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 that all Stan wanted to do was enjoy his Saturday morning by sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons and eating cereal. Apparently 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 slightly life-scarring, but that was another issue entirely.

On this particular morning, however, Randy staggered across the room, collapsing against the couch where Stan was sitting. Randy gurgled into the couch 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 to eat 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 started touching 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 quickly fell silent. He scratched his head as he brought his coffee mug up to his lips and took a sip. As soon as he did, though, he cringed. "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.

For some reason, though, 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 and sloshing some of the coffee over the brim. "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 up at his father with his eyebrows raised.

"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 exclaimed. "That's what I like to hear!"

Stan decided not to comment any further then, and instead he just 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. "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 scary-looking happy chick with the red pigtails and the freckles?"

"No, Dad," Stan sighed. "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 loud pop.

Stan stared at him, mortified.

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

"That's no excuse, Stanley!" his dad chastised. "I popped my cherry when I was nine! Yeah, that's right, nine! My dad 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 with a nostalgic grin forming on his face. "She rode me for like ten minutes while I played with her huge fake tits!"

"Aww, God, Dad, stop!" Stan said, clamping his eyes shut. "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!'"

"…What?"

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

"What?"

"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. He took a moment to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose before looking back up at his dad. "Just so you know, Dad, this 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…a few 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—"

"DAD!"

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

"Dude!"

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

Stan said absolutely nothing. He slowly lowered his head 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 assured her, but Sharon continued standing there, the stunned look on her face slowly turning into one of anger as she crossed her arms over her chest. Randy's eyes bulged slightly.

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

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

"RANDY!"

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

The sound of Sharon's yelling quickly filled the other room, and as it went on, Stan 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?