenched, his left hand stretched out behind him and gripping the door knob.

"Who ever said I was joking, asshole?" Kyle demanded, wrenched the door open, and slammed it closed in his face.

Stan was left standing on his front porch, feeling particularly stupid.

--

As Kenny walked toward the smokers' bleachers during lunch, he slowed down and came to a stop when he noticed Stan next to the Mole. The two were apparently in a very heated conversation. Kenny hung back until Stan finally walked away, then he approached the Mole cautiously.

"You want to put me into another headlock and rant?" he asked.

"Non. EEt eesn't necessary," the Mole muttered, offering him a cigarette. They smoked in silence for a while, and then the Mole asked, "'Ow did it go with Butters?"

"He rode me like a horse."

"Really," the Mole said, deadpan, raising an eyebrow skeptically. Kenny sighed and his shoulders slumped.

"Yeah. Literally. We played horsie. He even wore a cowboy hat." Kenny sighed and massaged his forehead. "I swear, that kid wouldn't know a gay come-on if it walked up and slapped him on the ass... I know, because I did walk up and slap him on the ass."

The Mole let out a little snort of laughter.

--

"That bitch!"

Kyle sighed. It really sucked that he and Cartman were the only ones eating lunch together.

"That fucking bitch! First she screws me out of my date, then she makes it so that Clyde - my BEST lackey! - runs screaming in the opposite direction every time he sees me! I should have known that whore was just waiting for the perfect chance to fuck me over! This is what happens when you trust people-"

"CARTMAN WOULD YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Kyle burst out, slamming his sandwich down. Not that slamming a sandwich makes much noise, or anything. "ISN'T IT FUCKING OBVIOUS TO YOU THAT SHE HAS A CRUSH ON YOU?"

Cartman stared at Kyle. "... What?"

"Believe me," Kyle growled, picking at his bread. "I know a crush when I see it."

Cartman didn't say anything else. He just sat there, looking a little stunned.

--

After school, Stan pounded on the Broflovski's door until Ike opened it. "Oh," he said. "Hi, Stan."

"Is Kyle home?"

"He paid me ten dollars to tell you he wasn't."

Stan sighed. "I'll give you twenty if you let me in."

Ike grinned and held out his hand eagerly. Stan fished his pocket out of his pocket, removed the bill, and handed it over. Ike pocketed it cheerfully and stepped back, allowing him entrance. Stan made his way up the stairs and opened the door to Kyle's room without knocking.

"Ike, how many times to I have to tell you to stay out of my-" Kyle broke off when he looked up from where he was lying on his bed and scowled. "How'd you get in here?"

"Your brother really conforms to those Jewish stereotypes," Stan said, closing the door behind him. Kyle made a face and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, sitting up.

"Knew I should have paid him more than ten dollars," Kyle muttered.

"Um," Stan said, rubbing his arm. "I broke up with the Mole at lunch today."

Kyle glared harder. "After you chewed my head off because he was going to break up with you? Which was completely unwarranted, by the way, because you already told me you were thinking of breaking up with him-"

"I know, all right?" Stan interrupted, his eyebrows drawing down. "I know I overreacted. I'm sorry. But it really... bothers me, all right?" he mumbled. "Because I kind of, sort of... like you."

Kyle didn't even bat an eye. "I know."

Stan's eyes darted up to his and he gaped at him. "You know?"

"Of course I know. It's only the most obvious thing in the world."

Stan sputtered. "B-but!"

"What, did you think you were doing a good job of hiding it?" Kyle asked, sounding the slightest bit amused.

"Well, then why the hell didn't you ever say anything!" Stan cried, pointing a melodramatic finger at him.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Kyle shot back. "Lord knows I've given you a thousand chances."

Stan hesitated, staring at him. Did Kyle... want him to hit on him? He frowned, scrutinized his face, and then decided... to hell with it. It served Kyle right for flirting with him, anyway.

He stepped away from the door and walked toward his bed, picking up speed as he went until he simply barreled into Kyle, knocking him backward until the bed. They wrestled, and Kyle twisted under him while Stan planted kisses on any part of Kyle's body he could get at between flailing limbs - his elbow, his shoulder, his navel. Stan finally caught hold of his wrists and pressed his arms into the the mattress, and his mouth against his. Kyle pressed back in an impressive display of lips and teeth and tongue. He slipped his hands out of Stan's grip pathetically easily and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him forward so that he was was sprawled over his hips while he arched up against him.

It really didn't take anything to turn Kyle on, Stan reflected, and had to concede the point that the Mole had argued since they'd first started dating: Kyle was slutty. But he really didn't see a problem with this, now that he was on the receiving end. Stan gripped the hem of Kyle's shirt and liberated him of it, pulling away from his mouth to employ his own on the newly exposed skin. Kyle inhaled sharply, smirked smugly, and grabbed hold of Stan's shoulders while he sucked on his chest.

"Do'ya think it would work," Stan ventured between kisses, "if we were a couple?"

"A scientist examines every possible option before reaching a conclus- OhgodYES!" he yelped and bucked.

Stan lifted his head from Kyle's bellybutton and grinned at him. "Yes?"

"Cheater," Kyle grumbled. "That's playing dirty."

"I can play dirty," Stan assured him, grinning, and then hesitated. "But. You were going to say yes. Right?"

Kyle sighed heavily. "Yes. But now the ambiance is ruined. I was going to draw it out. Can't now. Asshole."

Stan frowned. "But you're really okay with-"

"Stan, if you're always going to try to talk about your feelings whenever you sit on me and rip off my shirt, we're going to have a serious problem."

Stan scowled lightly. "This is important-"

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle said, seizing him by the collar and yanking him down. "It'll still be important when I'm wearing a shirt. Now just shut up and kiss me."

Stan obliged.

--

Being Cartman's best friend had taught Wendy many things. Chief among them was that nothing improved a bad mood like some senseless vandalism. She chucked a rock at the glowing neon sign, breaking some of the glass and getting one of the 'd's to black out.

As she bent down to pick up another rock, she heard someone walk up behind her. Wendy stiffened a moment, then straightened again. She knew it was Cartman; no one else stepped that heavily. She chucked the rock at the sign nonchalantly and missed it by several feet.

"... What're you doing?" Cartman ventured.

"Trying to knock out the 'uddr' in 'Fuddruckers,'" she explained, picking up another rock.

"Sweet," he said, picking up a rock to assist her. For several moments there was no conversation, just the sound of breaking glass. When the 'r' finally flickered and died they cheered, then cracked up. They clung to each other's arms while they laughed, and when they'd settled down a little, Cartman kissed her.

Wendy knew she had the sappiest grin on her face when he pulled away - she just didn't care. Cartman gave her an evaluating look.

"So, you... like me," he began, sounding skeptical.

"Yes," Wendy admitted.

"... Why?"

Wendy shrugged.

"Hmm," Cartman said. Then he smirked. "So you and Heidi got into a bitch fight over who got the supreme honor of being my ho."

She rolled her eyes. "Not exactly."

Cartman looked mildly disappointed. "Still," he said. "Still, you put a chick in the hospital for me. That's pretty hot."

Wendy's grin doubled in sappiness. Only Cartman would think assault with a weapon was romantic. Cartman glanced up at the neon 'Fuckers.' "Hey, you hungry? I'm paying."

"You're offering?" Wendy asked, lifting her eyebrows. "What's your angle?"

"I need to spend my profits from the dance before the cops start asking questions," he said, and she laughed. He grabbed her by the wrist. "Come on, let's go inside and ask them about their sausage," he said, smirking that way he did when he thought he was being clever. His hand slid down her wrist and he tugged her, laughing, by the hand into the restaurant.

--

Kenny sighed mournfully as he watched Butters follow after Bebe, carrying her books for her.

"I tried to be gay. I really did!"

"Well, we can't all bee queer," the Mole said nonchalantly at his side, lighting a new cigarette.

"It's not fair. How did Kyle I've-got-heterosexuality-coming-out-of-my-ears Broflovski end up with a guy when I didn't? So unfair." Kenny seemed to realize he was talking to Stan's ex. "Er - sorry."

The Mole shrugged. "Stan's a beetch."

Kenny cracked up. "That's for sure." He sighed. "But, Kyle, I mean... it takes one stupid gay crush to make him switch teams." He brooded for a moment, then grinned hopefully. "Think you might develop a stupid gay crush on me?"

The Mole rolled his cigarette around in his mouth and seemed to consider his next words very carefully.

"I like you," he finally said. "I find you have a most amusing sense ov humor. I theenk I would enjoy smoking and talking about what an beetch God is with you, and I find you are indispensable on a mission. The fact we 'ave both died before means we can understand something about each ozzer zat no on else can. However," he said, and here he paused and took a long drag on his cigarette, "I'm not like Stan. I don't lust after straight meat. I like my men gay."

"Damn," Kenny said, propping his chin up in his hand.

"Eet eesn't so bad."

Kenny frowned at him. "Seriously. That doesn't sound like a French accent at all. That sounds like someone who's trying to fake a French accent, but has never actually heard one, so they're just mimicking someone else's bad attempt at a French accent. Knock it off."

The Mole blew some smoke at him. "Non."

"And another thing. What's with the random French? It's stupid. Just say no."

He seemed to consider this, then broke out into a broad grin. "Non."

"Ass," Kenny said, though it was good-natured. "So, friends?"

"Yes," the Mole agreed. "I theenk so."

---

THE END