Yay! My brand spanking new South Park fic! It's been a looong time since I wrote for this fandom. Of course, it's a CartmanxWendy. Apologies for any terrible grammar, spelling, or punctuation errors. Let me know of any that are terrible and I'll fix them. Please read, review, and enjoy.

Chapter 1

Wendy and Eric Cartman were a couple that everyone and no one ever expected to happen. While anyone could see the things they had in common—ambition, bad temperament, manipulative skill, the lack of remorse for having people killed in the name of revenge—they fought each other too much to even be friends. They argued over the most trivial things imaginable. Cartman seemed to have made it his life mission to make Wendy miserable, after he was done with Kyle, of course. And Wendy never backed down from a challenge or fight.

Kenny had always claimed that they were both boiling over with sexual tension. Stan was disturbed that—assuming Kenny was right—he had once been in love with the girl. Kyle just hated Cartman and refused to believe that someone like Wendy, a person with morals and standards, could ever feel things like that for someone like Cartman, a person who was lacking all compassionate traits that made one function as a human being.

But strangely enough, come the end of their senior year, Wendy and Cartman were dating. They, of course, fought constantly, and each day left the residents of South Park guessing if they would stay together or stay apart. There were several pools started by the town's citizens, from the seniors to the kindergarteners. They had several large fights, fights that had the town, and occasionally the nation, split into opposing armies. No one thought they would last. But then, towards the end of their last year in college, Cartman proposed.

Well, it was more like he demand that she legally become his bitch, to which Wendy responded by threatening the existence of his manhood if he backed out.

And so Wendy Testaburger and Eric Cartman became lawfully husband and wife a few months after graduating college. Kenny McCormick and Bebe Stevens, as expected, stood as the best man and maid of honor. Also, as expected, they hooked up that night. Stan and Kyle were glued to each other's sides the entire night, like the pathetic boyfriends they were, Cartman noted.

The young couple decided not to take a semester off to begin their new lives as a married couple. Both were too ambitious to continue life with mediocre jobs, and Wendy would not let her husband's hatred of school stand in the way. She also refused to let him take the easy way out by scamming and killing a few choice executives. Wendy went on to law school, from which she hoped to enter into politics. She would deal with dragging Cartman to Washington in a few years. Cartman continued with a business degree. After all, it was certainly what he was best at. It wasn't even a full year before he was vice president of his company's Colorado branch. Although young, both Cartman and Wendy were very successful.

The Cartmans' move to the national capital was surprisingly agreeable. Cartman had quickly realized that he would be right at home with the weaseling politicians and would have ample opportunities to talk his way to the top, which, of course, he did. He was rapidly climbing the ladder of the Washington branch. Besides, with Wendy in the Senate, he could easily say that he, Eric Cartman, had the nation's hottest senator as a wife. The rest of those bitches were ugly old skanks.

Cartman and Wendy's sex life was amazing. They fought often enough that six out of ten times they had sex, it was make-up sex, which made it all the more orgasmic. They shagged like rabbits. Of course, Wendy wanted children, but it was the one thing Cartman hadn't let her bully or scream at him until he finally gave in to shut her hippie mouth up. He was only twenty-seven. He didn't want a bunch of brats running around his house yet. Besides, the woman's maternal instincts would stay around forever. It wouldn't kill her to wait a few more years.

One of the best things about living in Washington D.C. was that it was so far from South Park. Cartman had been ready to leave the town for more years than he could remember. The residents were morons, complete and utter morons. Cartman at his worst had always been more mature than those pathetic excuses for adults. Things in Washington ran much more smoothly than in South Park. Sure, the people were hardly less moronic, but it provided the Cartmans with a better challenge. It was one thing to trick a redneck hick from a pissant mountain town, but it was quite another to con a sniveling, scamming, ivy leaguer. Wendy and Cartman took much more pleasure in coming out on top of these East-coasters.

The Cartmans had bought an old colonial home on the Virginia side of the Potomac River. They were maybe twenty minutes outside of the city. Cartman had demanded that they live in Virginia as opposed to Wendy's preferred Maryland. Cartman still had a soft spot for the Old South. He had led all the men in South Park through the South to reclaim it dressed as General Robert E. Lee, after all. He had been so close to getting Stan and Kyle as his slaves, but Lincoln had screwed him over. Big hat wearing asshole.

The house was far larger than the two needed. They had ten rooms, seven bathrooms, a dining hall, and even a large ball room. Wendy used it for having numerous parties with politicians over. She had even thrown one for Cartman's business associates once. It was the only time she'd ever played a good house wife, and she swore to never do it again, not even in dress up sex.

The house had six white columns and red shutters on all the windows. The lamps outside were still oil lamps. Cartman thought it was gay and they needed to get with the times. Wendy thought it was sweet, so of course, they remained. A long dirt road that had never been paved with concrete led up to the house from the front gate, which was about a quarter of a mile down. It was lined with oak trees that were hundreds of years old. A previous owner had hung a simple wooden swing in the one closest to the house. Behind the main house there was an old stable. Wendy wanted a horse, but Cartman hated them and refused to keep someone on his pay role to take care of it. He had managed to stop a fight by reminding Wendy what would happen if PETA came through. They had a large pasture separating the sables from the old slave houses. Cartman occasionally liked to stand on the back porch with a glass of scotch, laughing to himself that a bunch of black assholes had once lived there. If only slavery was still legal! They'd be hoeing his cotton right now. He probably would have thrown the cotton away at the end of the day too, just to make them more miserable.

A couple of times a year, Wendy would fly Bebe and Kenny out to stay with them for a week or so. Cartman refused to put up the money for it, and Kenny was too poor to pay for his own ticket. But still it was sort of nice to see him every once and a while. After all, Kenny was Cartman's BFF and the only friend he didn't hate too much from that crap hole. Kenny and Bebe were an on-again-off-again-on-again sort of couple. They were mostly on again because they were both too whorish to stay off each other. They weren't married, but still had a little boy. Cartman and Wendy were his godparents. Kenny thought it was a great joke that if anything happened to him and Bebe, it would be Cartman who was in charge of his son's faith and spiritual guidance. Wendy and Bebe were understandably horrified. Kenny said it wouldn't matter because only Mormons went to Heaven anyways.

Cartman certainly didn't keep in touch with them by choice, but Stan and Kyle were still together. Wendy—much to Cartman's continued fury—still had a soft spot for Stan, and she and Kyle had been mind-fuck buddies in high school. For some reason, Wendy couldn't let either go, and they were always invited to the Cartman residence at least once during the summer and during the holidays. Thus, Cartman was forced to have his house soaped, cleaned, and vacuumed twice a year so as to rid it of the gay Jew disease.

Kyle had lived up to all of Cartman's expectations of him. He was a lawyer. He still wore gold around his neck in a little bag. He was still behind any and all misery Cartman ever felt. And he was still banging Stan. Stan was still an emo pussy. Any time he and Kyle had fights, Stan, predictably, either locked himself in a room with bad 80s music or donned his Goth apparel. Kyle would calm down and take him back, and they would be back to their sinful ways. It made Cartman sick.

Of course, he wasn't allowed to do anything about it, as he would have liked. He'd tried before, and Wendy had been upset, to say the least. She'd chased him down with a butter knife and almost sawed his balls off. Thank Jesus Bebe and Kenny had the good sense to pull her off. Kyle wasn't much of a help. He had merely sat back and watched with that sadistic Jew smirk on his face. If Cartman hadn't already been in enough trouble with Wendy, he would have done something about that smirk.

When Wendy was around, Cartman was forced into tolerance. Well, perhaps it would be truer to say that he was forced to be tolerant only in action. No amount of Wendy's screaming could make him stop muttering profanities under his breath at minorities.

Wendy was the only woman—or person, for that matter—who had ever been able to make Cartman do something against his will. No one else had any sway on him, not Kenny, not Kyle, not his mother, not God. If he ever followed another person's plan, he always had an ulterior motive. There was always something that would benefit him if he followed along for a time. But with Wendy, Cartman had often been forced into things that got him nothing. Of course, he'd bitch about them until Wendy punched him in the face. Wendy said that it got him brownie points, but Cartman said that was bullshit. She was his wife, damn it, and he'd have her any time he wanted.

Unless she'd forced him to sleep on the couch, that is.

PS, the chapters of this story are all going to be fairly short. REVIEW