A Note From Ben: This is another joke songfic. I heard this song and couldn't resist turning it into a story about Stan and Kyle waking up together after a night of chugging the bottle. An interesting little tidbit on this one is that I've actually been to all the places mentioned in the song, including Fausto's Supermarket and Duval Street (both in Key West, FL). I couldn't, however, find any place known as "the snake pit". Ah well.


Disclaimer: I don't own South Park or the song My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don't Love Jesus by Jimmy Buffett.
Hung Over

My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus

(Oh my Lordy it's that)

It's that kind of mornin'

Really was that kind of night

Kyle woke up with cotton mouth, a splitting headache, and a sore ass. He couldn't remember much of what happened the night before, but he knew it had something to do with Stan, a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey, and….lubricant? Why the hell was there a bottle of lubricant on the bedside table?

Oh, shit! Kyle thought, his blood running cold. What the fuck did we do?

Tryin' to tell myself that my condition is improvin'

And if I don't die by Thurdsay

I'll be roarin' Friday night

He looked over and saw Stan beside him, sleeping like a baby. He had a big, goofy grin on his face that suggested to Kyle that whatever they had done last night, his childhood friend was still enjoying it.

"Stan, wake up!" he said, giving him a shake.

While his friend was groaning and trying to rouse himself, Kyle looked under the sheet covering them. They were both completely naked! He cast his eyes desperately around what he could only assume was Stan's bedroom, trying to spot his boxer shorts. He saw them dangling from the ceiling fan along with his shirt and Stan's pants.

"Uuugh" Stan groaned, opening his eyes and then promptly shutting them again with a hiss of pain. Apparently, he was just as hung over as Kyle was. When he got brave enough to try again, he, too, looked under the sheets. What he saw made him scream like his hair was on fire. "What the fuck, Kyle?"


Went down to the snake pit

To drink a little beer

Kyle just wanted to get drunk; that's the best way to put it. His girlfriend of two years had left him earlier that day and he was upset as hell. What he really needed was a shoulder to cry on, but seeing as he and Stan rarely saw each other these days, he'd have to make due with what was available.

He walked into the bar and was immediately assaulted by bad honky-tonk music played by a lousy honky-tonk band. He figured most of the people in the place were either too miserable or too drunk to care.

God, I hope so, he thought, because I can't imagine what kind of human being would actually like this music.

Listen to the jukebox

Merle was comin' in clear

After one hour of pure torture, the band decided to call it quits, which caused Kyle to breathe a sigh of relief and order another Rum Runner. He said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever Supreme Being there happened to be that the pain in his ears would finally come to an end. His happiness was short-lived however, for as soon as the band was gone someone turned on the jukebox, which began playing a song that sounded twice as bad.

God damn it, he thought, this music is bad enough to make me wanna leave my wife, burn my house, shoot my dog, and let someone steal my truck.

All of a sudden I wasn't alone

Pickin' country music with ol' Joe Bones

"Kyle?" he heard a voice call from behind him.

He turned to look and saw three Stans standing there, a look of pure surpise of each other their faces. Now, it might have been the five Rum Runners and two Margaritas talking, but he was pretty sure there was only one Stan.

"Whatchudoinhere?" he asked the one in the middle.

"Wendy dumped me," Middle Stan said, looking down at the floor.

"Well, shit comeoverhere," Kyle said happily, "I'llbuyyoudrink."

Duval Street was rockin

My eyes they started poppin'

Within thirty minutes, Stan was seeing as many Kyles as Kyle saw of him. They laughed, swigged straight from their individual bottles of Jack, and complained loudly about how much the music sucked.

"Motherfuckin' SHIT music!" Stan bellowed, causing several cowboys nearby to give him furious looks.

Cause there she sat at the corner of the bar

As I broke another string on my old guitar

Someone call a cab

Lady, won't you pay my tab

Wendy showed up looking for Stan around the time they decided to link arms and break into a drunken duet of Freebird. This turned out to be beneficial for the both of them, for the cowboys were getting angrier and angrier at the two for making such a racket and butchering one of their favorite songs.

"…and if I hay steer wichu girl…."

"…stings just couldn't be to blame…."

Several of them were getting ready to come at them with pool sticks and chairs when Kyle suddenly broke away at the sight of Stan's once and future ex-girlfriend. Horrified to see her even as drunk as they were, they tried to duck away, but she grabbed them both by the arms. She was determined to get them out of the bar before they got themselves killed or arrested.

"Come on, you two," she said, dragging them toward the door, "there's a cab outside ready to take you home. Thank God I found you before those rednecks got to you."


And now

My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus

(Oh my Lordy it's that)

It's that kind of morning

Really was that kind of night

"Jesus Christ, dude!" Stan moaned. "How fucking drunk did we get?"

Kyle pulled the headset of the phone out from under the sheets and threw it aside. It smelled awful and was covered with what he could only assume was some kind of hot sauce.

"Drunk enough to give each other Texas Chili Bowls," he said, horrified.

Stan's face turned green and he put his face over his bedside trash can just in time to vomit into it.

Tryin' to tell myself that my condition is improvin'

And if I don't die by Thurdsay

I'll be roarin' Friday night

Stan pulled himself away from the trash can, feeling the ache in his stomach subside a little. He put his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes tightly, wishing the pain would just stop.

"Please tell me the telephone was the worst of it," he said, not opening his eyes.

"I don't know," Kyle said beside him. "I wish I could say that, but I think I remember something about a cucumber."

Stan couldn't take it anymore. He rolled out of bed, intending to take the sheet with him to cover up his nakedness, but Kyle had a death grip on it.

"Dude, what the fuck?" he asked, trying to tug the sheet away from his Jewish friend.

"Oh, no," Kyle said stubbornly, "you're not taking this sheet and leaving me exposed on this bed!"

"Well, I can't go get dressed without covering myself up!"

Got to get a little orange juice

And a Darvon for my head

I can't spend all day

Baby layin' in the bed

They argued for over three minutes about who would have their swollen, bare ass exposed and who would get the dignity of remaining covered. They finally reached the conclusion that if one of them had to walk around uncovered, they both had to do it; it was only fair.

Ten minutes later, they were downstairs, pain relievers and glasses of Tropicana in hand. There was an awkward silence as they slowly and methodically sipped their juice and refused to make eye contact with each other.

I can't believe I had sex with my childhood best friend, Kyle thought.

I can't believe I let somebody shove a telephone up my ass, Stan mentally groaned.

I'm going down to Fausto's to get some chocolate milk

Can't spend my life in your sheets and silk

I've got to find my way

Crawl out and greet the day

Neither Kyle nor Stan was ready to face the reality that came afterwards. Their own paranoia and insecurities led them to believe that everyone they met knew their secret, and that everyone's gaze was accusing and judgmental. At one point, perhaps thirty minutes after leaving Stan's house, Kyle was standing on a street corner waiting to cross. He heard the old lady standing next to him say something and he could have sworn it had something to do with cucumbers.

"Excuse me?" he said, turning to her.

"I asked if you'd help me cross the street," she replied, taken aback by his rudeness.

"Oh, sorry," he said, "sure."

But now

My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus

(Oh my Lordy it's that)

It's that kind of morning

Really was that kind of night

Why the hell did I have sex with Kyle last night? Stan thought as he drove the streets of South Park.

Some people had accused him of being in love with his best friend since elementary school, but that wasn't true. He hadn't been in love with him; he'd always just thought he was hot as hell. Perhaps it was his red hair and freckles or maybe it was the fact that he looked damn good dancing around in his underpants. No matter how many times he went over it in his head, he couldn't figure out why he found Kyle attractive.

I never wanted to fuck him; that kind of shit destroys friendships.

He considered this for a second and then chuckled to himself.

From the little bit I remember, though, he thought, it was fucking awesome.

He popped another painkiller and floored the accelerator.

Tryin' to tell myself that my condition is improvin'

And if I don't die by Thurdsay

I'll be roarin' Friday night

Kyle and Stan dumped their respective girlfriends after that. They both realized that the sex between the two of them was far better than any they'd ever had before. Of course, after that first night, they made it a rule to never keep hot sauce or cucumbers in the house again. They also made sure that they bought a video camera; if they ever had drunken sex like that again, they wanted to make sure they had a way to remember it.

Lemme tell ya

Be roarin Friday night

I mean I'll

Be roaring Friday night


Thanks to Phoenix II for reading it first and convincing me that it isn't rubbish. :)