Are you there, God? It's us, Stan and Kyle…and we HATE you.

A Fanfiction

When a bedraggled and exhausted looking Kyle shuffled in through the classroom door on that fated Monday, instead of greeting his best friend with a typical "hello" or "good morning", he merely stated, "You know, I learned something yesterday," before flopping haphazardly, perhaps with some melodramatic flair, into the chair of the desk next to Stan.

He then launched into an excruciatingly detailed account of the day before, Sunday, to be exact.

It had started off fairly normally, or about as normal as everything starts for the denizens of South Park.

The coffee grinders in Harbucks were particularly piercing, for some reason, filling the air with that familiar, bitter tantalization that is roasting coffee beans. Even prior to actually ingesting it, most regard coffee as the ultimate stimulate for the senses.

Kyle, being a particularly sensitive (though Eric Cartman would say bitchy) individual, was particularly attune to this on that Sunday, as he stared down Scott Tenorman until he held open the door to the coffee shop, allowing Kyle to make his entrance.

It was all going well, until Kyle happened to notice the table in the corner, littered with an indeterminable amount of empty coffee containers, nearly obscuring Tweek's figure as he repeatedly slammed the back of his head into the wall behind him, chanting his mantra through clenched teeth, "Can't…handle…the…pressure!"

Being the sensitive individual that he was, Kyle decided that it was best to let Tweek deal with whatever problem he had on his own, because really, a particularly over-caffeinated white kid experiencing personal turmoil and attempting to solve it themselves by inducing more drama often led to interesting misadventures, and given that it was Tweek, the high-prince of the over-caffeinate…

Also, Kyle decided that he really didn't want to know. Like, really, really did not want to know, at least until the aforementioned misadventure occurred.

And so it was that Kyle attempted to neatly slip off undetected, with a steaming container of black, blaring awareness in the form of risk of destruction to the colon and heart in hand.

Unfortunately, given that Tweek was apparently more buzzed than most would consider humanly possible, his heightened senses detected South Park's teenage Jewish community from across the coffee shop.

"K-KYLE! AH!" He shrieked, and momentarily paused in inducing whatever more brain damage he could possibly wreak on himself to flag Kyle down.

Given that he had a tendency to be profoundly moralistic in addition to sensitive, Kyle found himself approaching Tweek's table, not without some chagrin. He'd been hoping to catch Stan after Church and go do something…

But…it was as if Tweek were shipwrecked among the ruins of a coffee raid. His head, its hair forever tousled and untamable and blonde, bobbed along on his jittery neck, almost as if her were in the sea, clinging to the table to keep him from drowning. Clinging to the table full of the discarded remains of his ship, the S.S. Caffeinated High. Unless, of course, whatever dregs of coffee remaining in the containers were actually unearthed pirate treasure. Now that he realized this, Kyle found he couldn't leave Tweek to bob until he let go and drowned in his problems.

"Hey, Tweek. The Underpants Gnomes still giving you hell?" He asked.

"Ahh…no, not since…Craig…," Tweek paused, during which Kyle heard the unmistakable crackling and zapping of television static and was almost convinced that it was indeed coming from Tweek's brain. Tweek then cried out, sounding not unlike a savage monkey, and then went back to hitting his skull against the wall, this time in a faster, more rhythmic pattern.

"Dude! What the hell?" Kyle asked, but was in truth much more astonished than exasperated. Then he wondered if crazy was contagious, and found himself edging away from the table slightly.

"No, don't go," Tweek's voice cracked as he pleaded, almost in some kind of desperation, "Uh…ah! The pressure…"

Obviously, Kyle had been wrong; Tweek wasn't one who you left alone to deal with his own problems after all. Sighing, Kyle resigned himself to spending his afternoon on Suicide Watch for reasons that had yet to be illuminated.

"Uh…uh, I'm AH…going to see a movie, would you go with me?" Tweek asked.

Kyle, who knew all too well of Tweek's preference for Chick Flick's (mostly because anything else with substantial plot or action sequences wound up getting him easily distracted or even more jittery and he just wound up confused), was reluctant to say the least, until Tweek promised him that the movie that he was thinking of was about cowboys.

That said, it turned out to be the most uncomfortable two hours and fourteen minutes of Kyle's life. Maybe it was because he had been tricked into seeing Brokeback Mountain (and while the acting and script were both very realistic and touching, Kyle found that for some reason he felt that the most entertaining aspect of the film were the nearly comical looking shots of the sheep, which frequently sent him into a snickering fit). Maybe it was because halfway through the film Tweek screamed, "GAH! Too much pressure! I can't take it!" and then started bawling into Kyle's shoulder. Or maybe it was because Craig was sitting in the seat directly behind them, glowering with profound intensity.

Nevertheless, Kyle found that he was almost as jittery as Tweek on a good day by the time they were leaving the theater.

"I guess it was beautiful." Tweek commented through his sniffling and twitching.

"The cinematography was very good…" Kyle said, checking his watch. Four o'clock. He had just enough time to go see if Stan was up for tossing a football around.

His hopes were dashed when Craig emerged from the theater, looking royally pissed off.

"Tweek! Broflovski!" He bellowed, flipping them both off.

Tweek screamed and cowered behind Kyle, which would have been effective because coffee had indeed stunted Tweek's growth, leaving him barely five foot five at age sixteen, had it not been for the fact that they were both equally uncomfortably thin.

"Tweek, you told me we'd go see that movie together! What is he doing with you? One stupid argument and you're already with…him? You're man-whores, both of you!" Craig shouted.

"Whoa. Ok, way too much information…" Kyle said, now more desperate than ever to get away.

"You stay out of this! Does Stan know that you're cheating on him?" Craig said, waving his index finger threateningly at Kyle, who, in fact, would have liked nothing more than to stay out of it, but he felt the urge to protect his honor overwhelming.

"I am not cheating on Stan! Super Best Friends are allowed to hang out with other people every once in a while. Its not like we're dating…oh, wait a minute. You're insinuating…and you two…"

Before Kyle could finish his train of thought, the other two had launched into a full out rancor that consisted of Craig just seeking to get even more pissed off and succeeding, and Tweek shrieking about pressure and his inability to handle it about every five seconds.

Finally, Kyle, realizing that it was midnight and he was still in public with his reputation getting destroyed with every strange look from every passerby, threw his hands in the air and home, officially declaring his Sunday wasted.

The next day, after Kyle finished relaying this to Stan as he listened patiently, they sat contemplating it for a few minutes before Stan asked,

"So, what exactly was it that you learned yesterday?"

"Ah, yes, that," Kyle said, sitting up in his seat, "There is nothing more painful than watching a couple air out their dirty laundry in public. This is especially true when the couple happens to be two guys, outside of the Bijou Theater, in South Park, Colorado, as families and various other persons are entering and exiting."

"Indubitably." Stan said, trying very hard not to laugh, because Kyle was obviously deadly serious.

Kyle, who had been watching Stan closely as he had iterated his long, tortured tale, arched an eyebrow at him.

"…You already knew all of this, didn't you?" He asked.

Stan, now unable to contain himself, started laughing and nodded.

"Small town. Stuff gets around."

As much as Kyle wanted to remain strung out and perplexed about his prior situation and his now obviously doomed reputation, Stan's laughter and good humor were infectious, so he had to laugh, too. Stan was a marvel that way. Then again, to Kyle, Stan was something of a marvel in most ways.

"So, what, that makes ten people who think we're dating?" Stan asked, ticking off names in his head, physically manifesting each with his fingers.

"Nine. Fat Ass doesn't count because he's just giving us a hard time." Kyle said, and turned to shoot a decidedly nasty look at Cartman, who looked up from his attempt to finish the homework that would be due whenever it was that their negligent Spanish teacher decided to appear.

"Hey, for someone who is trying to convince everyone that he's straight, you sure spend a lot of time commenting on my ass. Careful, Stan, after the Tweek incident we know that your Jew has commitment troubles. Watch it or he'll be fantasizing about me next while you're making out." Cartman retorted.

"Oh, God Damn it, Cartman! More like you wish I were fantasizing about you." Kyle said.

"Did you just fail to deny that you've been making out with Stan?" Kenny voiced, suddenly deciding to enter the conversation. He'd been ogling Bébé's chest again.

"That makes ten and a half right there, with Cartman counting as the half." Stan said, gesturing toward Kenny non-chalantly, as though it were completely normal to be tallying the amount of people who believed or suggested that two supposedly heterosexual boys were somehow romantically involved. Kyle shook his head, and logically reminded Stan that Kenny had already been included in the tally, and if anything Cartman should count as four people because of his size. Kenny agreed and giggled in a manner that was for some reason rather frightening, while Stan mused that someday they should actually start writing it down, almost like a petition…

"Hey! Screw you guys. If it weren't for the fact that I need this credit, I'd be going home." Cartman said, and then went back to his homework.

It was at that moment that the Guidance and College Planning Counselor entered. Cartman hated her with every fiber of his large being, because she was the very incarnate of everything he hated. She was, after all, from Woodstock, New York, and her previous job had been in Telluride. She'd accepted taking on more hours with no extra pay to be the College Planning Counselor in addition to the Guidance Counselor whole heartedly because she of that kind of heart that was whole. She'd attempted to levitate Washington State at some point in her childhood. She tended to wear Birkenstocks and long, flowing, pastel coloured clothing. However, her ensuing dialogue made Cartman temporarily overlook all of that and want to worship her as some form of Unholy Sovereign.

"I'm to understand that there's a Jewish boy in this class?" She said softly.

Kyle raised his hand incredulously.

"Oh, wonderful! The school board has decided to participate in Camp Enterprise again. Every year, the Rotary Club of Colorado puts on the Camp Enterprise, where eleventh-grade students go and learn about the wonders of not only proactivity and success skills, but also enterprise and…"

"Wait," Kyle said, "This is a camp where students are taught business management and industry?"

"Well, yes."

"And the school board thought I would be a good choice because I'm…Jewish?"

"Yes, that's right."

Cartman started to laugh. In fact, he started to laugh hysterically. Kyle crawled under his desk and refused to come out. Ever. Completely oblivious to all of this, the counselor continued to preach.

"You don't actually need to be nominated, but you do need to fill out an application, and they only accept a certain number of students from each school. Also, it's considered an honor and looks wonderful on your College resume. Basically, you go and they give you inspirational lectures and have you participate in a Business Simulation program. And, if you win Camper of the Year, you get a full ride scholarship to any College in Colorado."

The counselor passed out fliers and brochures. Stan noticed the dates, and grinned excitedly.

"Hey! It's from the eighth to the eleventh! I'd get out of Prom! Yes!" Stan said, throwing an arm in the air.

As he was on the football team, Stan was required to attend Junior prom. Despite everything he had to endure, Stan was proud of his Jock status and love for football. It was another thing that Kyle marveled at. Although Stan had been the star in Elementary school, he hadn't actually played once since they entered High School. He'd been eternally condemned to the bench. Perhaps that was why they had never, ever won a game. Ever. But somehow, Stan was devoted to the sport and faithfully attended each grueling practice, each disappointing game, each uninspiring Pep rally, and every other school event that his status demanded of him. That did not mean, however, that he wasn't humanly begrudging of his unshakable commitment at times. For some reason, Stan was incredibly opposed to attending prom.

"Naw, the bus gets in early enough. You'd still have to go, no excuses." One of the girls on prom committee who was conveniently located in the Spanish Classroom voiced in annoyance. Then she resigned herself to being a one-shot character that probably wouldn't be called on for any function or purpose ever again. Prom committee is like that.

Stan glowered, but asked for a copy of the application form anyway. Then he asked for another copy, for when Kyle decided to emerge from beneath his desk.

"Sweet! It's free! Count me in!" Kenny said.

Stan stared at him in disbelief.

"Since when do you care about doing extracurricular activities?" Stan asked.

"Dude, exactly. I need everything I can get on my resume. And if it's free? And provides free meals for three days? Yeah, I'm good." Kenny said.

Cartman was also somewhat enthused about it, despite the fact that he viewed it as a guaranteed "Jew Gathering". Or perhaps it was because it was going to be a "Jew Gathering" and he was plotting something again. Or perhaps because he did, after all, exhibit some very prominent talents useful in the business world.

Kyle accepted the application when Stan handed it to him, but still remained underneath his desk.

Because the Spanish teacher was conveniently passed out somewhere in a dark alley, the rest of the class period was devoted to the completion of the application once the counselor had left. Kyle eventually crawled out, and started looking over the questions.

Truth be told, the questions were easy, demanding rhetoric "I want to be successful in life" answers. Of course, Spanish class was normally his easiest class anyway, so it was fitting. It was the only class in his demanding schedule that he had with the other three boys, the rest of which were AP curriculum. His mother's idea and his father's goading.

Bébé, who had been the first to finish the essay on "What Interests you About Camp Enterprise", was reading it aloud to Red.

"…proactive. Finally, I am especially interested in the fact that it is free of charge. Thank you." She said.

Kenny momentarily broke his gaze from her breasts to inform her that it was a beautiful essay. Bébé stared at him as though she were just now registering his presence, and then thanked him.

"But really, I just read over the description in the pamphlet, and put it into my own words." She said, shrugging, which caused his attention to be diverted. Again. She noticed this and crossed her arms.

"Up here." She said flatly, but not without amusement.

Meanwhile, Stan feigned astonishment when Kyle started filling out the application.

"You're actually going to allow yourself to conform to a stereotype? Kyle, you're letting me down dude."

Kyle shrugged.

"It doesn't sound that bad, I guess. And I'll get props on my resume. Besides, someone has to go and make sure that the fat ass doesn't turn it into another Holocaust." He said.

"Ha! You hear that, Stan? He's going because of me!" Cartman said viciously.

"Cartman, do you sit up at night thinking of different insinuations?" Stan asked him. Cartman smiled.

"As a matter of fact, I do." He informed Stan, proudly.

"That proves it. You are fantasizing about me, in that you fantasize about me fantasizing about you. It's a Freudian thing. Ha!" Kyle said, jumping up on his desk now, brandishing his pencil in Cartman's face, and laughing triumphantly.

Kenny did that disturbing giggle again.

"Yeah, dude! He totally gets off on the thought of Kyle just by trying to think of ways to diss him. Then he jerks off. Ha ha ha ha!" He said.

"Hey! Shut up Kenny!" Cartman, who was officially owned for the week, yelled and shoved Kenny out of his chair.

"Aw,awww!" Stan cried, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to rid the unpleasant mental image. Unfortunately, it didn't work very well and he lunged for the garbage can just as his gag reflex kicked in.

"Ew! Sick!" The prom committee girl shrieked, just so that she could be mentioned again.

When Stan returned to his desk, he found that Kyle was cowering under his own, once again refusing to ever emerge, insisting that he meant it this time, and glowering at Kenny, who was still giggling demonically and now rolling around on the floor. Five seconds later, Cartman finally got sick of the noise and kicked him in the ribs. Autopsy report said that Kenny had choked on his own saliva, but it was forever regarded as the day that someone had actually died laughing.