Part 1 of 4.
The Monday afterwards:
You are passing by the football field with Kyle and mourning your prematurely dead football career (killed by asthma and an embarrassing father/coach entanglement that you will try with all your power to suppress) when He (whose name you've stricken from your vocabulary ever since the party and the keg and the bed upstairs) throws a wide pass which lands by the chain link fence. "EY, faggot!" He shouts, and waves. "Throw it back!"
You pick it up and, like the quarterback you've always wanted to be (damn your respiratory system and damn your father's neurosis), throw it straight into His crotch.
"Sorry!" you shout back, while He doubles over and shouts obscenities, all while flipping you off. "I guess it's the limp wrists!"
Token's parents are rich, and rich people go to nice places for vacation. Unfortunately, Tweek doesn't like nice places because they tend to be outside South Park, and he doesn't trust anything outside South Park (he just barely gets along with the stuff inside South Park).
"Come on," Token wheedles. "I hear good things about Hawaii."
"LAVA! Burning, consuming liquid-death!"
"Tweek, we're going to Maui. No lava. Just nice, relaxing beaches."
"The ocean is full of things lurking in the shallows, waiting to strike! What if I step on a Irwin-Killer?"
"I think the scientific name is 'stingray'."
"Ah, c'mon. If you get stung I'll carry you back to the hotel."
"What if you get attacked by a shark will you're rescuing me and it bites your leg off?!"
"Then I'll hop back to the hotel."
"What if it takes both your legs and-"
"Tweek, I'll take you back to the hotel even if the shark eats everything but my thumb and I have to hitch a ride back."
This would be an irrational proposal to anyone but Tweek. He chews on the inside of his cheek and finally asks, "... can we stay in the hotel and just look at the ocean?"
Token laughs, leans forward, and runs a hand through Tweek's hair fondly. "Yes, fine."
It was a rarity, Kenny spending the night without the other two, and he was surprised to find he enjoyed himself more. They played video games, prank called the local eateries, and had broomstick fights (which entailed sitting on swivel chairs, pushing themselves around with the handles, and trying to whack each other in the face with the bristles) until 2 am, at which point Kenny rolled backwards down the stairs and, miraculously, didn't die.
It was while he was crouching over Kenny, asking if he were all right, that Kenny propped himself up on his elbows and kissed him. He sputtered, then blurted out that he really ought to get home. He made it to his car before he remembered he was at his house, and then he sat in his car and felt very stupid for a while.
Kenny knocked on the window. "Look," Kenny said when he rolled it down, "I'm sorry. I know you're not like that."
He was glad Kenny was so sure; he felt one of them ought to be.
"We need to stop coming to this restaurant," Kyle informed Stan.
"But it's my favorite."
"We've had this waiter before. When you've had the same waiter before, it's a sign to move on to a different Mexican restaurant."
"God gives you pretty specific signs, huh? Anyway, I don't remember him."
"How can you not remember him?"
"Well excuse me if I don't remember every person that's ever taken my menu from me. They all just blend together into one unisex serving unit."
Kenny wasn't entirely sure what love was, but he had vague notions. As far as he knew (and movies and songs and greeting card companies suggested) scaling a fence with razor wire to climb into a detention camp to save your girlfriend (and your girlfriend's other boyfriend, who is sort of your boyfriend, too - if fooling around backstage while your mutual girlfriend auditioned for Romeo and Juliet entitled you for fagdom, that was) from the people Chris had been spying on didn't qualify as love, even when you had to outrun a dozen guard dogs.
But taking them home and plastering them with cartoon character band aids and then all three of you collapsing in an exhausted heap on your bed without even taking off your shoes first - maybe that did.
Somewhere between his sister beating him up, and his classmates beating him up, and Estella beating him up, Pip became a masochist. One would think this would be prefect, now that he was dating the anti-christ.
Sadly, Damien had inherited his father's pussy gene.
"But I don't want to hurt you!"
"But I want you to hurt me. C'mon, hit me. Don't be a wuss, Damien."
Damien got huffy. "I am not a wuss! I am just as big a badass as your ex-girlfriend. Maybe even bigger!"
"Estella broke the necks of twenty-five bunnies."
Damien gave him an aghast look. "Who could do that to bunnies?"
Pip grunted and climbed out of the bed. "Ugh, forget it."
"Where're going?" Damien asked, watching him anxiously.
"To get some tea." He said it sarcastically, but Damien's face lit up and he scrabbled after him.
"Can it be jasmine? And can we have finger sandwiches?"
"You need to help me dispose of the body."
Craig led Clyde outside to his car, where he pulled back the tarp covering the back of his truck.
"... you stole the Whistling Willy statue they have in front of the pizza place."
"I drove it through a couple carpool lanes, took some hilariously indecent pictures with it, scarred some little kids, and got a concerned mob to gather by posing it on the roof of the book depository and shouting that he was going to jump... And now I need to dump it before the police catch me."
"You stole it by yourself; dump it by yourself."
"Aw, come on! This is what people in committed relationships do; they help their significant others destroy evidence! Why do you fear commitment, Clyde?"
"I'm going back inside to watch TV."