A/N: Hi, sorry I'm like behind on all my other stories hfkldjshlk :( But to show that I'm still alive and (kind of) writing, here's a place where I throw things I've written already but never published anywhere and/or only posted on my tumblr. So if you follow me on tumblr, you might have read what's coming up in the next few chapters. Except this first chapter, I just finished this like right this very second. 8D
So these'll be single character-centric with pairings on the side! Something to just remind me (and hopefully you) why we love SP in the first place. I kinda wanna just write at least one chapter for the each of the boys. We'll start with McCormick, with Tweak and Tucker coming up, and we'll see what happens after that. :D THESE CHAPTERS ARE NOT IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AND MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER, and to make that clear and fun at the same time, I'm putting dates at the tops of the chapters. 8)
Trying to keep this short as possible, so just enjoy!
(also, you can choose who Kenny is talking to in this chapter, if it isn't obvious. ;D)
K. McCormick I
October 5th, 2010
Welcome to South Park, bitch.
You think you know a town.
And then that town just comes right on around and hammers you in the face with a batload of nails on fire.
This town just kills me. When it rains aliens and giant robots and talking towels, it can't find anything else more ridiculous to shit from its clouds, so it decides to kill me. The town's like, hey, we have nothing better to do, let's kill Kenny and call it a day. Good work, everyone. We've killed Kenny. With a flaming fucking flamingo. And everyone just thrives on it, like, when I'm not even talking, everyone looks at me, expecting something to happen to me so they can laugh, and then I'll probably miss something awesome that happened while I was dead, and, boom, you hear the Seinfeld bass line and I'm in my motherfucking kitchen, eating a strawberry frosted Pop-Tart.
But you knew this already.
Do you know how many times I've died?
"As many times as I've spent time with you."
And do you know how many fucking times that would be?
"Well, it's definitely not me who's counting."
I've died more times than the valiant should.
That was a Shakespeare thing. I heard it a lot, when I was in school. I was stuck in ninth grade English for a while. I heard it every year. It was something like... Cowards die many times before their death, or something. And then... The valiant never tastes death but once. Did you ever hear that? I bet you've never read Shakespeare. Hell, I haven't. But I was just thinking, how wrong he might have been. I'm not a fucking coward. I'm not afraid to die anymore.
It doesn't even hurt.
And I mean, I've got more stupid stories to tell than anyone outside of this godforsaken town. Everyone. I know everyone. And everyone knows everyone, but especially me. I especially know every fucking one of these people and I feel the pain they feel when they wake up and wonder how they even ended up in this place.
No one wants to be here. People are here, just because they are. It's like we all sprouted up from the ground, like we weren't naturally bred or we all just came here for a better life, like happy little fucking pilgrim settlers and their twenty-dollar land. We're just here, like we're part of some fucked up kid's imagination and they just keep throwing their dumb ideas into this town. Like a trash can. Like some tiny fucking part of the world that has nothing to do with the rest of it.
Like... Where the Wild Things Are. Did you ever read that book? Or see the movie?
"Why do you figure?"
You don't seem like you were exposed to those kinds of things. Like those sweet-ass children's books that are so sugarcoated, you get cavities and cavities in your cavities and then you get diabetes and a splitting ache in your stomach like you just got stabbed by a sparkling rainbow machete.
"That's happened to you, hasn't it?"
I can't think of anything that hasn't happened to me in this town.
But, what I was saying was... Where the Wild Things Are. Our town is kind of like, where the wild things end up. It's kinda like... kinda like... like we're all chunks and pieces of someone's childish imagination. Monsters, from that point of view. We can't be South Park without all the people that make it up, and some of us are, like... the angry, chaotic side of the imagination, some more calm, some more insane. Really... really, fuck, I can't explain it. I have no fucking idea. This town's just big fucking wild rumpus... and... you know what I'm talking about?
"I really, really don't understand."