I was sleep deprived and totally bored. Hahaha i don't know where this came from.
Eric Cartman was five years old when he realized he hated Jews.
It was because of Kyle, of course. Everything was always because of Kyle. The little Jew rat just couldn't restrain himself from ruining everyone else's lives in some way or another... in this case, by forcing Christmas projects to become "holiday" projects and generally forcing political correctness upon the entire kindergarten class.
Until then, Eric hadn't known Kyle was any different from the other children. Sure, he had funny hair, all tight and cork-screwed and red, and his father wore a strange little round cap on his head, but in South Park funny hats and hair were by far the least of anyone's worries. Christmas, however, was another matter.
Eric Cartman did not want to have a lesson on Hanukkah during Christmas season. He didn't give a donkey's ass about Hanukkah during Christmas season (or probably during any other time of year, either, but that wasn't the point).
He did not want to play dreidel.
He did not want to learn the Hebrew letters.
...The latkes weren't so bad.
But he did not want to listen to the story of the Maccabees.
And Eric Cartman did not enjoy making little clay menorahs that he would never use anyways because he was not a goddamn Jew!
That was when he decided he really hated Kyle Broflovski, with his stupid little Jew grin and his sticky Jew hands that were so irritatingly deft at spinning dreidels, and his hideous Jew parents who spoke quietly to the teacher during recess about the importance of religious tolerance.
He hated Kyle Broflovski. Kyle Broflovski was the grinch who stole Christmas.
And Kyle was a Jew.
Therefore, quite logically, Eric Cartman hated Jews.
Eric Cartman was eight years old when he realized just how much he enjoyed tormenting Kyle. The other boy's face would turn so delightfully red, his fists would clench in such obvious anger, and then he would shout in that hoarse, high voice of his – and Eric found it infinitely amusing. It was not quite like irritating anyone else. Stan would just tell him to fuck off, Kenny would probably die, and Craig and his dickhole friends would most likely beat the crap out of him.
With Kyle, he got to see a fireworks display.
At age nine, Eric realized that he hated Kyle but probably couldn't live without him. Not in a stupid faggy way but with perfect honesty – because what use was a life without someone to rip on all the time?
It was the San Francisco incident. He honestly didn't want to help Kyle and his stupid Jew family, but if Kyle died then Eric would probably die too. Of boredom. Or being drowned in a river of Stan's hippie tears. God, that kid was such a pussy when it came to his little gaywad butt-buddy.
So Eric went and saved the Jew. Someday, he was sure, Mel Gibson would forgive him.
Sixth grade, at eleven years old, Eric Cartman began to realize he was bordering on obsessed with Kyle Broflovski. And he didn't know quite what to make of it.
It wasn't exactly his fault, see. Jews bewitched people, it was the way they worked. They cast dark spells and ensnared innocent Gentiles when they weren't looking. Seriously.
And Kyle... well, it was hard to hate someone without noticing them. And Eric noticed an awful lot of things about Kyle. Like how his eyes were a lighter shade of green than previously suspected, and under his big jacket he was not so much skinny as compact. He always had dirt under his stubby nails and scabs on his elbows, and his smile was kind of crooked because that one tooth came in wrong...
Eric didn't know why he noticed these things. So he just didn't think about it. Butt-fucking Jewfag, probably spiked his food.
At thirteen, it occurred to Eric Cartman that he might not hate Jews quite as much as he thought he did. Also at thirteen, a few seconds after this first revelation, Eric Cartman decided with disgust that he was going crazy, because of course he hated Jews. They fucking killed Jesus, who didn't hate them?
Kyle's Bar Mitzvah. Cartman was outside, watching through the window. He had asked for an invitation, but --
"Fuck no, you think I want a neo-Nazi at my Bar Mitzvah? How retarded do you think I am?"
"I think that's beside the point, Kahl, although I'd be happy to fill you in later. As your friend, I deserve a spot at your faggy little Jew fest."
"Dude, you are not my friend."
"No way, man! You're not coming!"
"Awww, fuck you, Jew! What the hell am I gonna do? I swear, Kahl, I swear on my mom's titties, may they never whither, that I will not do anything that might be considered Hitler-esque."
"....Get the fuck off my porch."
And so Eric was watching the ceremony from outside in the bushes. Which might have been a good thing, because he felt like watching Kyle alone at the moment... considering the fact that he might be temporarily insane.
See, there was something so nice about seeing that tall red-haired figure up there at the podium, with only a small blue yamulka to hide his mass of springing curls. He had a dark suit on, and it made him look older, more solemn... Eric found himself admiring the effect of the tallit draped over Kyle's shoulders; he could see the heavy Hebrew letters embroidered in glinting gold onto the white fabric, falling against Kyle's body. Such a Jewish boy, such a nice tall lean Jewish boy, all draped in Hebrew tassles. It was almost exotic.
No, no it wasn't. It was a fucking Jew scarf.
And yet... the torah was rolled out in front of him, and Kyle's voice (which had a strange quality to it that Eric defined, without thinking, as a sort of purr) was rising and falling as he chanted the ancient words, those pale-green eyes darting across the aged yellow scroll.
What the fuck!? No, no, no. Goddamn fucking Jews!
But Eric remained crouched at the window, a perplexed scowl on his face, unable to look away, unable to stop straining to hear that smooth familiar voice cooing Hebrew prayers.
And later, at home, looking through his collection of books on World War II, he felt a strange shiver of something akin to longing when his eyes fell upon curly-haired men in yamulkas and tallit, their carved features so oddly familiar.
At age sixteen, Eric Cartman realized he really fucking hated Jews, a lot. Because they were fucking driving him crazy.
Or rather, one was in particular.
Goddamn fucking Kyle with his grin and his hair and his long Jew fingers. He made Eric insane.
Eric liked girls. He really did. He liked the feel of curves beneath his hands and he liked the way they walked and moved and swung their hair. He liked to fuck girls. But he didn't fantasize about them.
He didn't fantasize about guys either, to be perfectly honest.
Only one guy.
It was sort of difficult to sit in class right behind the Jew's fucking ginger fro and not imagine kissing the back of his neck. It was sort of difficult to avoid smelling him, and hearing every nuance of his voice. And it was sort of difficult to not be highly turned on by all this.
Kyle made Eric sweat. He made his heart stutter, and his knees feel oddly weak. Kyle made Eric feel like jacking off to faint memories of a Bar Mitzvah watched from synagogue windows.
Kyle made Eric crazy.
At age seventeen, Eric Cartman realized he might have fallen in love by accident when he wasn't looking, a long time ago. And in lieu of any better ideas, he went out and bought a small silver Star of David on a long chain, which he wore underneath all his clothes, even the ones adorned with swastikas.
One day, he was sure, Kyle would find out. And when he did, maybe Eric would try to explain. Maybe he wouldn't. But until then he simply couldn't bring himself to say anything.
Other than, "Fuck you, Jew!" of course.