Disclaimer: I do not own South Park and I make no profit from this work.

The Logic of the Lesbian Jew

Wednesday, October sixth: A leaflet on coming out for gay and lesbian teenagers stuffed into his locker. Kyle and Stan sniggered childishly over the emo outpourings of the selected gays in the leaflet, threw it away, and thought little more of it.

Monday, October eleventh: A PFLAG poster tacked to the outsider of his locker. Kyle ripped it off, flushing angrily, and threw it away. But, again, didn't think much of it. Just your average high school shit; nothing to worry about.

Tuesday, October twelfth: Another copy of the same poster. Same solution.

Sunday, October seventeenth: A pamphlet through the door for Kyle's parents, inviting them to the next meeting of their PFLAG chapter. Which resulted in the longest and most awkward conversation of Kyle's life thus far.

Tuesday, October nineteenth: Ike came home with a bunch of rainbow ribbons stuffed into his bag and no explanation for how they got there. When he laughed, Kyle punched him.

Thursday, October twenty-first: School letters went out vowing more support for the 'gay and lesbian community at North Park High.' Kyle skipped afternoon school.

Monday, October twenty-fifth: Kenny and Stan both found PFLAG leaflets inside their lockers.

Monday, October twenty-fifth (lunchtime): Kyle homed in on the accused.

"What the fuck are you doing, fatass?"

Cartman looked up from his lunch as innocently as fat people ever look up from their meals, and blinked at Kyle.


"Who the fuck else would I be addressing as fatass when you're around?" Kyle demanded snidely. "What the fuck are you doing with all these gay posters and shit all over my stuff?"

Cartman pushed the tray to one side (and Kenny stole it.) "Kyle," he said firmly. "While I understand that this is a difficult thing for you to come to terms with, there's no shame in being a flaming queer. Stan's been too gay to function for years."

Stan snorted.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Kyle demanded. He still hadn't sat down.

Fine, the Jew could have this conversation loudly and in public if he wanted to. "I'm talking about your sexuality, Kyle. It's time to come out of the closet."

Kyle said nothing.

Stan snorted again.

Kenny pilfered more food off Cartman's tray.

Kyle took a deep, calming breath.

Kenny and Stan both leaned away from the imminent explosion. A Jewsplosion in the face was not a good idea.

"To come out of the closet," Kyle said, very quietly and very calmly, "I would have to be in a closet in the first place."


"In fact," Kyle's voice was rising now, "the closet does not even exist! To come out of the closet, I'd have to fucking build one first!"

"Kyle, please," Cartman snorted. "It's fine. Really, it is, and coming from me, you know that's right. It's fine. Everybody loves lesbians."



Long, yawning, gaping, chasms of silence. The kinds of silence that entire operas by bad Italian composers could be lost in. The kinds of silence that atomic bomb detonations wouldn't disturb, and the shrieking protests of Kyle's Mom wouldn't so much as scratch. The kinds of silence that defeated even the worst things to come out of Canada: Bryan Adams and Celine Dion.


"Lesbians," Kyle said.

Cartman nodded sagely.

Kyle sat down.

"Lesbians," he repeated.

"Waitwaitwait," Kenny said, around a mouthful of fries. "You're saying Kyle is a lesbian?"

Cartman nodded again. He did not, naturally, take his eyes off Kyle, or he would have noticed the theft of his fries.

"Kyle," Kenny said definitely, "is not a lesbian. If Kyle were a lesbian, then believe me, I would have noticed."

Stan hit him.

"Cartman," Kyle said (quietly and evenly again), "how could I possibly be a lesbian?"

Cartman shrugged: "Oh, they haven't decided what causes queering yet, but I'm sure that..."

"Whoa," Kyle cut him off. "To be a lesbian, Cartman, I first have to be a girl. Jesus fucking Christ."

Cartman sighed. "God, you guys, do I have to spell it out?"

"That would be nice," Kyle agreed.

Stan privately thought that this was going to end up in a fist fight. Kyle was being way too calm. Or he had been bumming 'cigarettes' off Kenny again, and those things were blatantly not tobacco. Either way, this was going to be ugly.

"Fine," Cartman said. "As I am sure we all remember, I have frequently informed Kyle that he must get the sand out of his vagina."

Kyle coloured.

"Yes?" Cartman prompted.

"Yes," Kenny said helpfully. Having finished the free food, he had elected to keep this entertaining discussion going for as long as it took Kyle to snap and punch Cartman in the flabby face.

"When I say this," Cartman continued, "Kyle vehemently denies that he has sand in his vagina. He does not, however, persistently deny the existence of said vagina. Therefore, we must conclude that Kyle is either a girl or a hermaphrodite."

"Your Mom is the only hermaphrodite around here," Kyle said snidely.

Cartman reddened, but kept his temper and agreed. "Fine. Therefore, Kyle is a girl."

Kyle and Stan both choked. Kenny grinned.

"Having reached the conclusion that Kyle is a girl, I began to notice some disturbing aspects of his behaviour," Cartman continued.

"Like continued use of the little boys' room?" Kenny snickered.

Cartman ignored him: "For example, he joins in with the rest of us when looking through Kenny's, ahem, magazines. He frequently forwards porn, both heterosexual and lesbian, to Stan, and receives it from Kenny..."

Kyle's face was beginning to match his hair colour.

"So I got to thinking," Cartman continued, beginning to grin into the folds of his face, "and I recalled many instances from childhood in which Kyle exhibited clearly lesbian tendencies. His obsession with Rebecca. His lack of interest in the metrosexual trend. The way he, too, succumbed to the power of Bebe's boobs."

Kyle's hands were clenching and relaxing spasmodically on the table. Kenny was leaning so far away from him, he was almost out of his chair.

"When you couple this evidence, with the knowledge of Kyle's extra X chromosome, and the knowledge that his Mom is a domineering bitch, then there is only one conclusion."


Another silence-of-the-lambs-ain't-got-nothing-on-this-shit silence.

"Kyle is a lesbian," Cartman said firmly, and sat back.

"Oh Jesus Christ," Stan breathed.

Kyle closed his eyes and started doing breathing exercises.

"Kylie," Cartman offered.

Kyle stood up again.

"Kyle, seriously, your Mom is gonna kill you if you get suspended for getting into fights again," Stan urged.

Kyle ignored him, leaning over the table, supported on his hands, until he was nose-to-nose with Cartman.

"You," he said quietly, "have fucked with the wrong dude. I have Photoshop. I have better computer skills than the three of you put together. I, unfortunately, have photos of you. And I can manipulate them like there is no tomorrow."

Cartman scowled. "You wouldn't..."

"I would," Kyle said grimly. "If I'm going to be the rainbow kid of the fucking school, then you're going down with me, you fat sack of shit!"

Then he uttered a battle cry worthy of an entire tribe of Amazons (lesbian or not) and launched himself over the canteen table.

"Mom, I'm home!"

Sheila tutted as Ike dropped his bag and kicked off his shoes, and frowned at him when he entered the kitchen to kiss her cheek and raid the refridgerator, not necessarily in that order.

"Yes, I'll pick them up," he said.

"Where's your brother?" she asked.

"After school detention."

Sheila groaned. She loved her son, she really did, but she swore Kyle had inherited her own temper threefold. She'd never heard of a boy getting into so many fights!


"Started a fight in the canteen with fata- er, Eric," Ike hastily corrected himself.

"Why this time?" Sheila asked. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that, while Kyle could be beautifully polite and sensible and respectful with everyone else on Earth, Liane's son was the exception.

"Dunno," Ike rummaged in the refridgerator and frowned at the cheese. "Something about sand and lesbians and Bebe Stevens', uh, chest."

He shrugged innocently at his mother, and made his way upstairs.

Let Kyle make his own damn excuses.