Author's Note: I. Was. Bored. And I know this is a silly idea, but I still had a bit of fun taking a break from my paper to write this. I know I'm a bit rusty and my writing style doesn't compare to that of the greats at all, but critiques are always welcome.

This was inspired by my best friend, it was going to be an RP but I wanted to make it a story, I hope you don't mind *heart*

And.... you decide if it's slash or not. ;P


It all began with "I'll give you five dollars if you eat the manatee spleen." There was something about Kenny McCormick's whorish endeavours that was like a powerful drug to both him and his fans, and even after his show was cancelled it still garnered a cult following from his peers. Krazy Kenny became the sideshow under the bridge with an audience of fourth-grade boys and the occasional transient and snapping turtle. Eventually, as the fourth-grade boys matured, their tastes switched from Jackass to Bebe Stevens's ass, and Krazy Kenny was no longer the flavour of the month.

However, Kenny's friends, who stuck with him through thick and thin, still shelled out their allowances and odd-job earnings as they dared Kenny to commit all sorts of crazy stunts. It gave them a source of after-school entertainment (Terrance and Phillip was so juvenile, you gaiz) and it replenished Kenny's Big-Mac-and-cigarette fund.

The other three realised just how much more damaging it was to their wallets than Kenny's health, and what started out as the Krazy Kenny Under-the-Bridge Floor Show turned into a weekly game of Truth or Dare. Kenny and Eric on one team, Stan and Kyle on the other. One would think that the game was only suited for elementary-school girls and not seventeen-year-old boys, but then again one most likely did not have Kenny McCormick or Eric Cartman as a friend.

"Mkay, gaiz, let's see what you've got." Eric squatted down on his rock and grinned. Kenny took his place next to him, and Stan and Kyle sat across from the two.

"Rule Number Two, Article Five, fatass," retorted Kyle, waving the sacred 8 by 11, college-ruled scroll with The Rules printed across them in the porker's face. "To ensure the fairness of the betting system, each team's initial funds must never be presented ahead of time—"

Kenny indignantly lit the last cigarette in the box and tossed the box into a nearby pile of rocks. "Yeah yeah, whatever, college boy. Could we just start already?" He wrapped himself in the oversized Cows Track sweatshirt that he poached from the locker room. "I owe Trent Boyett fifty dollars and he's gonna kill me if he doesn't have it by tomorrow."

"Won't be the first time, eh, Kenneh?" Eric gave his teammate a hearty whack on the back.

"Hey, WATCH IT, lardo, you almost made me drop my smoke!" Kenny glared at Eric, blowing the tobacco fumes into the latter's face. "We gonna start this shit or not?"

Needless to say, Kenny and Eric looked forward to this event, unperturbed as always. The McCormick/Cartman team had an unbreakable winning streak, given Stan and Kyle always managed to run out of the usual cheating/stealing/bodily-function dares and resorted to dares related to food. And whenever it came to ingesting food as a dare, regardless of quantity or quality, the digestive resilience of one of them proved to be the trump card, and Kenny and Eric walked away with Stan and Kyle's work wages. Every time.

This time, Stan and Kyle were determined not to let them win. Just once they'd like to walk away with Eric's money.

"You first, Kahhhhl," Eric sneered at the Marsh/Broflovski team.

Kyle plunked down the initial ante of five dollars. "OK, fat boy, here's one for you—I dare you to go up there and spray a pair of boobs on the wall."

Of course, Kenny eagerly took up the challenge, scurrying up to the side of the bridge and spraying a crudely-drawn, double-F-cupped stick figure on the wall for the world to see.

"Well gaiz, yer down five dollars, what are ya gonna do, hmmmm?"

"We've got plenty more where that came from, Cartman."

"You think seeeuh, Stan. I'm ganna love havin yer sweet sweet cash in my pocket, just lahk I do every week..." Eric fanned himself with the five-dollar bill that Kyle had thrown in their pool.

"We'll get you, fatass... HEY KENNY, IT'S YOUR TURN! KENNY? KENNY!"

Kenny had carried himself away and found himself tagging the bridge with an entire army of buxom stick figures. "Geez, this was fun!" He hopped down from the mountain of rocks and took his respective place, taking a satisfied puff on his smoke. "OK, I've got one for you..." He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a squeezable bottle of mayonnaise that looked a) expired and b) as if it were poached from the cafeteria. "School bus should be here, I dare ya to squirt this at the windows, and run like hell!" He grinned, and Eric plunked down a ten-dollar bill, making the bet official.

Stan and Kyle exchanged a glance. Which one would do it?

"I will," announced Kyle, swiping the mayonnaise bottle and climbing on top of the bridge. He hid behind a tree where he was certain the long arm of the law would not catch him and waited for the moment of truth.

There came the rumble of the approaching school bus, followed by a ripping squelch, then a splat, then the piercing collective cry of kids screaming.

"Fifteen dollars are ours," boasted Stan as Kyle plopped back down into his seat and tossed the empty mayo bottle back into Kenny's lap.

Thirty dollars on the line. Eric had to sing "Would you lahk to touch mah bodeh" a la Britney Spears to Butters as he took his daily stroll, and an extra five was thrown in for giving the poor blonde "a tingle in his pants."

Sixty. Stan's task was to prank-call the radio station and inquire about one Amanda Hugginkiss.

Seventy-five. Kenny had to tie his pants around his neck like a cape and run up and down the block shouting "I am the Caped Crusader!"

One hundred. Kyle had to spend five minutes as Eric's "chair" and not object to it, regardless of how many times the Cartman boy ripped one. It was a punishment that not even Ze Mole would have wished upon his greatest enemies.

One hundred twenty. One hundred fifty. Two hundred. The money piled up, along with the competition and tension, and the embarrassing tasks gradually snowballed into humiliation.

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon as the competition intensified to the point of mud-slinging (both figurative and literal) and eventually both teams were on the brink of running out of their weekly funds. By that time, over three hundred dollars lay in the collective pool, and both teams were beginning to feel more pressured than Tweek during finals week.

"You won't win this time, fatass." Kyle's face was flushed red from determination, and the embarrassment of doing Token's famous belly dance in front of a gaggle of passing old ladies. Stan's face was equally beet-red.

"As long as I have Kenneh on mah side, there's nu way I'll lose," sneered Eric. "Fart boy," he added for extra measure.

"Hey! Don't call me fart boy, fat boy!"

"AY! Don't call me fat, ya stupid Jew!"

"I told you before, stop belittling my people!"

Stan pinched the end of his nose.

"Could we just go all or none? I need a cigarette," Kenny piped up.

"Alraghty then, tha poor boy has spoken." Eric extracted the remainder of money from his wallet and threw it into the pile of cash. "Mmmm, lookit that sweet sweet cash, all mahn..."

Kyle indignantly tossed any money he and Stan had remaining into the pile. "Fine then. Whose turn is it?"

Eric's piggy eyes darted back and forth, and zeroed in like a lion spotting an injured gazelle. "Ah dew believe it is... YER dare. It's all or nothin, Jew boy, an' I know just the dare for you and Stan..." He paused for the suspense, garnering much eye-rolling from Kenny. "Ah dare you to suck mah balls."

Kyle's mouth dropped open in horror, and one could just see the nausea tingeing his face a lovely shade of green. "No way, dude, that's sick! I call 'chicken' on that!"

"Nuh uh, yew can't call 'chicken!'" Eric challenged him. "Looks lahk Kenneh and ah win againnn..."

Kyle unearthed The Rules and feverishly skimmed them. "See? I can call 'chicken!' Rule Number Four, Article Three states that we can call 'chicken' once during the game if it goes against our ethical code!"

Kenny glared at the redhead. "What the hell do you mean, 'ethical code?' Don't you remember what I was gonna do to Miss Crabtree on national TV?"

Kyle grinned. "I think you're both forgetting that I'm Jewish," he announced, finally about to use his religion to his advantage. "Meaning I can only eat what's kosher. And since Cartman's a pig, I can't ingest his pork products! Nice try."

"AY!" barked Eric. "AH CALL SHENANIGANS ON NYAH!"

"Too bad, Cartman, Kyle already called 'chicken' on that, so we better just take your cash and run…"

"NUH UH!" Eric interjected, pointing a fleshy finger at Stan and swiping The Rules out of Kyle's hands, hoping to find a loophole. "AHA! See? Right nyah, under that! Rule Number Four, Article Four! If someone calls 'chicken', then the teammate has to do the dare for the bet to be won!"

"OK, fine then! But just remember Rule Number Four, Article Five— you can't repeat a dare someone 'chickened' on."

"Christ, did you guys EAT The Rules?" Kenny interrupted, feverishly trying to light a surplus cigarette he found in his pocket. "Just pick something for him to do and get this over with."

Eric rubbed his double chin thoughtfully, obviously scheming up some sort of succulent plot for those two. It had to be something possible but humiliating, and knowing the sorts of tactics Eric formulated, it was going to be a doozie.

Finally, the pregnant pause gave birth to Eric's announcement. "Well Stanneh boy, ya think ya can dew this?"

"You know I will, fat boy."

"Ya think?"

"Yes."

"Ya think?"

"Just tell me the fucking dare!"

"Okayyy then, Staaan. Ah dare yew... TO KISS KAHL!"

"What?!"

"Yew heard what ah said. Kiss Kahl, and make it all convincing, and ye'll get yer moneh."

Stan's face turned beet red, and he gave Eric a "What the hell were you thinking?" look.

Eric simply started gathering the money from the pool and rubbing it lustfully against his face.

Kyle put a hand on Stan's shoulder. "Be a man, Stan."

There was a pause.

And then Stan dove right on in for the kiss, pulling Kyle in and pressing his lips against his best friend's. Kenny's mouth dropped into an O shape, and out fell the cigarette. Eric dropped the wad of bills he held, his expression mirroring Kenny's.

Stan and Kyle had only just gotten warmed up. Both let out convincing moans as their kiss grew more enthusiastic, only pulling away to gasp for air and to relish the expressions on their opponents' faces. Kyle grabbed a hold of the front of Stan's jacket, pulling him in and pressing his body against his. Stan lifted up the front of Kyle's shirt and ran his hands down the redhead's bare chest and stomach.

"Mmmm Stan..." Kyle moaned between kisses, "your kisses are heaven..."

"Mmm... not as much as your body..." Stan flicked his tongue into Kyle's mouth for good measure.

Eric had grown completely horrified. "OK OK OK YEW WIN!" he bellowed. "YEW WIN THE MONEH!"

As quickly as it started, Stan and Kyle's makeout session ended, and the two pulled away and sat down again as if nothing had happened. They smirked and silently gathered the three-hundred-odd dollars they had won and stuffed it into their coat pockets. Stan gave his best friend a congratulatory pat on the back, and the two walked off into the dusk.

Kenny and Eric just stood there, shocked. Kenny's face was still frozen in his O-mouthed expression.

"Dude..." Kenny finally broke the silence. "Do you think..." He picked up his cigarette and attempted to light it again. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

And as Kenny and Eric gathered their things, halfway down the footpath to downtown South Park, Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski came to the realisation that they had finally accomplished what they had wanted to do for years. The two exchanged a shrewd and satisfied glance and continued on their way.