Rated T for language.
Stan's Point of View
"…YOU'RE A JEW."
"REALLY? I DIDN'T KNOW!"
"YEAH. YOU'RE A JEW AND YOUR MOM IS A JEW AND SO IS YOU-"
"STOP BELITTLING MY PEOPLE, FATASS!"
"EY! NOT FAT-"
"You're just big boned," Kenny and I complete for him in a dull voice. We've heard this argument so many times over, and over, and over, aaaaand over again. What I want to know is…does. It. Ever. End?
"NO, YOU'RE A FATASS WITH A WHORE FOR A MOTHER!" Kyle continues the argument. Guess that answers my question. I now conclude that it never ends.
"EH- well- At least she's not a bitch!" Cartman is about to go back into the whole, 'Kyle's Mom is Bitch," phase. For the some thirtieth time. I mean, seriously, get a life.
"Dudes, is it impossible for you guys to get along with each other for five minutes?" I break in before Cartman can start again.
They both just look at me like I'm insane…maybe I am for asking that question. Kenny is the first to say something, "MMP. MMHM PMMHM MHM (Dude. That'd be like the end of the world!"
Thanks, Kenny. I appreciate the support considering I know you're just as tired of this as I am, but whatever.
"You know what? I have twenty-five dollars. If you two can go on for one day with out arguing or insulting the other, it's yours. Person who breaks first only gets five dollars," I speak again. Perfect. Competition. The best way to make them try, at the very least.
"No way!" Cartman exclaims, shocked at my proposal. I can see the wheels in his mind churning as he unwillingly thinks it over. "One hand, I can beat the Jew and get one hundred dollars and he'll cry; on the other hand, I can't insult him for one day!" I promise, those are as close to the thoughts in his mind as you're going to get. Meanwhile, Kyle is looking at me with an expression of betrayal on his face. Urgh. It's not like I did anything. Kenny finally seemed to be catching on and decided to actually help me out. For real.
"Why, fatass? You afraid Kyle here will beat you?"
"Wha-? No! I can beat the stupid Jew at anything!" Cartman quickly defends his imaginary pride.
"No, you can't, fatass!"
"Fine! I'll do it! And we'll see who wins this one!"
Dude. They're actually going to do it! No arguing for…some time! YES. YES. YES. YES.
Oh, shit. Guess who has find twenty five dollars by the end of the day? No! Not George Clooney! Me! Though maybe I could get one hundred dollars from George Clooney.
Kyle's Point of View
"What the hell was he thinking?" I silently fumed after being basically conned into a competition of will power again Cartman, of all people. Apparently, we were also supposed to spend the entire week together…and if we didn't Kenny/Stan would know. "How would they know?" You might ask. Well, you see, Kenny and Stan, the rightly so paranoid people they are, realized we just might avoid each other the entire week to get the money. SOOOOO. They did the obvious thing. Or rather, two obvious things. First, they extended a pair of handcuffs and attached one to my wrist and the other to Cartman's wrist. (It was actually a miracle that they could get it on Cartman's wrist, as beefy as it is.) Then, Kenny put the GPS anklets that were used for convicts on our ankles. You seriously have to wonder where the hell he got those, though. Probably from his parents. Anyway, the point is, Stan and Kenny are complete bastards for making me spend the week with fatass.
After Stan and Kenny left, I turned to fatass and said, "Come on, Cartman, we're going to my house."
He immediately grinned slyly and said, " Oh, no, Jew. We're going to my house so that bit- I mean, your mother won't notice the handcuffs. And second, it's mean of you to use my last name; I'm insulted."
He's going to use this to advantage, isn't he? God, he's such an evil bastard. Well, I can play that game too. So, I say with a fake innocence, "Oh, I'm sorry, Eric," I almost gagged at the use of his first name. "I also feel insulted when you constantly call me anything involving my religion…or even pronounce my name incorrectly," I
He glared. I honestly think I may have just one after five minutes…I don't think he can possibly pronounce my name correctly.
"Oh, really, Kyle? I never knew; unfortunately, I can't pronounce your name as "Kyle," very easily do to the fact of this completely random accent that I have no idea where the Hell it came from, but whatever. I don't appreciate your insulting my voice."
"Let's just go and get this over with Fa-Eric," I grumble in temporary defeat. Cartman's fake smile just gets bigger.
"Alright, let's go. I'll win by the end of the day, max."
"Nope. Good luck though!"
"As to you, Kaaaaahl." Way to rub it in, fatass.
Let the games begin.
Now I've realized something. I truly, truly, truly hate this kid. I mean, we haven't said I word to each other in hours but his mere presence makes my blood boil. Basically, after we went to Cartman's house, he ended up playing his new video game saying, "Er…um...well, you see, it's a one person game and I was working on a file," instead of laughing and telling me there was no way he was letting a stupid Jew play his game. So, instead, I grab a laptop and begin to check my email and facebook and what not.
After I'm done with this, he's still playing his video game and I'm getting bored. So, I decided to raid his files. To my surprise, there's a document that is five pages long filled of nothing but, "I hate Kahl Broflovski, the Jewish Jinger from Jersey" over and over again. I'm just sitting there thinking, "WHAT THE HELL UP WITH THAT?"
I mean, it's obvious we hate each other, but who makes a five-page document saying he hates someone? I sure as Hell don't.
I hide the page and open his pictures. There aren't very many, in truth. Maybe fifteen or twenty in total, and half show and irritated and isolated Cartman glaring at the camera/cameraman…most likely his mother. The other half are of the four of us (Kenny, Stan, me, and him) He's usually in the back or off to the side yelling at somebody, something, someone. I can't believe I'm actually thinking this, but, could it be that I am sorry for Eric Cartman, the sadistic child who has made my life miserable from day one? I shake my head, 'Nawh, that couldn't be it," I think to myself before continuing my invasion of his privacy. Lol. He might crack and insult me after he finds out about my raid later though.
I click the next button, which was for videos and I pull out some headphones so Cartman wouldn't hear anything. There are three videos. Three is the number of videos that there are…no more, no less. One, two, five…THREE, SIR. Oh, right. Sorry…bit of a Monty Python fan if you hadn't noticed.
The first is placed in a business-like conference room. Dammit. Conference rooms do tend to be business-like, don't they? Considering business is taken place there…I'm just going to stop talking now. Anyway, Cartman is angling the camera and he's dressed in a king costume. Wait. No, is this? It had better not be, or else I was going to kick his ass. Later. By that, I mean next week. I'm thinking that this video was when Cartman dragged me to the conference room in the Pentagon and tried to hold me to a contract that I had signed agreeing to suck his balls if leprechauns were real. If they weren't, I got ten dollars. Now, I never technically did what was required the if go even more technically I did. I technically did didn't. Get it? No, of course not. Oh, shut up! You're almost as bad as a cocoanut growing in Mississippi. Did I spell that correctly? Why am I spelling shit out in my thoughts anyway? Rawr. I'm just going to skip ahead to the next video now…
The next is the video that Butters had used to humiliate Cartman after he had been pranked one time to many. It featured Cartman dressed up as…was it Britney Spears? Dancing with a life-size cutout of…I think it was Justin Timberlake. I don't keep up with celebrities, as you can tell. SHIT! Maybe watching this video wasn't the best idea after all, taking into consideration that I was shaking and sweating because I was trying to contain an outburst of laughter. Luckily, Cartman didn't notice. Probably 'cause his excess fat absorbed any energy from the shaking. Now I kinda wonder how he would fare during an actual earthquake. I should experiment sometime…
The last video was a TV episode from the series, "Dog Whisperer." Why would he want to watch a TV show about calming dogs down? Then I see his mom on the screen. I knew the Cartmans never had a dog, so she had most likely just slept with someone on the crew or cast and borrowed a dog. At least, that's what I thought until I realized that in this particular episode, Cartman was the dog. It was all too much; I fell over laughing loudly until I lost my breath and I was just twitching on the floor. Cartman was utterly confused. He hadn't even noticed I was on the computer…but he did right after I reached up with my hand and…
He turned a brilliant red and was speechless. I would be, too. What exactly can you say to someone who was your enemy and had just discovered you were portrayed as a dog on national television? I continued to laugh. Laughing, laughing, laughing. There were tears in my eyes, This went on for maybe ten minutes before,
"God dammit, Kyle!" Do you think he fakes that accent? 'Cause his just disappeared.
"I could take this into offense!" I tried to shut up, I really did. It kinda worked 'cause I was sitting upright again and was biting my lip to prevent another outburst. Tears were still rolling down my face though. Fail.
Cartman glared at me.
I shook and cried silently.
"Oh, stop it! It's not that funny!" He cried out suddenly.
"Ye—ye-yes, it was!" Dammit, I still can't speak clearly,
"Not as funny as the time your hair tried to eat Butters!"
"Dude. That never happened," Where the hell did that come from? My hair trying to eat Butters? Really?
"Oh. Well, what about the time you got plastic surgery to play basketball?"
I flushed. Okay, that was pretty embarrassingly stupid on my part, but still.
So now we're just sitting there, both red. How entertaining…NOT.
You see, after laughing that hard this is how my brain is, ";D;FJASHG…AIDFGHQEG...AOPGPDIPQEHBPEBN...whut?"
So I can honestly say I'm not comprehending a single…er… anything that is going on. This is apparent when he sighed and said, "Okay, what do you want to keep this little ordeal quiet?"
"Uh…pork chops?" See, this is what I mean. I have no idea what's going on and I don't even eat pork!
He stares at me.
"Kahl, you're a Jew."
"Am I really?"
"Yes. Yes, you are.'
"Since when did I become Jewish?" HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLY COMING FROM ME?
"Did you burst a blood vessel or something?" He asks with confusion written all over his face.
"Are you high/drunk/insane?" I actually have to consider the answer to this question though I have never done drugs or drank. I could be insane though. That'd answer a lot of things. I can see the news headline now, "FATASS DRIVES JEW INSANE." Fascinating.
"Mebbe," I say simply.
"Uhhh…" I can tell he has absolutely no idea what to do. Neither do I, but I suddenly feel the need to go eat something. So, I jumped up and bounced up the stair in a very happy demeanor dragging Cartman along with him…
"JE-KAHL. WHAT IS UP WITH YOU?"
I don't reply but continue to bounce as I steal a blueberry bagel from his kitchen. Damn, those things are good. Have you ever tried one? It's like biting into a slice of heaven…with blueberries. Cartman looks at me in disbelieve. "Kahl, would you consider it an insult if I told you that you have to be one of the strangest people I have ever met?" He asked cautiously.
"Nope!" I answer cheerfully. Seriously, what's up with my happy hype? Happy hypes are really freaky, if you haven't noticed.
"You're one of the strangest people I have ever met."
"Whose my competition?" I ask distantly.
"Uh…Barbra Streisand, Butters, that Bradley kid, and the hippie's dad."
I could tell he hadn't put much thought into it.
"I win," I tell him simply.
STARING COMPETITION. OOOH, IT'S A COMPETITION WITHIN A COMPETITION. DAMN IT, HE WON. I was busy looking at some bagels. I don't exactly remember becoming addicted to bagels. Hm. Oh well, I'm just gonna drag the fatass out of the kitchen and watch a movie or listen to some music or something. I act upon this motion and next thing you know, we're sitting on his bed upstairs and listening to…uh…what exactly am I listening to? Oh. Shit. You know my brain is jacked up when I don't recognize "U Can't Touch This."
STOP. H-A-M-M-E-R T-I-M-E.
Somehow I'm dancing and singing to it.
What I would like to know is…WHY THE HELL CAN'T I CONTROL WHAT I DO AND WHERE DID THE HAPPY HYPE COME FROM? I'M NOT EVEN LAUGHING ANYMORE. Knock on wood. I burst out laughing because my mind mentally, "TSSSSSSST," –ed itself.
YOU. RIGHT THERE. HELP ME. I THINK I'M DYING. Not really, but you catch my drift.
HAHA. Cartman looks really…freaked out. Can't blame him, I guess.
Cartman's Point of View
What the fuck is going on? One moment, I'm trying to get the Jew to stop laughing at one…of….my…more unfortunate moments in life. The next, he's acting like he's insane/happy/not my enemy. All I'm doing is looking at the Jew and feeling my arm move up and down because he won't fucking stop moving! He really is a terrible dancer, y'know. I wonder if I could use this moment as an opportunity to get material to blackmail him. Actually, I'm wondering if he can even lie in this state. I'll test it out.
"Kahl, what is something you don't want me to know?" I ask with a feigned innocence.
He continues to "dance," and smile.
"I agree with you; my mom is a bitch." He says easily.
DUDE. THAT IS AWESOME. The Jew would never agree with me if he could avoid it. I CAN DO ANYTHING. I'M ON THE TOP OF THE WOOOOOOORLD. At least I will be.
Oh, shuttup. Or else you're a Jew.
Hmmm…what to ask, what to ask. Oh! How 'bout…
"What is something you don't want the hippie to know?"
"You mean Stan? Hm…I don't really want him to know that he is annoying the Hell out of me with his constant talk of Wendy."
I grin. This could work to my advantage.
Kyle's Point of View
The sane part of my mind growls at Cartman and curses the dominant part of my mind for letting him have the information that he wants. I need to shut up. Very badly.
I close my eyes and concentrate on gaining control…I also ignore anything that Cartman is saying right now. Then I walk out of the room abruptly so I can douse my face in cold water. Better. Much better. Now I turn to fatass with a glare that could scare…er…my mother.
"I'll keep quiet about your little television appearance if you spill and don't mention what I said a couple minutes ago again," I hiss in what I hope to be a menacing tone. Too bad it didn't seem to be working. Cartman's eyes widened.
"What are you talking about, Kahl. Spill what?"
"You know exactly what. Everything about your manner screams, 'I'm hiding something about myself.'
He glares at me.
I glare back
He glares at me.
I glare back.
I think I'm winning.
He glares at me….
I glare back.
"Fahn, Broflovski. I won't tell your boyfriend about what you said."
So now I'm Broflovski? That's new.
"That's not what I demanded….Theodore."
More glaring ensued.
"I admire you, Je-Broflovski."
That's all he said before he walked out of the bathroom. Except, as the retard he is, he forgot that we were handcuffed together. That escape plan didn't work out so well, did it?
"God dammit," He grumbles. I decide to confirm what I thought I heard and piss him off…AT THE SAME TIME. I know, I can hear you gasping all the way from here.
"You admire me. Kyle Broflovski. The Jew. Why?"
"There's no way that I'm answering that. You realize this?" Yes, I realize this.
"Tssssst," I pinch his neck and Cartman jumps away, causing me to fall over on top of him. Great. His eyes widen again and…is that? HUH. Fascinating. He turned a lil' bit red.
"You gonna answer my question, Theodore?" He frantically shook his head. So, I lean in a little bit.
"You sure?" I ask.
He turns a little bit more red and continues to shake his head.
I pull out my phone and begin to type Kenny's number in.
"What about now?" I ask smirking.
"OKAY, OKAY," He finally burst. I win. Game over.
Cartman's Point of View
That evil, diabolical, twisted son of a bitch. I can't believe I have to do this. If I don't my friend won't think I'm cooooooool. Kahl's such an ass. I close my eyes and begin to speak quietly and quickly and I try to make my words as incomprehensible as possible.
"Iadmireyou,KahlbecauseIdunnoyou''re-.I'-ard,whichistruebutthatdoesn'treallymatter. (I admire you, Kahl, because, I dunno, you're an interesting person and belong to yourself. You're also a lucky person because you have friends and family. I'm known for being a manipulative bastard, which is true but that doesn't really matter.)"
"What?" He asked with confusion.
"You heard me!"
"Well, then, Kahl. You should have listened more closely, huh?"
"GAH. Urgh, well, anyway. So you said you admire me. What exactly do you want me to do about that?" He was being sincere. HAHA. What a completely rare occasion…except for not.
"Nothing. I don't expect anything," I answer him.
Then Kahl, the crowned strangest-person-I've-met did something I did not predict. He hugged me and said, "I'll give you the opportunity to my friend, to end this rivalry, if you accept it."
I look at him for a few a minutes before nodding swiftly.
"Deal," I agree. "I'm going to bed, Jew," I added on second thought.
His face lit up…What up with thaaaaa-Awh, SHIT.
"I win, fatass."
Author's Note: I appreciate you reading this and I beg that you excuse and grammar or typing mistakes...I was too lazy to edit it at all. If you have time, I would appreciate a review (GOOD OR BAD OR NEUTRAL.) A neutral comment would just involve something about Mexican food or George Clooney. If you have any critiques, please let me know and I'll fix it if I can. Thanks!