"Trying to make some sense of it all,
But I can see that it makes no sense at all,
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor,
'Cause I don't think that I can take anymore
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you."
City life is drastically different from living in South Park. It seems obvious to say, but it's true nonetheless. Back in South Park, Kyle knew every single one of his neighbors by name, knew what they did for a living, and knew each's general demeanor. He knew who offered him lemonade on hot days and who turned the sprinklers on him if he dawdled in front of their house for too long. Hell, he could probably still name everyone on his parents' street if you gave him the chance.
Kyle and Stan have lived in Littleton for… fuck, for close to twelve years almost. They've lived in their current place now for about seven, and Kyle honestly couldn't tell you the name of anyone except the people on either side of him. It's not that it's any less friendly than South Park, it's just less quaint and everyone's not as into each other's business as they are there.
And still Stan and Kyle have managed to become 'that alternative family', even without the nosy neighbors, just because they're a pair of dudes who got it into their heads that it'd be a good idea to raise a couple of kids together.
Honestly, Kyle thinks Stan may have drugged him—there is no way in hell Kyle agreed to less sex, less sleep, and more mess than he's ever seen in his life.
In reality it had started as all of their half-baked schemes did (and sometimes still do): drunk in the Marshes' basement. It had been right before they moved, they'd been dating for maybe a little under a year, and Stan had mentioned kids. He wanted kids, Kyle knew this. "Stan Marsh, Libra, black hair, blue eyes, wants kids", it's always been a thing with him. Kyle didn't oppose the idea as much as took on his usual role of "voice of reason".
"Kids are expensive, Stan," he'd said. "And require a certain level of adulthood we do not have."
Stan had looked at him, midway through dissecting an Oreo with a necktie tied over his forehead, and said with glassy eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
So, Kyle wrote down a number on the back of a TV Guide and handed it to Stan. "If you still want kids by the time we have that amount of money in savings, then we'll do it," he'd declared as Stan's eyes practically bugged out of his skull.
"People have that much money just lying around?!" he'd yelped and Kyle had laughed… and then they'd had sex on the couch and passed out on top of each other.
Kyle had been thinking they'd get to that point financially maybe sometime in their mid-thirties. Somehow they'd managed to reach ten years earlier than expected, and Stan didn't miss a beat. Kyle had attempted to argue that they should wait a little longer, but then Stan made this stupidly convincing puppy face at him and that was that.
A about a year and a half later, they were parents.
Kyle stares at the picture he's got set as his desktop at work. Kyle snapped it back on the first day of school in September. Ethan had been starting first grade, Henry preschool. They're holding hands (because Kyle is unfortunately his mother's son and will not rest until his boys at least look like they love each other), and relative to where they measure up against Stan, who's crouching right behind them, Kyle's pretty sure they're both about a foot taller than they were only nine months or so ago.
Ethan's lost a few teeth out of that big, chubby-cheeked smile since this picture, and Henry's hair has gotten so wild and curly that Kyle's pretty sure it'll gain sentience soon and take over the city. He doesn't want it cut, however, says he likes having big hair.
Kyle does not get that kid.
The clock on his desktop hits six and like that, Kyle's done for the day. Today's the first day of summer vacation, which means Stan's probably run ragged and passed out on the couch while their sons take turns jockeying their dog in the back yard or something.
Kyle grabs his phone and calls up home as he does some last minute organizing of his desk.
"H'lo?" comes Stan's thick, sleepy mumble, the one that sends chills up Kyle's spine every time it hits his ears.
"Hey, I'm on my way home in a few minutes," he says.
"Saints be praised," Stan yawns. "What do you want for dinner?"
"I'll pick something up," Kyle says and checks his watch. "Pizza okay?"
"Pizza on a Monday?" Stan seems to be giving it wry consideration. "I don't know why you'd try to wage war on me for favorite parent—I didn't do anything to you."
"Mm, maybe I just feel like playing dirty," Kyle grins.
"Never. Did anything. To you," Stan reiterates, before adding, "Except love you."
"There's your problem," Kyle nods as he shuts off his laptop and slides it into his bag. "You just care too much."
"It's my fatal flaw," Stan yawns again. "See you when you get home, fucker."
"Love you," Kyle smiles.
"Love you t—hmm?—Oh, Henry would like to inform you that he also loves you."
"Tell him I'm selling him to the circus," Kyle snorts.
"Daddy loves you too, baby," Stan says instead.
"That was slander, Mr. Marsh," Kyle shakes his head as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "I demand you retract that statement."
"Getting off the phone now," Stan deadpans back. "See you soon."
"Bye," Kyle says and hangs up, a ridiculous smile plastered on his face as he heads out of his office and down the hall. He passes by Cynthia's door and gives her a wave—she's his boss, and the only person in this office who's been here as long as he has. She likes Kyle, always has, and Kyle has to admit that he likes her back.
"Hey, wait a second," she calls after him, and Kyle stops. She never asks him to stay late, but he always has that lingering fear in his gut that one day she will, and he'll get home after the boys have gone to bed and Stan will be too tired to stay up and hang out with him.
"Yeah?" he asks when he goes back to lean on the doorway to her office. She looks up from her computer and takes her glasses off her round face, smiling at him.
"I was just going over your hours," she says. "Do you know you have three months of vacation time you've saved up?"
"Ah, I did not," Kyle shakes his head. He doesn't like to take vacations, just in case one of the boys has an emergency and he has to stay home with him. It's happened a few times before, like when they and Stan all had the flu and Kyle had to be caretaker.
"The company's switching policies at the end of the year," she says, "We only get an allotted amount of time per year, won't roll over anymore."
"Huh," Kyle frowns. "That's kind of fucked. What if I need that time?"
"I don't know," she shakes her head. "What I'm saying right now, though, is that you should use the hours you have. I don't know, leave the kids with your mom and take Stan on a romantic getaway for a week or something. You've been working here for twelve years and you haven't taken a vacation in six. You deserve a break, honey."
Kyle laughs a little and shakes his head, "I'll think about it. See you tomorrow, Cynth."
He gives her a little wave and rushes out of the office before anyone else can stop him.
Three months of vacation time… to be honest, he didn't think it was possible. He works a lot, he knows, but that's because he has to. Stan is just getting back into working steadily after practically seven years of basically freelance writing for various blogs, websites, and publications. Mostly he does stuff like reviewing concerts and new albums or musicians, but recently he's gotten a few film reviews published, which he's been really excited about. Writing isn't enough to make a living on, unless you're Stephen King or JK Rowling or someone; Kyle has to fill in the cracks and keep everything running smoothly with a steady job and paycheck.
It wouldn't be fun living on Kyle's salary alone now that they have the boys, but he's crunched the numbers several times. They could do it; they don't live the most extravagant lifestyle. Combined, they live pretty comfortably, though.
Kyle picks up a large cheese pizza on his way home, telling himself he'll make a salad too, even though he knows it's a dirty, dirty lie. They're big slices—the boys will each have one, and Stan and Kyle will be left to finish the rest of the thing themselves.
He's not even mad.
The boys have gotten to the point where they recognize the sound of the garage door opening, so they, along with the dog, sit and wait until Kyle comes in the door so that they can tackle him when he walks in. Today is no different, and luckily Stan is there to intercept the pizza the moment Ethan collides with his entire lower half, and Kyle lets out an all too real "oof!" that makes Stan smile and shake his head.
"Hi, boys," Kyle grins as Henry latches onto one of Kyle's legs, and looks up at Stan. "Hey, dude."
"Hey," Stan beams and gives him a peck on the lips. Kyle can't think of a better welcome to come home to, even if he admittedly does have his days where he wants nothing more than to go into his and Stan's room and smother himself with a pillow.
"Hey, Herpus and Derpus," Stan looks down at the boys, "Dad brought pizza home for dinner. Wasn't that nice of him?"
The amount of excitement these kids experience over pizza is actually mindboggling to Kyle. He can't ever remember having been that excited about anything ever, let alone pizza. Ethan barrels off to follow Stan and wash his hands, while Henry holds fast onto Kyle's leg and nuzzles him lovingly.
"Hey, Derpy," Kyle says and reaches down to pet at the mop of soft brown curls on Henry's head, "Time to let go of my leg."
Henry just shakes his head. "No," he giggles and looks up at Kyle with a ridiculous grin scrunching up his freckled face. Kyle grins and rolls his eyes before swooping down and scooping Henry up into his arms. Henry lets out a shrieking giggle, which only gets louder when Kyle pushes a raspberry to his cheek and spins him around.
He loves both of his boys equally and all that stuff, but there's just something about this little twit that makes Kyle's heart too full for words.
"Did you have a good day, dork?" he asks, and Henry gives an emphatic nod. "Yeah? What'd you do?"
"Um," Henry says, big brown eyes flicking off to the side as he tries to remember. "Me and daddy and Ethan, um, we all went to the park, and we went on the swings, and then I went on the slide. And then when I got home I took a nap all by myself."
Kyle's actually genuinely surprised to hear this. "All by yourself?" he asks, like it's too good to be true. This kid hates sleeping, has the metabolism of a fucking field mouse or something, and he can only usually do it when Kyle's there, reading to him or rubbing his back.
He goes into the kitchen, where Stan's getting out a small stack of paper plates (because they are, indeed, the classiest family in the neighborhood) and Ethan's washing his hands and making bubbles with the dish soap. Kyle attempts to put Henry down in a chair at the dining table, but he refuses to let go of him.
"No," Henry whines again and hides his face in Kyle's neck. Kyle rolls his eyes and looks over at Stan.
"I thought you said you napped," addressing Henry, but watching Stan for a cue to the actual truth. Stan just looks at Kyle and shrugs.
"He did," he says. "All by himself, as I'm sure you heard."
"I did," Kyle nods and moves to detach Henry's hands from his neck. "How'd you manage that?"
"Eh, Indy got off his leash in the park," Stan shrugs, fighting an amused little smile.
"Stan!" Kyle exclaims, and immediately goes to check Henry for scratches or bruises. Indy is their big Great Dane-Bull Mastiff mix who's a little too rambunctious for his own good. He's good-intentioned, but doesn't quite seem to understand that Henry is not Ethan (who is a brick wall, impossible to knock over).
"Dude, calm down," Stan rolls his eyes. "He likes chasing animals. Nature's babysitter: embrace it."
"Indy and I found squirrels!" Henry insists loudly, looking at Kyle like there's a chance that he might not believe him.
"Stan, that dog is the size of a house," Kyle says imploringly. Henry is a little guy, reedy and spindly even with his layers of baby fat. Ethan knocks him over just when he passes by him too quickly, and Henry is a textbook crier, so even the slightest disturbance is usually enough to get him going.
"It got him to nap, what are you complaining about?" Stan sticks out his tongue. Kyle sticks out his right back, since it's no longer appropriate to go into the long strings of inappropriate name-calling they could get away with before the boys had started talking.
They eat pizza and listen to Ethan go on about how he played Pokemon with his friend Manzanita from school, all while Stan chased Indy and Henry throughout the park.
"Sounds like fun," Kyle says.
Stan nods tiredly, "I could barely contain myself."
Kyle reaches down under the table and gives Stan's knee a reassuring squeeze. They clean up and turn the boys loose to play before bedtime. Kyle's in charge of that, of mentally wrestling them into submission so they're just worn down enough not to make a fuss.
Ethan is better at going to bed at night—he's like Stan, in that Stan is somehow able to sleep for sixteen hours a day and not think anything of it. A little more effort is required on Henry's part, since his favorite pastime is getting Kyle to laugh, and Kyle is very bad at pretending Henry's not funny.
By the time Kyle reads through One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, Ethan's already snoozing soundly in his bed, clutching his R2-D2 pillow close to his face and looking way too much like Stan for his own good, with his pudgy face and his messy black hair and generally sweet demeanor.
"All right, derpus," Kyle yawns and shuts the book. He looks down at Henry, who's clutching his ratty old teddy bear and sucking his thumb and looking up at Kyle with big, watery eyes. "Time to sleep."
"No," Henry whines again and wraps his arms as best he can around Kyle's middle.
"You know," Kyle says softly as he starts rubbing his hand over Henry's back. "One day you're going to have to learn how to do this without me here."
Henry yawns and nuzzles further into Kyle, unconcerned by this prospect. Kyle knows he's about as far off from that day as Henry is. Ethan is seven already, has a mind of his own when it comes to most things—Henry is still four, still needs his dad in a way that Ethan doesn't like to admit to.
When it's clear Henry's almost asleep, Kyle bends down and kisses him in his hair. "I love you, sweetheart," he says, and with that detaches Henry from his person so he can slip out the door. He pads softly down the hall into his and Stan's room, where Stan is face down on the bed and looking a little like he's never going to move again.
"Hey," Kyle says and crawls up beside him, rubbing his hand over his back and nosing at his cheek. "Long day, huh?"
"Don't talk to me, I'm dead," he mutters into the covers. Kyle grins and shifts so Stan is cuddled against him. Stan is too tired to fight it, just yawns and settles into his chest. "God, you'd think I fed them crack for breakfast or something. It never fucking ends with those two."
"Well, I found out something interesting today," Kyle yawns and nuzzles into Stan's hair. "Cynthia called me into her office before I left. Apparently the company's switching to a new system with vacation days and sick days and shit, so I've got three months of vacation time to spend before the end of the year."
"Really?" Stan looks up at him. Kyle nods and gives him a kiss on the lips.
"I could help you out this summer," he says. "We could take them to the zoo, go see movies, maybe go take them to see our parents for a few days… do whatever. And we'd get to hang out a little more too."
Stan moans a little and nods. The sound does something to Kyle, it always has, ever since he first heard it. It makes his heart race and his palms get all sweaty, makes him want to push Stan back on the bed and go at it all night. He kisses Stan again, more deeply this time, and trails his hand down his side. Stan moans again into Kyle's mouth when Kyle grabs his ass through his pants and pulls away.
"Are they both asleep?" Stan asks, and Kyle's heart starts hammering against his chest even harder. He nods, and Stan grins back at him before giving him a resounding, "Good", and pinning him against the bed.
"Fuck," Kyle laughs a little as Stan starts kissing his neck. "Don't start anything you're not gonna finish, dickhead."
Stan just sticks out his tongue and pushes his fingers up Kyle's shirt, fingers slipping over his skin and making him feel hot and itchy all over.
"You took your contacts out," Stan grins, indicating the thin-framed glasses on Kyle's face.
"Yeah, you like that?" Kyle chuckles.
"Oh yeah," Stan gives a facetious nod as he thumbs over Kyle's nipples. "And your baggy K-Mart sweats and your 'I Heart Idaho' shirt… where the fuck did you get that?"
"Fuck you!" Kyle pokes him in the side. "Ethan threw up on the shirt I was wearing a while back and Kenny didn't want this one anymore, so I took it."
"Whatever," Stan laughs and kisses him again. "You're sexy as fuck."
"Mm, you too," Kyle hums and wraps his arms around Stan's neck. "You smell like sunscreen and dog hair."
"Eh, this was my last clean shirt when I put it on this morning," Stan yawns and rests his forehead against Kyle's. "I'll do laundry tomorrow, like a good house husband… no chance you can take tomorrow off, huh?"
"Cynthia would probably want a warning," Kyle yawns back. "But hey, I could take Wednesday off or something. Call a sitter maybe, get a day to ourselves?"
"Dude, if I could just get a day bumming around the house with you fuckers, I'd be golden," Stan yawns again.
"Stop yawning, dick," Kyle shoves him half heartedly, on the end of another yawn.
Stan sticks out his tongue and pinches Kyle's nipple through his shirt before he continues, "I'd like a day where I don't have to get out of my pajamas, I can make you make me pancakes and watch TV with you, the boys can play outside, and we can just… chill. I miss that, dude," Stan admits softly and brushes at a bit of Kyle's hair. "I miss you."
That alone is enough to make Kyle's chest hurt, because he misses Stan too. It's a little silly to think you can miss someone you sleep next to and see every night, but apart from working, hanging with and managing their kids, and getting everyone ready for bed, they hardly have a moment to themselves to just breathe.
"Shit," Kyle sighs and cups Stan's cheek in his hand. "Shit, dude… maybe I should take a chunk of time off. Like, not all at once, but maybe a few weeks? Could be good, right?"
"Seriously?" Stan sits up, straddling Kyle's hips. "Dude, if you did, I'd shit bricks. I'd be so happy."
"Yeah?" Kyle smiles. He likes making Stan happy. "Fuck it, I'm gonna do it. I'll go in tomorrow and request time off… a week, you think?"
"Such a rebel," Stan shakes his head, wry amusement playing over his face. "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the man I love."
"Fine, two," Kyle laughs and sticks out his tongue. "Twist my arm."
It's totally worth it to see Stan smile at him like that. Kyle pulls him down into a kiss, soft and slow and holding the promise of turning into so much more. They don't get to do this too often, just lie on their bed and make out like they're twenty-three instead of thirty-three. It's a miracle they have energy to do anything these days, but Kyle doesn't question it. He grinds up against Stan and just hopes against hope the boys have enough decency to stay asleep through the night… or at least through the next hour or so.
Except it's not the kids that get them. Kyle doesn't have his hands in Stan's pants for two seconds before their house phone rings, a loud and abrasive tone that is just right for waking up little boys. Kyle and Stan both scramble for it immediately, though being all tangled together does prove to make it a little difficult and ends with Kyle on the floor and Stan answering the phone.
"Hello?" Stan answers, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he flops over the side of the bed. Kyle gets onto his knees and nips at his chin. "Oh, hey Kenny, what's up?"
Kyle kisses Stan's lower lip just as Stan gives a little pout, "Are you all right, dude?" Kyle frowns a little at that, but before he can say anything, the door to their room opens and Ethan comes shuffling in, rubbing his eyes and immediately going to cuddle up against Kyle.
"Hey, dorkus," he says softly and kisses Ethan's dark mop of hair. "Phone wake you up?"
Ethan nods and hides his face in Kyle's neck.
"And Henry woke up and turned on the light and now I can't sleep," he whines sleepily. "Who's on the phone?"
"It's Uncle Kenny," Kyle says and looks up at Stan again, who's looking more than his fair share of concerned as he sits upright.
"Yeah, dude," Stan nods. "Yeah, of course we'll be there. I'm—yeah. Yeah, we'll see you soon, dude. Love you."
He clicks the phone off and just gives Kyle this weird look of disbelief.
"His dad died," he says plainly, simply, and it gets Kyle to actually pause for a second. Stuart McCormick is dead. That's a weird thought to think, especially since Kyle's known the man since he was a kid. He likes to think he's still too young to have his friends start losing their parents, and Kenny's parents are significantly younger than Stan's or even his own.
"Ow, dad, you're hurting me," Ethan whines, and Kyle immediately lets go of where he was squeezing his shoulder.
"Sorry, bubs," he says softly, kissing Ethan's cheek again and holding him close. He made the mistake of saying 'bubbelah' once—fucking once—and Stan's never let him forget it. If he uses 'bubs', he can usually get away with it. That, and it sounds a lot like 'boobs' and it's starting to make Ethan laugh.
"He, uh," Stan swallows. "He just died a few hours ago, I guess. They don't know about the funeral or anything, but… dude, I kind of want to go be there for him. That fucking sucks."
Kyle sighs and rubs his hands over Ethan's back, overwhelmed entirely by the fact that Stan is so… ugh, he's just so kind and caring that it's actually frustrating sometimes. Kyle would've been fine with going to the funeral, hanging out for a little while after maybe, but Stan goes and says something like that and suddenly he feels like a dick for not automatically thinking it himself. Kenny's been their best friend for thirty years, plus or minus a few rough patches here and there. Of course they have to be there for him. Of course they do.
"I'm gonna talk to Cynthia tomorrow," he says.
"About what?" Ethan asks, pulling away from Kyle to climb up onto his and Stan's bed. Kyle rolls his eyes, because now it seems they'll be sharing their bed tonight. He's about to put his foot down when Stan just shakes his head and scoops Ethan into a hug.
"Henry," Stan calls, only to be met with a quick, "I didn't do anything! Ethan's lying!"
"I am not!" Ethan shouts and looks at Kyle, shaking his head as he hears Henry's trademark heavy footfalls coming down the hall. "He's lying," Ethan pouts, looking to Kyle in what looks like a plea for sanity.
"I know," Kyle nods as Henry bursts into the room and leaps into Kyle's arms without warning.
"I didn't do it," Henry whispers, and gives Kyle an innocent grin when Kyle looks sternly back at him. Henry grins for a few more seconds before gathering that Kyle's not in the mood for his games and promptly curls in on himself, sucking his thumb and clutching Kyle's shirt in the other hand.
"Is this because Uncle Kenny's dad died?" Ethan asks out of nowhere, sprawled out against Stan's chest. Ethan's always been ten steps ahead of what's happening, but it never ceases to surprise Kyle. Stan just bites his lip and smoothes his hand over Ethan's messy dark hair.
"Yeah, baby," he says, kissing him softly on the top of the head as Kyle heaves him and Henry up off the floor and onto the bed. "He just died a few hours ago."
"Uncle Kenny has a dad?" Henry asks.
"Yeah," Stan says. "Everyone has parents, sweetheart."
"Oh," Ethan nods vaguely. "Well, we didn't know him that well."
Kyle smacks himself on the forehead as Stan comes to pinch at the bridge of his nose, both actions spawning a string of giggles from the boys. It's something straight out of the Kyle Broflovski handbook: chapter 10, entitled "Why Are You Sending Me Holiday Newsletters".
"Even so," Kyle says very firmly. "Uncle Kenny and your mom are going to be having a hard time. And since we're their family, it's our job to be there for them."
It's lost on the boys, though. They're both fading fast, rapidly slipping into sleep, and Kyle knows anything else they could say wouldn't make any difference.
Stan and Kyle both tote their respective sleepers back to their beds before heading back to their room and shutting the door behind them.
"You don't think Karen's actually going to come back, do you?" Stan asks as Kyle sits on the edge of the bed. "Like, after all that?"
Kyle leans back on the bed and mulls over the sentiment. When Karen had offered to be their surrogate for Ethan, Stuart had kicked her out of the house. Kenny had still been living in Reno then, so she'd come to stay with Stan and Kyle. When she'd offered to be Henry's surrogate, Stuart had stopped talking to her. It didn't matter that Kenny had been back by then—she'd taken the money Kyle and Stan had given after Henry was born and used it to buy a one way ticket to New York City.
As far as Kyle knows, she and Stuart hadn't talked since, and he's pretty sure that Kenny's relationship with her is pretty rocky.
"I don't know," Kyle finally concludes. "You and your dad don't really talk, but you'd still go to his funeral, right?"
"Not if he asks which one of us carried our kids to term again," Stan groans and sits on the bed next to Kyle.
"Ugh, I forgot about that," Kyle leans forward and puts his face in his hands. "But still… you'd go to your dad's funeral, wouldn't you?"
Stan sighs and rests his chin on Kyle's shoulder. "Yeah, I would," he says softly. "Look, if you can't get the time off yet, I can go and take the boys with me, and you can meet us there."
"What, you want to go tomorrow or something?" Kyle frowns and turns to look at Stan.
"Dude, Kenny's our best friend," Stan says back. "It's just him and his mom and the kids there—you know his mom's probably a wreck, which means he's taking care of all the funeral arrangements on his own. Kyle, he can barely dress himself in the morning, do you really think he's qualified to be doing this on his own?"
Kyle sighs and falls back on the bed. "I want to go with you guys," he sighs, more upset than he probably should be. Stan senses this, because he's amazing and they've been reading each other's minds for decades now, and pets over Kyle's cropped curls.
"You get to do all the fun shit with them," Kyle sighs and leans into Stan's touch. "I hardly see them, I hardly see you… if we're going to make a family affair out of this whole thing, I'd like to do it as a family, you know?"
Stan nods and hugs Kyle close to him, saying softly, "I know." He kisses Kyle's earlobe, and then his cheek, then his forehead, nose, and chin before finally settling on his lips. Suddenly Kyle feels very un-stressed.
"You're an asshole," he murmurs against Stan's lips.
"I'm awful," Stan agrees, kissing Kyle again. "I know. How dare I try to make you feel better."
"Dick," Kyle sticks out his tongue. He thinks they fall asleep like that, somewhere after Stan cupping Kyle through his pajama pants and their impromptu yawning contest. They fall asleep on top of each other, in their bed that smells like them, in their own room down the hall from where their kids are sleeping soundly, in their own house, in their own life that they've built together.
Kyle wants to get to know that life again.
Hi guys. New chaptered fic, isn't it exciting. This story is going to be divided up between Style and Bunny fairly evenly, with a little more emphasis on Style (hence, the categorization).
The title of this fic and the quote on the top are from Stuck in the Middle With You by Stealers Wheel.