Disclaimer: I do not own South Park. Created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, property of Comedy Central.

Road Rage - Part One

Outside of the Broflovski household, teetering on the edge of the curb, stands Kyle. He's eyeing down a dilapidated vehicle in front of him that is supposed to resemble some type of functional car. The paintjob is not professional, the passenger side mirror is missing, and the trunk is held shut by a bungee cord. He leans his head through the open window, "Dude…when you told me that your dad bought you a car, you didn't mention that he swiped it from an impound lot."

Despite the pessimism permeating from the curb, Stan's smile is bright and cheerful, "Come on, it's not that bad. Just get in."

Kyle slides into the '89 Taurus, albeit carefully. The door swings shut with a loud screech and he hisses out a wince from the noise. With the bad paintjob still fresh in his mind, his eyes scan the interior—and yeah, it's that bad.

"First of all, you don't have a radio," Kyle points to the empty area that most certainly should be containing a radio. "Second of all, there are chunks missing from the seat cushions, and—" the deflating ceiling interrupts him, "Are those pushpins, dude?"

Stan nods, bouncing the hanging fabric above with his fingertips, "The covering's starting to sag down. If I don't use pushpins, the ceiling drops on my head. It's not a big deal. It's just the fabric. It's not like the roof is caving in."

"Right."

Stan leans over and lands a quick and sweet kiss onto his boyfriend's lips. When they started dating, Kyle was the first to complain about not receiving enough affection besides intense make out sessions inside Stan's locked bedroom. Out of the two to mention something like that first, it's the half that pulls away from any sort of PDA. When Kyle had told Stan that he wanted more affection, Stan laughed, because why wouldn't he? He was always the one trying to be more romantic and then Kyle says something like that. But from that moment on, no matter who they are around (besides the parents, of course,) Stan greets and leaves him with a kiss.

Stan lingers in Kyle's space for a moment after they part, "It works—that's all that matters," he says, still smiling, and falls back into the role of responsible driver as he snaps his seatbelt into place.

Kyle's disposition changes from the temporary distraction. With a warm smile dipped and curved for only his boyfriend, he says, "Well, it's better than no car at all, I guess… I hope you know that this makes you my own personal chauffer now." He wraps himself in a seatbelt with sporadic holes and frayed thread, briefly wondering just how safe it couldreally keep him if the time called for it.

Stan shrugs and pulls away from the green home, leaving a heavy cloud of exhaust to hover above the asphalt. "I'm usually going the same places you are anyway."

"Really? You're gonna have an awesome time at the synagogue with me then this weekend. I'm getting sick of driving with my parents."

"Okay, not everywhere."

Stan has been stuck driving his father's car around ever since he first received his driver's permit on his fifteenth birthday. Borrowing your parent's car has many restrictions, mainly time, so he's been bugging his dad for a piece of transportation to call his own for his sixteenth. Randy always brushed him off and told him that he will get him a car, eventually.

This morning turned out to be eventually—about two months after Stan turned seventeen.

His father waved the keys in his son's half-asleep face at the ass-crack of dawn and said: "Today, you are a man." Of course, Stan just stared at him like he was growing a fetus on the side of his head. How would he know that a statement like that would mean a car was waiting outside for him? When he looked out of his bedroom window to see what his father was talking about, he almost leapt through the roof before running outside to the totally awesome, totally brand new convertible sitting in front of his house.

Just before his hands could touch the gorgeous navy paint that glistened with perfection in the morning sun, his dad, clad in just a robe, socks and a cup of coffee, said, "Whoa, don't touch that. The alarm will go off. That's the neighbor's new car. Your beauty's across the street."

Stan looked in said direction only to see a parked green and brown monstrosity, looking even less appealing with the convertible sitting in front of his house. He decided right then that his neighbors shouldn't park their lavish crap anywhere near the Marsh household.

But, despite what the car looked like, Stan ran over to it anyway with excitement brewing past disappointment. The thing had four wheels, hopefully an engine under the hood, and that's all that Stan cared about. His father assured him multiple times that it worked, because of course Stan had to ask more than once.

He doesn't normally trust his father—ever—but this is a fucking car.

This is freedom.

The drooping cloth above him doesn't matter—there are pushpins for that. Even the paintjob doesn't faze him, nor does the ajar trunk. Because out of all of his friends, he is the first one with his own car, and this makes him totally and completely badass.

Stan's next stop is Kenny's house. Kenny lives closest now ever since he moved out of the bad part of town, so in terms of geography, it makes much more sense to pick Kenny up first, even before Kyle. But, Stan has always had unspoken rules while driving. One of them is that Kyle is always first when rounding up his friends. This rule was set in place even before Stan received his official license. When Kenny sat in the passenger seat, Kyle would be in the back, fencing in the urge to commit homicide against certain fat individuals. It didn't make the ride anything but fucking annoying. Stan figures it just works better with Kyle riding shotgun.

Kenny's front yard is covered with more junk than usual. To be precise, it's covered in old lumber and scattered, empty beer cans. Stan presses his hand into the horn twice and it struggles to wheeze out a pathetic excuse of a beep. Stan wonders if Kenny even hears it and Kyle just shakes his head in secondhand embarrassment. This car can't be real.

Kenny runs out of the house like a horse at the sound of a gun. He's dashing right for Stan's car, leaping over boards of lumber with the ease of an Olympic champion.

"He looks in a hurry," Stan says matter-of-factly.

"You think?"

Kenny practically jumps into the car, yelling, "Go! Go! Go!" through a muffled encasing of fabric around his head.

Stan reacts just as quickly, darting away from the house with a heavy foot. He isn't sure why they have to pull away so fast, but he doesn't hesitate. Kenny looks like he was running away from a serial killer.

Then Kenny starts laughing.

"Dude," Kyle says, turning around to face the backseat, and Stan slows down to the speed limit once he's away from the house.

Kenny doesn't acknowledge Kyle and turns around to look out the back window, sitting on his knees. He catches a glimpse of his brother outside, waving an angry fist in the air, and yelling unheard obscenities.

He turns back in his seat before panting out another laugh. He pulls down his hood to reveal a victorious grin and messy blonde hair. Kenny doesn't own a hairbrush, but the messy look works in his favor for some odd reason. This gets on Kyle's nerves. Any hair product in the world can't tame the jungle on Kyle's head, and all Kenny has to do is wake up.

Stan eyes his new occupant through his rearview mirror and sees that Kenny is holding a sandwich.

"Yeah…" Kyle begins, still turned slightly in his seat, "what the hell was that?"

"I stole Kevin's lunch because he's a douchebag."

"What kind of sandwich is it?" Stan asks, genuinely curious.

Kyle arches an eyebrow and turns to his driver. He figures the more important question here is why Kevin is being a douche, not the kind of sandwich Kenny is about to eat, "Why is that even relevant?"

Kenny parts the two slices of bread and smiles as if he is holding filet mignon, "It's cheese." Before he bites into it, he looks around, taking in his surroundings for the first time since he's been in the car. He doesn't give the other two an opportunity to speak further on the sandwich-stealing matter. "Well, isn't this a nice pile of shit car."

"Jesus Christ, Kenny. You can walk, you know," Stan says, the crease in his forehead visible through the rearview mirror.

"Don't be defensive. It's not like you bought it. You can admit that it's a shitty car."

"But it's still a car."

"It's still a car," Kenny repeats. "So yeah, I guess that in itself makes it pretty awesome." He pauses, "Are those pushpins?"

Within the few blocks between Kenny and Cartman's house, the passengers that Stan is driving to the arcade—out of the kindness of his own damn heart—decide to complain the entire time about no radio. He tries to ignore them, but it's not like he has music to drown them out with.

At Cartman's front door, his mother hugs her son like it's the last time that she will ever see him. She kisses him on the cheek before he starts to wobble down the front pathway in that awkward step that he has from too much body mass covering his bones. He's carrying a backpack with a bouquet of yellow tickets bouncing along through a half open zipper.

Stan swears the car tilts in Cartman's direction when he sits behind him. Cartman always has to sit behind Stan or else he'll kick Kyle's seat the entire ride. This is rule number two.

"What in the hell is this thing you're driving, Stan?" He asks, tucking the bag by his legs on the stained floor mats.

"My dad bought me a car for my birthday."

"Wait, your dad actually paid for it? I could take a shit nicer than this."

"You've cut your diet down to just automobiles now, Fatass?" Kyle questions, not skipping a beat with the sarcasm.

"Shut the fuck up, Jew. Speak when spoken to."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking dog, Cartman!"

"God, shut the hell up, you two," Stan scolds, playing the parent, "We're not even at the arcade yet and you're already going at it?"

"He started it," Cartman says, crossing his arms over one another.

"Yeah, give us a break for once," Kenny chimes in. The arguing between the two gets on his nerves just as much as it does Stan's, "It's not like we have a radio in here to play over you."

"What?" Cartman asks, completely appalled. He moves forward and sticks his head between the front seats to scope out this missing radio situation. "Jesus Christ, Stan. Did your dad steal this thing from Kenny's family?"

Kenny smacks him in the shoulder, but doesn't look the least bit offended. He's too involved in his brother's sandwich to care.

"I don't know where he got it. He wouldn't tell me."

"Really, dude?" Kyle looks at Stan curiously, "That's kind of suspicious, don't you think?"

"I agree," Cartman leans into the back seat and then he inches his bag away from Kenny. Kenny is too poor to be trusted with valuable tickets sitting so close. "If your retard dad won't tell you where he got it from, then it's gonna break down halfway there. I bet you."

"Shut up, Cartman, it is not. It's running fine."

"Wait for it, pussy. Something is up."

Stan ignores him and just continues on the route that he knows all too well. But now, he feels a little uneasy about his car since everyone keeps ripping on it. At first, he thought it was going to break down before he even made it to Kyle's house, but then he reassured himself. There are no odd noises while driving, no issues with the breaks… His dad wouldn't give him a death trap as a present.

At least, he doesn't think that he would.

He decides to keep it a little under the speed limit. Just in case.

Kyle leans back into his seat and props a foot up on the dashboard. He doesn't care if he makes himself comfortable at the expense of a few scuffmarks. This car is far from a Lexus. He leans his head against the window and notices dark clouds hovering in the sky, "It looks like rain."

Kenny gazes upward with a final bite of stale crust, "Hope we don't rust before we get there."

X x x X

The parking lot for Ed's Arcade is packed. It always is on Saturdays, so the trouble with parking is expected. Cartman throws the idea out there to park in a handicapped spot since he thinks that Stan's car is handicapped, but no one even pays him the slightest bit of attention.

After a few minutes, Stan finds a reasonable spot to park. He turns to Cartman with a proud smile as the other two exit; both doors resonating a cringe-worthy sound that's heard three spots down. "See? We made it just fine."

Cartman waves him off and hugs his backpack to his chest before taking his leave from the car with just as much noise, "Wow, it made it through a half hour car ride. Big deal. It's only day one."

Stan ignores him and the quartet make their way into one of their favorite places. Ever since they had access to a car, they've upgraded arcades to jumbo size by driving down to Denver for Ed's. They're here at least three times a week now.

The rain begins to spit from the sky, but the boys make it inside before they notice any change in weather.

Jumbo is an understatement—Ed's Arcade is massive. It's the biggest arcade in the area. Stuffed animals and scooters hang from the high ceiling in between blinking lights and red marquees. Towers of crane machines border the wall around the obscene amount of video game domes and stands. It's an electronic heaven.

Today is a big day for Eric Cartman. He is only fifty tickets away from being able to trade in for a Gold PlayStation 3. It's 30,000, but worth it, so he says. Kyle has gotten into entirely too many arguments about the subject. He's tried to tell Cartman countless times that he's only trading in for the color, that the PlayStation isn't made out of actual gold. But Cartman swears that he is just being a lying Jew, as always.

It's also a big day for the other three. After today, they don't have to hear him constantly harp about getting this prize like he has been for the past six months.

Cartman is also a Skee Ball fanatic, but not because he particularly likes the game. There are only two reasons for playing: it's easy to cheat and it spills out a lot of tickets. With Kenny's help, it's much easier. Kenny stands at the opposite end of the lane while Cartman rolls the balls to him so that he can place all of them into the 100 points pocket. Kenny, of course, does not do this for free. Cartman throws him a few quarters in return and this is how he gets money to actually play something in the building. As soon as he and Cartman walk into the place, they begin to make their way over to the Skee Ball corner.

Stan and Kyle split into the opposite direction to a Zombie co-op game. Unlike Cartman, they never really care about winning tickets. Ed's is just a fun place to hang out and play games. Stan rattles change in his pocket and then inserts quarters for he and Kyle into the machine.

The plastic guns sit idly in their holsters in front of the screen and before Kyle even knows that the money is in the slot, Stan grabs the blue pistol first, "Ha! Got it."

"No way, dude. I used the pink one last time," Kyle says, grabbing for the gun in Stan's hand, but it's pulled away.

"Too slow."

Kyle growls lightly under his breath and yanks the baby pink gun from the holster. The game powers on and the two speed through the first level like they've done it a thousand times, because they just about have.

Over on the other side of the building, Cartman and Kenny haven't even made it to the Skee Ball area yet because Cartman is too busy pacing in front of the main counter—the main counter that fences in the prizes. "Where the fuck is it!" He yells, as his eyes scan the many shelves of metal slinkies, plastic rings, neon signs, and other various, but mostly useless, items.

Kenny just shrugs as he watches his fat friend pace angrily, "Someone probably cashed their tickets in for it, dude."

"But I was saving tickets for it!"

"It's not like your name was on it. You can't put a prize on lay-a-way while you collect tickets for it."

"You poor bastard. Who puts things on lay-a-way anymore?"

"Fuck you."

Cartman notices a tiny silver bell sitting beside the cash register. He stomps over and smacks it repeatedly with as much force as he would a reappearing fly. The bell screams and splits through the air with the ability to distill fear into any employee that has to deal with this.

Eventually, a teenager in a red vest appears from behind a beaded door, his face a maze of pimples, "Can I help you?" His voice squeaks with puberty.

"Yeah, you can help me. Where is the Gold PlayStation 3?"

"Oh that? That was cashed in yesterday."

"What?!"

"Sorry, sir."

"This is fucking bullshit!"

Kenny rolls his eyes and decides to flee the scene as Cartman lays into the underpaid employee. He can get money somewhere else without having to cheat at Skee Ball. He sees Stan and Kyle murdering Zombies off at the other end of the building and heads off in that direction.

As he makes his way towards them, his eyes coast the carpet for lost change. This is a tactic that has proven to work pretty well thus far. In a huge arcade where kids are carrying around heaps of coins by the handful, a quarter or two is bound to fall to the floor at some point. He finds three before making it to the undead massacre.

"What's Cartman bitching about over there?" Kyle asks, but doesn't glance away from the screen. He pops another Zombie in the head, causing a gory explosion from his gun with pink feminine appeal.

"You can hear him?" Kenny asks, and he leans against the side of the game tower, pocketing the profit he made during his walk.

"Yeah, dude," Stan says, "We're only on the complete opposite side of the arcade."

Kyle scoffs a laugh, "Yeah, people can probably hear him in the parking lot, too."

Kenny's eyes dart back and forth between the walking dead and the walking homos, "Someone bought that gold PlayStation."

At this, of course, Kyle bursts into laughter and almost lets his character take a bite to the neck. His day is turning out better and better. First, Stan gets his own car, and now, this, "Sucks for him."

Sucks for him indeed because Cartman is now approaching the three boys, dragging his feet, alongside a security escort. When he reaches his friends, he says through clenched teeth, "We have to go, you guys."

The three of them look up, each as surprised as the other. Cartman's face is flushed with anger and his eyebrows are dipped into a steep V. Kyle smacks the start button to pause the game, obviously none too pleased, "What?"

Stan sighs and puts the gun in its holster and looks at the security guard, "What happened?"

The guard, who has a tight handle on Cartman's collar, looks down at the boys with the utmost posture and a stern face, "Esteban thinks that appropriate behavior in a family area involves yelling profanity and throwing courtesy bells at our employees. Sorry boys, but that kind of behavior is not tolerated here at Ed's Arcade."

Kyle turns to Stan and mouths the name "Esteban?" with a confused face. Stan just shakes his head.

"He says that you boys are his ride home. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask the three of you to leave as well if that's the case."

"What!" Kyle yells, "We just got here!" He slams his gun into its holster, angry at the fact that it can't be used as an actual weapon on the tub of lard in front of him.

"You're going to have to leave, sir."

"This is bullshit! Why the hell are we held accountable for his actions?"

"Do not yell profanity, sir, or I will be forced to ban you from the building like I've just banned Esteban here."

Kyle grinds his teeth, grabs Stan's hand and pulls him along as he storms out the front entrance in a wave of frustration. Stan just shoots an annoyed look at Cartman before following along and trying to prevent his arm from being pulled out of its socket. Kenny stays back and rolls his eyes, "Come on, Esteban."

"Of course it has to be raining," Kyle says, as he and Stan walk right into a waterfall of rain. The beads of water trickle down their clothes, onto to their wrists, and through their clasped palms to form tiny puddles that slip through the cracks of their intertwined fingers. Stan just keeps his head down as Kyle complains about the situation while they weave in and out of raindrops back to the car, their steps quick. "Goddamnit, I can't believe we have to leave because of that fat fuck. Remind me why we hang out with him again?"

"We grew up with him, Kyle."

"Unfortunately."

Once they reach the car, both the passenger door and the driver's door open in sync and the two drop into their seats. Water pelts the hood of the car like marbles.

"This fucking sucks," Kyle arches his neck back over the top of the cushion and his eyes land on the falling ceiling fabric that is only a breath away from touching in his face, "And your car sucks."

"Just because you're pissed off at Fatass, doesn't mean you can take it out on the car, dude."

"Aren't you pissed off, too?" He turns to Stan, "I mean…you're the one who drove us all the way down here for nothing."

Stan shrugs, "Yeah, I guess. It's lame, but I'm not gonna let Cartman get to me. We'll just go home, do something else, and we'll come back here another time without him. Look on the bright side, at least we don't have to drag him here with us anymore. He's banned now."

Stan's comforting words don't do much for Kyle. His afternoon is shot now because Cartman is a violent, spoiled brat. He spills another annoyed sigh over his lips and takes a glance at the rearview mirror. Kenny and Cartman are finally walking back through the rain, approaching the car. He looks at Stan, "How can you always do that? I want to punch him in the fucking face, and you're just like 'no problem, dude. Next time.'"

Stan smiles, "Drives you crazy, doesn't it?"

The smile is contagious, "Totally."

They can hear Cartman complaining before he's even in the car. Kyle suddenly wishes that he had only spent the day with Stan. They have a car now. They could have come here by themselves, spent an awesome day at the arcade, and then went back to Stan's to hook up for three hours like they did last weekend. But no, Kenny and the asshole had to come. Kyle's day totally sucks now.

Kenny suddenly runs the rest of the way to the car, and reaches it before Cartman. He jumps inside, landing like a drenched rag doll. Just as Cartman attempts to enter the car as well, Kenny punches the unlocked handle with an aggravated fist.

Cartman tries to open the door, but it's locked. He tries to open the other three doors, but they're locked, too. He screams in the parking lot as if he were a rabid animal in a snow hat instead of a seventeen-year-old boy, "What the fuck, Kenny! Let me in!"

"No way, doucher! Fucking knock it off with all the poor jokes or Stan is leaving you here!"

Kenny never checks for approval. Stan and Kyle just stare at each other, bemused grins catching onto each other's faces, "I'm not totally against the idea," Stan admits.

"It's fucking pouring out here! Open the goddamn door!" Cartman rattles the handle, his hand frantic. His clothes are already drenched in water, and his pasty hair sticks to his glistening forehead beneath the wet brim of his hat, "Kenny!"

"Apologize!" Kenny yells through the window.

"Goddammit, okay, fine!" Cartman yells, his voice competing with loud crashes of thunder, "I won't rip on you anymore for being poor!"

Kenny flicks the lock open and shifts over in his seat. Cartman finally enters the car and slams the door shut, causing the whole vehicle to shake. "Not one fucking word," he says, hugging his soaked backpack and unused tickets to his chest, "Let's just get the hell out of here."

No one says anything because they unanimously agree on something for once.

But when Stan tries to turn the key in the ignition, his car groans with only a putter to the engine—The Little Car That Could. He tries a second time, but he gets the same reaction. Even a third and a fourth time.

"Stan?" Kyle's eyes are on the dangling keys and Stan's pressing grip.

"Tell me this piece of shit isn't working," Cartman says flatly from the back seat.

Stan tries a fifth time, his fingers flicking with irritation. "What the fuck," He breathes, his face getting heated. His hand turns a sixth time and he considers a seventh but he pushes himself back into the seat, his spine straight and his jaw tight.

"Fucking great," Cartman drops his arms to his sides and his bag tilts lifeless against the door.

Stan shakes his head slowly but repeatedly as he stares at the steering wheel, the weather outside mimicking the resentment he can feel beginning to form for his careless father.

"Stan?" Kyle asks again, his hand coasting to comfort his boyfriend, but Stan jerks his shoulder away.

Stan grabs for his cell phone, his movement quick and spinning in aggravation. He presses the number two—speed dial for his dad. He glances at Kyle and mouths a "sorry" for his abrupt movement while the phone connects.

Kenny just leans his head back, looking through his parka at the sagging ceiling above, keeping relatively quiet. Cartman directs his eyes to Kenny's target of sight and cocks an eyebrow, "The fuck? Are those pushpins?"

When Stan's father picks up the phone, Stan explains his situation with exasperation. He's a fool for trusting his father with giving him a usable piece of machinery. He should have expected this. Thing is, he did. He just didn't want to believe it.

"No way, Dad. We can't go anywhere…Pick us up…No, we can't walk—it's raining…We're in Denver! No…we're not waiting for a bus—it's raining…Dad! This is your fault. The least you can do is give me a ride."

He snaps his phone shut. He looks at Kyle, his face angry, but it softens. His Dad is picking them up. He's not going to get mad at the situation. He's just going to deal with it, "He said he'll pick us up."

"Didn't I tell you fags that this would happen?"

"Don't fucking start, Fatass!" Kyle snaps, not wanting to further Stan's aggravation, "Not now."

Stan handles his anger differently than Kyle. If anything pisses Kyle off, then the whole world hears about it the instant his temper ignites. But when Stan is angry, he gets frustrated and tries to keep his composure. He isn't prone to lashing out because he never usually cares enough, so when he does get upset, he holds it in. This never fails to make Kyle feel horrible, from the pit of his stomach to the tip of his chest. He wants to hug Stan and let him know that everything's cool; that his Dad is just an idiot.

Kyle scratches the hug idea to avoid slander from Cartman and catcalls from Kenny. Instead, he just leans into his seat and gets comfortable since they have to sit and wait for their ride to arrive. Hopefully, they'll be out of this parking lot and back in South Park within an hour or two. If that's the case, then the day is still salvageable. They can be back in time for dinner. But that's only if Mr. Marsh leaves right away, and reliable isn't a word usually associated with Stan's dad.