Author's Note: I came up with the idea for this fic several years ago, and now I finally decided to go ahead and write it. Hope you like it! :)

Disclaimer: I'm neither Matt nor Trey, so obviously, I don't own South Park.

To think all Stan wanted to do was enjoy his Saturday morning by sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons and eating cereal. Apparently, though, his dad had other plans for him.

Stan had been sitting in the living room for not even five minutes when his dad came stumbling inside. He was wearing a short, dark blue robe that barely covered much of his groin and hairy chest. He had a coffee mug in one hand, the other a wadded up magazine with a picture of a scandalously dressed woman on the cover.

Now, ordinarily, Stan wouldn't have thought much of this, since his dad pretty much always liked to walk around the house half-naked, sometimes just in his underwear, which of course was even more disturbing and life-scarring, but that was another issue entirely.

On this particular morning, however, Randy staggered into the room, collapsing against the couch where Stan was sitting. Randy gurgled into the couch cushion that he'd just face planted into, when slowly, he lifted his head and looked around the room with a delirious look on his face. He blinked, shifting his weight to one side as he dropped the magazine and put a hand to his head.

Stan watched his dad the whole time. He lifted the spoon to his mouth and ate some more of his crunchy, sugary cereal, chewing slowly. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Uhh…Dad?" he said warily. "Are you…feeling all right?"

Randy jerked his head up before looking down at his son. His eyes bugged out a bit as he stared wildly. He reached out and touched Stan's face.

"Stan?" he said in a raspy voice. "Stan, is that you?"

Stan scrunched his face in annoyance before promptly swatting his dad's hand away.

"Yes, Dad, it's me!" he said hastily.

"Oh," Randy said, and he immediately fell silent. He scratched his head as he brought his coffee mug up to his lips and took a long sip, only to cringe. "Aww, man, this tastes gross! God, I hate coffee!"

At that moment, Stan knew he shouldn't have said anything. He should've just ignored his dad and kept watching TV, because if the past had ever taught him anything, it was that nothing good ever came from asking his dad questions.

Despite all this, he just had to ask:

"Then why are you drinking it?"

His dad looked at him and stared in silence for a moment before launching into a whole spiel.

"Well, Stanley," he began with a dramatic sigh, "I'll be totally honest you. Your old man was drinking last night. Now, I'm not talking the standard seven or eight beers. I'm talking, like, twelve-hundred beers!"

"Twelve-hundred beers," Stan deadpanned.

"That's right!" Randy said, thrusting his cup forward. Some coffee sloshed over the brim, yet he didn't even flinch. "I can't even remember how I got home last night! That's how fucked up I was! You ever been so totally hammered that you didn't even know where the fuck you were, Stanley?"

Stan stared at his father. "Uh, well, I'm only ten years old, Dad—"

"So?" Randy loudly interrupted. "I had my first beer when I was only seven!"

"Well, I mean, I have been drunk before, but—"

"That's my boy!" Randy said. "That's what I like to hear!"

Stan decided not to comment any further. He returned to eating his cereal, while Randy took another sip of his coffee. He only grimaced again and finally set the mug down. He then bent down and picked up his forgotten Playboy magazine — or Victoria's Secret catalog, whatever the hell it was — and started flipping through it. He stopped to gawk at one particular page, wolf-whistling at the picture.

"Nice. Hey, Stan, get a load of these boobs," Randy said, leaning over to show Stan a picture of a large breasted woman scantily dressed in just a lacy pink bra and underwear. "Pretty hot, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess," Stan said with a shrug.

Randy leaned away from him then, cocking his head and lifting an eyebrow.

"Stan…you do like girls, right?"

"What?" Stan nearly shrieked. "Of course I like girls, Dad! I have a girlfriend!"

"Really?" Randy asked, perking up at that. "What's her name?"

"What the hell, you've met her before! Her name is Wendy, remember?"

"Wendy, huh?" Randy asked, pausing for a moment to rub his chin in thought. "Oh, yeah, is she that creepy-looking happy chick with the red pigtails and the freckles?"

"No, Dad," Stan said. "That's the mascot for the Wendy's fast food restaurant."

"Oh," Randy said. "Well, then, I have no idea who you're talking about. How long have you two been dating?"

"I don't know, since like third grade…"

"Huh. Long time. So I'm guessing you two have already…"

Randy trailed off as he formed his mouth into a small circle. He proceeded to shove his finger inside his mouth, where he rapidly slid it back and forth several times, before pulling it out with a pop.

Stan stared at him, mortified.

"What the fuck—no! Dude, Dad, we're only ten!"

"That's no excuse, Stanley!" Randy said. "I popped my cherry when I was nine! Yeah, that's right, nine! My old man took me to a strip club, and one of the naked whores took me to the back room and showed me a damn good time!"

"Wow, that's, uh…great, Dad," Stan said, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, it was so awesome," Randy said, a nostalgic grin forming on his face. "She rode me for like ten minutes while I played with her huge, fake tits!"

"Oh, god, Dad, stop!" Stan said, throwing his hands over his ears. "I don't wanna hear about that!"

"Well, too bad, Stanley, you gotta!" Randy said firmly. "Sex is what makes the world go round! Without it, we'd have nothing cool to talk about with our bros! We'd just be all…'hey, any of you guys see that ocean documentary on TV last night? God, that was so interesting!'"


"Never mind," Randy said, waving his hand dismissively. He wrapped his arm around Stan, pulling him close, much to Stan's horror. "Now, tell me, son…how often do you jack off?"


"It's a simple question, Stanley! Just give me a number. Two times? Three?"

"Two or three times what? A week?"

"What? No, what are you, a freaking queer? Two or three times a day, son! That's the average for a boy your age!"

"Oh my god," Stan muttered to himself as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking back up at his dad. "Just so you know, Dad, this entire conversation is making me feel super uncomfortable."

"Look, Stanley, if you would just answer the question, this conversation could go a lot smoother."

Stan rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

"All right, fine, I guess…god, I can't believe I'm seriously talking about this…I guess…five times a week, maybe."

"That's it? Damn, even I do it more than that, son! Is it because you have trouble getting hard? If that's the case, you should just do what I do! Picture your mom's wet naked boobs pressed against the shower glass—"


"WHAT? It works, I'm telling you! Here, try it right now—"


"Stanley, you picture your mom naked this instant, or no TV for a month!"

Stan said absolutely nothing. He slowly lowered his eyes to stare out blankly in front of him, and Randy, confused for a moment, finally looked to see what Stan was staring at. His mouth fell open upon seeing who was standing at the doorway.

"Oh. Uh, hey, Sharon," Randy said with a small wave. "Stan and I were just having a little father son talk."

Sharon stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless.

"It's okay, Sharon, I got this," Randy said, but Sharon stayed there, the stunned look on her face slowly turning into one of anger as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Randy Marsh," she said at last. "I'd like to speak to you. Now."

"Aww, man, am I gonna get grounded again?" Randy asked. "I wasn't doing anything bad, Sharon, honest! Right, Stan?"


"Okay, okay, gawl!" Randy said as he released Stan's shoulders and got up, his robe slipping.

The sound of his mom yelling quickly filled the other room, and, as it went on, Stan simply picked up the remote to raise the volume on the TV. He resumed eating his cereal in peace, making a mental note that, from now on, he should just eat his breakfast in the kitchen.

Author's Note: Yeah… XD Hopefully you guys realized that you were supposed to take everything Randy said with a grain of salt. Anyway, what'd you think?