WARNING: Cartman and Mr. Garrison are racist because they're in-character. None of this is meant to reflect my views. Also, since this big, bold, pretty warning is here, I'll use this space to say that I don't own South Park.


Part Ten: Special Surprise Deleted Scene in Return for Your Patience and Support

Stan couldn't stomach his lunch.

He hadn't really enjoyed it since that new white guy came onto the staff, but he'd never found the slop spread before him completely unpalatable (never mind when he'd first been forced to eat the stuff- he hadn't really tried to down it as a tribute to his fallen friend, so that time didn't count.) Today, though, Stan was just so distraught that the puddles of goo on his plate looked more even more like vomit than usual- and it was the really gnarly kind (not 'gnarly' as in "Gnarly, dude!", but 'gnarly' as in nasty, and not "Sick nasty, dude!") that no idiot (sans Kenny, and Kenny wasn't actually an idiot, he just acted like one) would dare try to send down his gullet. And that was no exaggeration- Stan knew his vomit.

Some kids know their shit, but Stan knew his vomit. It's kind of the same thing, except not really- Stan knew his shit about vomit, not shit. Actually, thanks to his father's world-renowned poop-de-gras of Bono, Stan knew his shit about shit as well. But that's not really the point- the point is that Stan was so repulsed by his lunch that he was tempted to go back there and spit up his own chef's special just so that South Park Elementary School would have something of at least a little better quality to serve the students.

He poked around at the mess on his tray a little to try to amuse himself, but it was so disgusting that even his boyish penchant for gross things couldn't take it.

Fortunately, Eric Cartman could engorge himself with what Stan couldn't. He looked over at the plate longingly. "Are you going to eat that?" he asked, like he hadn't just spent a week-and-a-half acting like Kyle Broflovski and realizing that his own lunch was enough.

Boy, he sure bounced back fast from existential crises. Maybe it was because of all that fat padding. Stan wondered how long it would take Kyle to recover.

Stan learned pretty quickly that although Eric's girth may have factored into it, those extra pounds weren't the key to the cure- Kyle proved that he had ricocheted back to normal just as fast and he was much, much smaller.

"No, but I can tell you are, fat boy!" He shot at Eric.

"Shaddup, Jew! I'm not fat!"

Kyle just laughed and continued their spiteful banter.

It was nice to have things back to normal, but Stan missed the other normal, the old normal- the one with a big, black Chef serving them some serious soul food and getting all pissed when the boys asked foolishly inappropriate questions.

Y'know, whoever came up with 'soul food' must've been onto something (versus just on something.) Chef really did nourish more than just their bodies. If Stan had been older, he'd have been able to more eloquently express how he felt- "Chef nourished my soul" was accurate, but it wasn't complete. To leave it at that would be inconsistent with the strength of Stan's emotions, and that inconsistency was the consistency of whatever the hell this consistently inconsistent puke-lunch consistently consisted of. It just wasn't acceptable.

Stan denied Eric and gave Kenny his lunch instead before they all went back to the classroom.


The lesson had been lectured and Mr. Garrison was getting fed up with his class, as usual. The fact that he had resorted to reviewing them over it proved it. "Okay, kids, can anyone tell me what Rosa Parks said when all the white people told her to go sit in the back of the bus?"

Beneath Butters's stupid smile, his brain was buzzing in wonder. "I can hear crickets chirping in here!"

"No, there were no crickets on that bus, dumbass." Garrison looked for another victim. "Anyone else?" he spotted the Marsh boy's blue hat. "Stanley, can you get over the fact that Amy Winehouse is dead and tell me what the hell Rosa Parks said when they told her to get her ass to the back of the bus?"

"Uh," little Stan snapped to attention. "Bus? What bus?" He was so lost- he was thinking about Chef.

"Rosa Parks, Stanley."

"Rosa parks the bus?"

"No, Stanley, she doesn't park the bus. She parked her ass on the bus in the wrong damn place and then all the better people told her to move and park it in the back of the bus."

"Oh," he said. "Why were they better?"

Garrison really, really couldn't afford to be punished for racial slurs yet again, so he suppressed his white supremacist ideas (which was surprisingly easy for him- he was good at swallowing white crap no matter how thick it was) in favor of screaming at the poor child.

"WHY the HELL does it matter? Just answer the damn question- what did Rosa Parks say when she was told to sit in the back of the bus?"

Stan squirmed in his seat. "Um," he had no idea. "Uh…"

Kyle tried to whisper something to his best friend, but the teacher snapped his fingers and pointed at him and the redhead backed off.

"Uhh," Stan struggled.

"Well?" pressed Garrison.

"Uhhhhhhh…"

"Spit it out, Stanley!"

With red ears and a burst of energy, Stan leapt up onto his desk and half-sang, half-screamed his answer.

"I'M GONNA MAKE LOVE TO YA, WOMAN!" He kept going, completely ignorant of his stunned classmates. Wendy thought it was hot or something, but Bebe did not.

Pretty soon, Kyle got a leg up on his desk and joined in. "I'M GONNA LAY YOU DOWN BY THE FI-YAH!"

Kenny was, of course, the one to sing about caressing her womanly bod-ay. Eric came in afterwards and drowned everybody else out, but the boys kept singing with their large classmate's equally large voice.

To the rest of the class (and Garrison), they looked like they'd lost their minds.

When they were stuck in detention after school that day, Stan took the time to apologize. "I just really missed Chef," he explained.

"Yeah, he was my favorite from the plantation, too."

That was Eric, of course, and Kyle was right there to rip into him. "Chef wasn't a slave, you asshole!"

"That's what all you slaves say, Jew."

"I'm not a slave, either!"

"Whatever! Who the hell built my pyramid, then, huh?"

"Cartman, that was hundreds of years ago in Egypt and you know it! I never built you any damn pyramids and neither of one of us is from the middle east!"

"Says the terrorist," Eric muttered.

"Gah, Cartman, I am not a slave, I am not a terrorist, and Chef is and was not either of those things either, fatass."

"HEY! I am NOT FAT! But Chef was!"

"Yeah? So? He was kind and he loved us and… and I miss him," Stan ended the fight with his assertion and wistfully looked out the window. Kyle and Eric followed suit.

Kenny also missed Chef and turned his head to look out the window too, but he paused for a moment when he saw the look on the others' faces. They were all still so pained by Chef's demise that even now, over a year after it had happened, they were still thinking of him.

They remembered him.

Kenny's eyes never made it to the window- he just looked on in envy as his friends sent goodwill skyward.


It's really short, but here is your prize for reading my edited-and-hopefully-better story! the gag of Stan singing on a desk was something I wanted in the actual story itself, but there was no smooth transition point for it so I nixed it. What you are reading now was changed so it would be like an epilogue or something, but it originally wasn't meant to be.

I'm kind of writing Durarara! fic and Zelda fic at the moment, buuuut if I ever write more South Park, the last line should give a pretty obvious hint about what (and who) it will be about.

Thank you for reading and don't forget to review! I hope you enjoyed it!