All For Nothing - RotM
Cartman had traveled a very long way, through time and space, to arrive in Paris. Jet lag and hunger made him a very unhappy young man as he entered the courtyard where the King’s soldiers were fighting with four guys with long hair and some faggy outfits. Cartman turned to some peasant standing nearby.
“Who are those guys up on the ledge?”
“The young one is a stranger to me, but the other is the captain of the Cardinal’s guard.”
“Listen, Frenchy, I think soap is a stranger to you, dude, but I need to find the tryout table so I can sign up for the auditions…” Just then, the captain took a bad step and fell to the stones below with a sickening sound. He landed in a bloody heap at Cartman’s feet, while the women screamed and ran back. “Yo…now that’s what I fucking call Captain Crunch, dude.” Leans over the body. “Hope you had a great summer, ass face, cuz that was a fucking bad fall. Sucks to be you, huh?”
Eric looked around, as the soldiers surrounded him with their swords drawn. “What? I didn’t fucking kill him. You best be putting your pansy swords away, or I’ll get all medieval on your Frenchy bitch asses. That’s right, American here. We don’t take no shit off you bitches. Now…where’s the sign up table?”
A large man, one of the guys who had been fighting, came over and looked down at the rotund child. “Boy, my name is Porthos. What table is it that you seek?”
Cartman crooked an eyebrow up. “Dude…what the fuck? Who the fuck put that do-rag in your hair like that? You look like a transvestite reggae singer. Who the fuck did your hair, dude? Ziggy Marley? Holy shit.”
Athos warily made his way over to the pair, looking serious and grim. “Boy, you heard Porthos. Tell us what you seek and we will point you in the right direction. You’ve gotten yourself into a dangerous situation, monsieur. Let us help you.”
“Dude! I don’t need help from a bunch of longhaired hippies! I just want the sign up table for the Mouseketeer tryouts!” Cartman screeched over the din of some bitch running around selling truffles.
Aremis laughed, holding his sword to the crowd of inept soldiers. “We are Musketeers, boy, the three most famous Musketeers in all of France. There is no table. The Cardinal has disbanded the Musketeers and they are trying to arrest us.”
“Look, dude, I came here all the way from South Park to try out for the fucking, goddamn Mouseketeers! I wanna be a Mouseketeer! I can dance, I can sing, I can grab Britney Spears’ titties!” Cartman’s face was red from shouting.
Aramis nodded, sympathetically. “I understand, young man. You want to become a Musketeer, so that the young ladies will find you irresistible. That one…” He points his sword towards d’Artagnan on the ledge. “…wants to find honor his father, who was one of us.”
Suddenly, a dark man strode forward, smirking. “I killed the boy’s father. I betrayed him and I murdered him, and I will kill his son, as well. I am Captain Rochefort!”
“YOU MURDERED MY FATHER!” d’Artagnan jumped down from the ledge, and stalked over, his face a twisted mask of youthful rage. “This is the most devastating news a man can hear! You bastard!”
Cartman looked at the raging guy with the bad hair and shook his head. “Dude, trust me, there’s a lot of worse things you can hear.”
“Like what?”
Porthos thought, “Like that your penis has fallen off, while you were sleeping.”
“Like your face is being pecked by a crow.” Rochfort chimes in.
“Like your wife has left you to run off with some aging guitar player.” Aramis adds, nodding.
“Like someone has drugged you unconscious and you’re trapped in a freighter headed for China and for another fucking season you aren’t going to get laid or even get to eat anything.” Athos shook his head, clearly disgusted.
“Like, for instance, Salad Dressing Dude here could have told you that he WAS your father. Now that sucks, pal. I’ve seen it happen.” Cartman does his best Vader voice, with the breathing and sounds, “Luke, I am your father. See, Darty? That’s a lot worse.”
The three older Musketeers all nodded, shrugging. “He has a point, there.”
“Of course I do! So, look, Darty, when you kill the showy, weenie, hippie bitch, you can yell ‘THIS IS FOR MY DADDY!’. Then you go get some poontang and a beer, and you feel better.”
“This is France, we drink wine.” Athos corrects.
“Yeah, yeah, and you eat fucking snails, man. You’re all a bunch of freaks. So, anyway, where do I audition to be a Mouseketeer? Dude, I wanna be a star, be on TV like Britney, Christina and that Justin dude, cuz he gets up with that Diaz chickaboomboomboom. I wanna sell records and get a free pass to Disneyland for life, dude.”
“Boy…for the last time, we are Mus…” Athos started, but Porthos and Aramis nudged him.
“Let the boy audition.” Porthos grinned, slyly. He backed up and gave Eric room in the square. “Let us see this talent, young man. We’re waiting.”
So Eric pulled off his jacket and sweatsuit to reveal a skintight red vinyl catsuit. The Mickey Mouse ears were taken out of his backpack and reverently kissed before being bobby pinned securely on his head. He pursed his lips, and began to dance, imitating the moves perfectly.
You see my problem is this
I'm dreaming away
Wishing that heroes, they truly exist
I cry, watching the days
Can't you see I'm a fool in so many ways
But to lose all my senses
That is just so typically me
Baby, oh
Oops!...I did it again
I played with your heart, got lost in the game
Oh baby, baby
Oops!...You think I'm in love
That I'm sent from above
I'm not that innocent
At the end of the number, there was nothing to hear but shocked silence and the retching of a woman in the back of the crowd.
“Okay, so look, do I get my fancy Mouseketeer ears or what? I’m gonna need a big size on those things, but that’s because of my big brain, Mommy said. And fucking spell my name right, and not in French, assholes.”
Porthos, Aramis and Rochefort all started laughing, great guffaws of mirth, while Athos tried to be kind. He knelt by Cartman, and looked at him seriously. “Boy, we aren’t singers. We’re the Three Musketeers. We fight, as bodyguards to the royal family. There are no mouse ears, only our swords and our honor.”
Porthos waved his hand, dismissing Cartman. “You’ve amused us, now run along, we have a swordfight to finish, Musketeer style.” He stood and took guard against one of the Cardinal’s men.
Eric glared at all the peasants, soldiers and the Musketeers laughing. Then he pulled out the lightsaber that Yoda gave him, and he let the power of The Force flow from the dark side. “Oh, yeah, biyatch? With that fucking hair, you look like the MOUSSE - Keteers, you hippie fucking freaks. And me? I fight my battles Jedi style.”
In a few seconds, Cartman had carved the inept soldier into more pieces than a whole fryer cut up, and then turned off his weapon, tucking it down the cleavage of his catsuit so he could grab his clothes and backpack. The others all stared, slackjawed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Mouseketeers, my ass. We Americans might be loud, uncouth and uncultured, Frenchy, but we know how to open up a can of whoopass. Biyatch!”
When Cartman got home, he sadly put away his ears and catsuit. That dream would never happened, he realized now. He felt a tiny piece of his childhood innocence die, as he ate his chicken potpie and watched the reruns of Tom and Jerry: The Smoker’s Banned Edition.
In his next life, Eric Cartman decided he wanted to come back as a Three Musketeer. Then the whole fucking world could bite him.
“Who are those guys up on the ledge?”
“The young one is a stranger to me, but the other is the captain of the Cardinal’s guard.”
“Listen, Frenchy, I think soap is a stranger to you, dude, but I need to find the tryout table so I can sign up for the auditions…” Just then, the captain took a bad step and fell to the stones below with a sickening sound. He landed in a bloody heap at Cartman’s feet, while the women screamed and ran back. “Yo…now that’s what I fucking call Captain Crunch, dude.” Leans over the body. “Hope you had a great summer, ass face, cuz that was a fucking bad fall. Sucks to be you, huh?”
Eric looked around, as the soldiers surrounded him with their swords drawn. “What? I didn’t fucking kill him. You best be putting your pansy swords away, or I’ll get all medieval on your Frenchy bitch asses. That’s right, American here. We don’t take no shit off you bitches. Now…where’s the sign up table?”
A large man, one of the guys who had been fighting, came over and looked down at the rotund child. “Boy, my name is Porthos. What table is it that you seek?”
Cartman crooked an eyebrow up. “Dude…what the fuck? Who the fuck put that do-rag in your hair like that? You look like a transvestite reggae singer. Who the fuck did your hair, dude? Ziggy Marley? Holy shit.”
Athos warily made his way over to the pair, looking serious and grim. “Boy, you heard Porthos. Tell us what you seek and we will point you in the right direction. You’ve gotten yourself into a dangerous situation, monsieur. Let us help you.”
“Dude! I don’t need help from a bunch of longhaired hippies! I just want the sign up table for the Mouseketeer tryouts!” Cartman screeched over the din of some bitch running around selling truffles.
Aremis laughed, holding his sword to the crowd of inept soldiers. “We are Musketeers, boy, the three most famous Musketeers in all of France. There is no table. The Cardinal has disbanded the Musketeers and they are trying to arrest us.”
“Look, dude, I came here all the way from South Park to try out for the fucking, goddamn Mouseketeers! I wanna be a Mouseketeer! I can dance, I can sing, I can grab Britney Spears’ titties!” Cartman’s face was red from shouting.
Aramis nodded, sympathetically. “I understand, young man. You want to become a Musketeer, so that the young ladies will find you irresistible. That one…” He points his sword towards d’Artagnan on the ledge. “…wants to find honor his father, who was one of us.”
Suddenly, a dark man strode forward, smirking. “I killed the boy’s father. I betrayed him and I murdered him, and I will kill his son, as well. I am Captain Rochefort!”
“YOU MURDERED MY FATHER!” d’Artagnan jumped down from the ledge, and stalked over, his face a twisted mask of youthful rage. “This is the most devastating news a man can hear! You bastard!”
Cartman looked at the raging guy with the bad hair and shook his head. “Dude, trust me, there’s a lot of worse things you can hear.”
“Like what?”
Porthos thought, “Like that your penis has fallen off, while you were sleeping.”
“Like your face is being pecked by a crow.” Rochfort chimes in.
“Like your wife has left you to run off with some aging guitar player.” Aramis adds, nodding.
“Like someone has drugged you unconscious and you’re trapped in a freighter headed for China and for another fucking season you aren’t going to get laid or even get to eat anything.” Athos shook his head, clearly disgusted.
“Like, for instance, Salad Dressing Dude here could have told you that he WAS your father. Now that sucks, pal. I’ve seen it happen.” Cartman does his best Vader voice, with the breathing and sounds, “Luke, I am your father. See, Darty? That’s a lot worse.”
The three older Musketeers all nodded, shrugging. “He has a point, there.”
“Of course I do! So, look, Darty, when you kill the showy, weenie, hippie bitch, you can yell ‘THIS IS FOR MY DADDY!’. Then you go get some poontang and a beer, and you feel better.”
“This is France, we drink wine.” Athos corrects.
“Yeah, yeah, and you eat fucking snails, man. You’re all a bunch of freaks. So, anyway, where do I audition to be a Mouseketeer? Dude, I wanna be a star, be on TV like Britney, Christina and that Justin dude, cuz he gets up with that Diaz chickaboomboomboom. I wanna sell records and get a free pass to Disneyland for life, dude.”
“Boy…for the last time, we are Mus…” Athos started, but Porthos and Aramis nudged him.
“Let the boy audition.” Porthos grinned, slyly. He backed up and gave Eric room in the square. “Let us see this talent, young man. We’re waiting.”
So Eric pulled off his jacket and sweatsuit to reveal a skintight red vinyl catsuit. The Mickey Mouse ears were taken out of his backpack and reverently kissed before being bobby pinned securely on his head. He pursed his lips, and began to dance, imitating the moves perfectly.
You see my problem is this
I'm dreaming away
Wishing that heroes, they truly exist
I cry, watching the days
Can't you see I'm a fool in so many ways
But to lose all my senses
That is just so typically me
Baby, oh
Oops!...I did it again
I played with your heart, got lost in the game
Oh baby, baby
Oops!...You think I'm in love
That I'm sent from above
I'm not that innocent
At the end of the number, there was nothing to hear but shocked silence and the retching of a woman in the back of the crowd.
“Okay, so look, do I get my fancy Mouseketeer ears or what? I’m gonna need a big size on those things, but that’s because of my big brain, Mommy said. And fucking spell my name right, and not in French, assholes.”
Porthos, Aramis and Rochefort all started laughing, great guffaws of mirth, while Athos tried to be kind. He knelt by Cartman, and looked at him seriously. “Boy, we aren’t singers. We’re the Three Musketeers. We fight, as bodyguards to the royal family. There are no mouse ears, only our swords and our honor.”
Porthos waved his hand, dismissing Cartman. “You’ve amused us, now run along, we have a swordfight to finish, Musketeer style.” He stood and took guard against one of the Cardinal’s men.
Eric glared at all the peasants, soldiers and the Musketeers laughing. Then he pulled out the lightsaber that Yoda gave him, and he let the power of The Force flow from the dark side. “Oh, yeah, biyatch? With that fucking hair, you look like the MOUSSE - Keteers, you hippie fucking freaks. And me? I fight my battles Jedi style.”
In a few seconds, Cartman had carved the inept soldier into more pieces than a whole fryer cut up, and then turned off his weapon, tucking it down the cleavage of his catsuit so he could grab his clothes and backpack. The others all stared, slackjawed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Mouseketeers, my ass. We Americans might be loud, uncouth and uncultured, Frenchy, but we know how to open up a can of whoopass. Biyatch!”
When Cartman got home, he sadly put away his ears and catsuit. That dream would never happened, he realized now. He felt a tiny piece of his childhood innocence die, as he ate his chicken potpie and watched the reruns of Tom and Jerry: The Smoker’s Banned Edition.
In his next life, Eric Cartman decided he wanted to come back as a Three Musketeer. Then the whole fucking world could bite him.