It was all Wendy Testaburger's fault, Cartman was certain of that. Had they done what he wanted, had their report been on Ingvar Kamprad, they would have got an A. But no, Wendy didn't want that, she wouldn't allow that, Wendy refused to write a report on Kamprad. She demanded the report be on a businessman "with no fascist affiliations", because Wendy was unfair like that. In the end, she'd demanded the report would be on James Dyson. Cartman gritted his teeth; no-one gives a shit about James Dyson. No-one gives a shit about fucking vacuum cleaners. The only person who cares about shitting vaccum cleaners is his mother, and she uses a fucking Henry Hoover.

Wendy told him the only reason they'd failed the report was because of Cartman's rant, Cartman's declaration that the recession had been a Jewish conspiracy, that the Jews were trying to destroy America, destroy the economy, destroy the world. Wendy told him to stop spewing bullshit, she said that if he'd just shut his mouth they would have gotten an A. But Cartman couldn't shut his mouth, he couldn't just sit idly by when the Jews were rampaging on unstopped, needed to spread the word, raise an army. Everyone was blind, uneducated, everyone was in danger. And it was up to him to educate them, to save them. He needed to spread the word, to open everyone's eyes, to force them to see the true extend of the Jewish infestation. It was his duty to rid the world of vermin, his obligation. It was a job he'd do for the good of mankind.

And if Wendy had only let him do the report on Ingvar Kamprad, if she'd only let him finish his speech, of she'd only open her eyes, she'd understand that. But no, she was too pig headed to see past her own stupid ego, and now she'd landed him in trouble with their business teacher. And, to make things worse, she'd made him late for lunch.

"Hrmph!"

Carman slammed himself down at the lunch table with such force Stan was sure it registered on the Richter scale. Crossing his arms, Cartman exhaled, crashing his elbows against the fake wooden tabletop. After a minutes silence, in which the entire table pointedly ignored him, Cartman frowned. Balling his fists, he repeatedly slammed them against the tabletop, succeeding in upturning everyone's drinks. Kenny just blinked at his upset milk carton, before sighing, dropping the crust of his bread onto the table.

"Something wrong, Eric?"

"No. Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. Everything's fine!"

"Are you sure? Everything doesn't seem fine."

"Did you get stuck in your desk again?"

Cartman glared across the table. "Fuck you Kyle!"

Kyle didn't even bother looking up. He was too busy cleaning up his spilt Sprite, dabbing it off his jeans with Stan's napkin. Stan was just watching him, biting his lip in concern.

Kenny just sighed, dabbing up his milk with the sleeve of his jacket. "Well, what the hell is wrong Eric?"

"Wendy!"

Kenny frowned. "What the hell has Wendy done?"

"I got an F! And detention! And it's all her fault!"

"It wasn't her fault Cartman, it was your own stupid fault. If you'd just shut your fucking face you'd have been fine."

"It's not my fault! If Wendy'd just let me do the report on Ingvar Kamprad everything would have been fine. But no! She was too busy getting wet over fucking vacuum cleaners!"

"I'm pretty sure you're the only one who uses vacuum cleaners for that Cartman."

"Why don't you do us all a favour and just go die, Kyle?"

"Whatever Cartman. I got an A for my report. I'm not the one failing business class."

"Yeah, well I would've gotten an A too Kyle! It's Wendy's fault I didn't! Ingvar Kamprad's a much better businessman then James-fucking-Dyson."

Kyle exhaled, absentmindedly dismantling his sandwich. "You should have just threatened to sit on her then; the idea of being jammed under your monstrous ass would've terrified her into submission."

"Ay! Watch your mouth Jew. It wouldn't kill you to loose a few pounds!"

"It will kill you if you don't."

"Oh, you're just so fucking witty, aren't you kike?"

Kyle flushed, dropping his sandwich on the table, squaring off in anger. Quickly reaching up, Stan firmly gripped Kyle's shoulder, distracting his attention away from the fight, desperate to stop another repeat of all that shit. "C'mon dude, I want to go to the library."

Kyle raised his eyebrows. "You want to go to the library?"

"Yeah, the library."

"Oh, the library. Yeah, c'mon then, let's go to the fucking library."

Kenny pulled a face, reaching across the table to tug Kyle's discarded sandwich onto his own tray. "What the fuck do you need to go to the library for? Jesus Stan, we had study period this morning."

Stan blinked, shouldering his bag. "SAT prep. You know, SAT's are coming up. You gotta be prepared for the SAT's Kenny."

"No, you gotta be prepared for the SAT's. I gotta be prepared for the low, unsatisfying life of a blue-collar failure."

Rolling his eyes, Kyle just grabbed Stan's arm, unceremoniously pulling him out the door. Cartman glowered after them, hunching his bulking frame over the table, muttering obscenities under his breath. Pulling a face, Kenny just continued picking at his lunch, ignoring Cartman's rage. It was only when Cartman let out a particularly venomous grumble, pointedly elbowing him in the ribs that Kenny sighed, rubbing his hand across his face.

"Jesus, just let it go Eric! So what? You got an F. You should be used to it by now. This is hardly a new occurrence."

"That's not the point Kenny."

"Well what the fuck is the point then?"

"I really could've gotten an A Kenny! If Wendy had just shut her fucking face and let me do the report on Ingvar Kamprad, we would've gotten an A!"

"You would've gotten an A if you'd just shut your stupid mouth. I would have thought you'd have been happy you didn't have to do any work. Fuck, you made it this far in your educational career freeloading off everyone else; I don't see what's so different about this."

"She's a bitch Kenny."

"And the sky is blue. Try telling me something I don't know."

"She's so controlling! And manipulative!"

"You're controlling and manipulative."

"Yeah, but I'm cool. And popular. Wendy's just a loser. She's going to pay for this, Kenny."

"You screwed up your paper, you ruined all her hard work with a fascist rant, and she's going to pay? Jesus Eric, you really do live in your own little world, don't you?"

"I'm going to destroy her Kenny. I'm going to make her cry."

Kenny raised his eyebrows, a slight smile quirkiness the corner of his lips. "Just be careful Eric, remember the last time you tried to make Wendy Testaburger cry?"

"Oh, whatever Kenny! Like anybody gives a crap about what you think!"

A/N – Hola, been a whilewhile! Sorrysorry, am not dead, was just distracted for a while with ohchristmyfuck uniuni stuff. T'was awful.

Butbut is over now, so here is the short little prologue that prologues (prologuees? Precedes?) the last story in the whole No-One Ever Said That Life Was Fair trilogy (I fell out with my other project, so decided to write this instead! Yay! Sort of!) So pretending Cartman, Kenny, Wendy, Stan and Kyle (the latter will have their own chapters, yesyesyup), finishing off this triad! Yay! Cough-candyfloss-cough.

And just in case you were wondering (and haven't got round to Googleing it) Ingvar Kamprad is a once-pro-Nazi (he's not now, not openly, not at all, I hope.) Swedish billionaire. He was the dude who founded IKEA! YupYupYup!