I dedicate this one to Koko, Jean, Clairebear, kylestanfan, LVK-DeadSavior, InvaderWaffles, Azu-Luna, Ichi, and Emmie. Because they encourage my wanton ficcing. For anyone who's following Martyrdom: It's Not For Everyone, don't worry. I've never abandoned a fic.

Except for that one time.



o1. Friday Night



Cartman was disgusted with himself.

It was a new and unsavory feeling. Cartman had never been disgusted with himself, no matter what disgusting things he did. But this was the embodiment of all the vile, terrible, drum-beating, pot-smoking, tie-dying, mud-dancing, smelly things in the world.

"More than a decade I've devoted to persecuting hippies... why did I end up with one in the back seat of my car?!" His mother's car, actually, which he "borrowed."

Wendy—who'd been leaning over the front seat, switching channels on the radio, being utterly mesmerized by every station she found, including the traffic report (six car pile up in front of the old folk's home)—leaned back and laughed.

"Because I'm a girl," she said, running a hand through her hair. "And I'm high, and I'm horny. And there are two good things about hippies you've forgotten."

"What?" Cartman demanded, offended that she was insulting his specialty.

"Free lovin'." She smirked. "And no bra."

"... Your legs and pits are probably all hairy."

Wendy just giggled. "Want to find out?"

So popular opinion was that Cartman wasn't human. Didn't mean he wasn't a sixteen year old boy.


"I'm so emo my tears are BLACK!"

"Your mascara is running."

"Oh," Stan said, stepping closer to the mirror and examining his face more closely. "So it is."

Kyle decided a change of subject was in order. "Stan," he said, "do you remember all the times I've gone down to Tweek Bros. Coffee to listen to you read your poetry because you chased the rest of the audience away?"


"And do you remember all the times you've dragged me into Hot Topic against my will?"

"Of course."

"So you must also remember when you coerced me into going to a Skinny Puppy concert, then coerced me into making out with you in front of Henrietta to win her back—which still doesn't make any sense, by the way."

"I had to prove I was hardcore!"

"Emos aren't hardcore, Stan. It's more like a chewy nougat center."

Stan pouted and crossed his arms. "What's your point?"

"My point is I've done a helluva lot of stuff I didn't want to do for you, so it's time your repaid me. Come to my rehearsal tomorrow."

"But that guy's there," Stan whined. "You know. The redhead who dyes his hair. You know the one I mean. The guy with the shoes. God, what is his name?"

"He's a goth, Stan. I mean, it annoys me, but your girlfriend is one, too, so what's the problem?"

"He used to date Henrietta," Stan sulked.

"So? Stan, c'mon. You owe me."

"Fine," Stan grumbled. "But I won't enjoy myself."

"Same as usual," Kyle said.


Like many a Friday night, Kenny was holed up in his room, IMing Clyde.

The foundation of their friendship was their inability to get any from girls, because of Clyde's flab and Kenny's personality. They'd set up a two-person support group, shared porn, and jerked off together a few times. (Kenny was pretty sure that wasn't gay.)

lulzinstantmessaging: so when is ur bday

thisisascreenname: march 22

thisisascreenname: why, you going to jump out of a cake?

lulzinstantmessaging: lol yeah im going 2 shake it

thisisascreenname: well careful you don't break it

lulzinstantmessaging: ha u just cant take it

thisisascreenname: I can fake it

lulzinstantmessaging: we shoulf stop b4 this gets out of hand

thisisascreenname: you just couldn't think of anything else that rhymes

lulzinstantmessaging: shutup

thisisascreenname: hold on, cartman's iming me

A new window had popped up on Kenny's screen. It read:

aimisgay: Get your poor ass over here first thing tomorrow. And bring condoms.