God only knows
Booyeah, time for my monthly deposit of seminal fluid into the womb that is sekritstamp.
From behind his desk at Marsh’s Manses and More, his Salt Lake City-based home improvement store, Stan Marsh was lecturing his business partner, Eric Cartman, on their fundamentalist Mormon splinter religion yet again.
“Gay plural marriage is a religious calling, dude,” Stan was saying. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows; it had been a very long day of blackmailing the town DA into bringing a case against his arch-rival, Craig, for murdering his sister’s boyfriend, Skyler. “It tests us sometimes. This is not an easy life. Sometimes I wonder why I was chosen to receive this testimony. But it is not our place to question what the lord has in store for us.”
Cartman scoffed. “But dealing with three hos at once is totally weak, dude. Kyle is always whining at me about wanting to get a job, and I’m like, ‘Shut up, bitch, and bake me some cookies.’ Kenny just always wants to have sex, like every single night. And Butters just keeps telling me he wants to pray for a baby, and I’m all like, ‘Fine, bitch, pray for a fucking ass baby, see if I care. I only married you because I needed a loan from your dad to build an Indian casino.’ It’s not my fault he’s being cursed and the souls of all the dead Indians we had to dig up are haunting him.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s totally some weak-ass Pet Sematary shit. Anyway, what were we talking about?”
“Gay plural marriage.” Stan cleared his throat. “The lord does not call us to this path just to score with a different hot dude every night.”
“Wait. I thought that was totally what this was about.”
“No, dude. It’s about being the gay version of the way Joseph Smith intended us to live his principles.”
“I thought the point was to bang a lot of dudes without feeling guilty about it.”
Stan thought for a moment. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s a religious thing.”
“Killer.” Cartman looked around shiftily. “Can I go now? We’re having family dinner night. Kenny and Kyle are fighting over who gets to use the car tomorrow and I don’t want to miss anything if they decide to settle their differences with Jell-O wrestling.”
“Oh, come on, dude, when did that ever happen, except for that one time?”
“Yeah, that was sweet. See you tomorrow.”
On the way out, Cartman heard Stan call his name. “Before I forget,” he said, robot-like smile plastered on his face. “I’ll be in late tomorrow. I have to go flirt with that red-haired goth dude who works at Hot Topic to see if it’s a religious calling, or if I’m just horny. Also, I’ll call you if I decide to put rattlesnakes in Clyde’s bed again. ‘Kay?”
“Okay. Sweet. … Killer.”
Literally.
~
When Cartman walked into one of his three houses - the one that belonged to Kyle - he was immediately bombarded with, “I get to use the car tomorrow, Kenny, and that’s final!”
“Well, I don’t see how that’s fair, boss,” Kenny replied snottily, hands on his hips. “There are four of us in this marriage, Kyle, and you can’t just treat me like I’m a second-class citizen because I’m from the wrong part of town!”
“It’s a little more than the wrong part of town, Kenny! The ghetto is below us. We are striving to be everything that place isn’t.”
“Don’t belittle my heritage! My father is the one true prophet of gay polygamy!”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “And he raped you when you were little.”
“Duh, because God told him to. And it just so happens that I need the car to go see him tomorrow.”
“Aw, gee, fellas,” Butters chimed in. “Can we please not fight?”
“Shut up, Butters!” Kyle and Kenny roared simultaneously.
“Oh, hamburgers.”
“It just isn’t fair. Every time you want to go do something like visit your brother or take a substitute teaching job, you get the car. But I want to go get raped by my father, and I can’t even borrow it for just one hour.”
“Yeah, because I’m first wife,” Kyle said.
“This is so unfair!”
“All right, if you think it’s unfair, we’ll just ask Eric in his infinite wisdom which is the virtuous path.”
“Me?” Cartman asked, totally caught off guard. “Like I give a shit which of you douchebags uses the car tomorrow.”
“Oh, please say I can use the car,” Kenny wheedled. “You know it’s very important that I see my father. I don’t think I can remain on the path to righteousness unless he rapes me at least once a year.”
“Eric, you know this is ridiculous,” Kyle asserted. “I have a very important gay Mormon conservative political discussion forum. I need to lobby to have our streets repaved before someone falls down and sues us.”
“I just wish no one would fight anyone,” Butters said wistfully.
“God, you bitches suck,” Cartman moaned. “Okay, here’s what I think. Kenny, your father can come over and rape you here. Kyle, you know you’re not supposed to have a life outside of this house, and by this house I mean three houses. Now get in the kitchen and make me some brownies.”
“Oh boy!” Butters cheered. “Brownies!”
“Yes, Eric,” Kyle said sulkily, tying on his apron.
“I’m going to go watch TV,” Cartman announced. “Call for me when dinner’s ready.”
From behind his desk at Marsh’s Manses and More, his Salt Lake City-based home improvement store, Stan Marsh was lecturing his business partner, Eric Cartman, on their fundamentalist Mormon splinter religion yet again.
“Gay plural marriage is a religious calling, dude,” Stan was saying. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows; it had been a very long day of blackmailing the town DA into bringing a case against his arch-rival, Craig, for murdering his sister’s boyfriend, Skyler. “It tests us sometimes. This is not an easy life. Sometimes I wonder why I was chosen to receive this testimony. But it is not our place to question what the lord has in store for us.”
Cartman scoffed. “But dealing with three hos at once is totally weak, dude. Kyle is always whining at me about wanting to get a job, and I’m like, ‘Shut up, bitch, and bake me some cookies.’ Kenny just always wants to have sex, like every single night. And Butters just keeps telling me he wants to pray for a baby, and I’m all like, ‘Fine, bitch, pray for a fucking ass baby, see if I care. I only married you because I needed a loan from your dad to build an Indian casino.’ It’s not my fault he’s being cursed and the souls of all the dead Indians we had to dig up are haunting him.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s totally some weak-ass Pet Sematary shit. Anyway, what were we talking about?”
“Gay plural marriage.” Stan cleared his throat. “The lord does not call us to this path just to score with a different hot dude every night.”
“Wait. I thought that was totally what this was about.”
“No, dude. It’s about being the gay version of the way Joseph Smith intended us to live his principles.”
“I thought the point was to bang a lot of dudes without feeling guilty about it.”
Stan thought for a moment. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s a religious thing.”
“Killer.” Cartman looked around shiftily. “Can I go now? We’re having family dinner night. Kenny and Kyle are fighting over who gets to use the car tomorrow and I don’t want to miss anything if they decide to settle their differences with Jell-O wrestling.”
“Oh, come on, dude, when did that ever happen, except for that one time?”
“Yeah, that was sweet. See you tomorrow.”
On the way out, Cartman heard Stan call his name. “Before I forget,” he said, robot-like smile plastered on his face. “I’ll be in late tomorrow. I have to go flirt with that red-haired goth dude who works at Hot Topic to see if it’s a religious calling, or if I’m just horny. Also, I’ll call you if I decide to put rattlesnakes in Clyde’s bed again. ‘Kay?”
“Okay. Sweet. … Killer.”
Literally.
~
When Cartman walked into one of his three houses - the one that belonged to Kyle - he was immediately bombarded with, “I get to use the car tomorrow, Kenny, and that’s final!”
“Well, I don’t see how that’s fair, boss,” Kenny replied snottily, hands on his hips. “There are four of us in this marriage, Kyle, and you can’t just treat me like I’m a second-class citizen because I’m from the wrong part of town!”
“It’s a little more than the wrong part of town, Kenny! The ghetto is below us. We are striving to be everything that place isn’t.”
“Don’t belittle my heritage! My father is the one true prophet of gay polygamy!”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “And he raped you when you were little.”
“Duh, because God told him to. And it just so happens that I need the car to go see him tomorrow.”
“Aw, gee, fellas,” Butters chimed in. “Can we please not fight?”
“Shut up, Butters!” Kyle and Kenny roared simultaneously.
“Oh, hamburgers.”
“It just isn’t fair. Every time you want to go do something like visit your brother or take a substitute teaching job, you get the car. But I want to go get raped by my father, and I can’t even borrow it for just one hour.”
“Yeah, because I’m first wife,” Kyle said.
“This is so unfair!”
“All right, if you think it’s unfair, we’ll just ask Eric in his infinite wisdom which is the virtuous path.”
“Me?” Cartman asked, totally caught off guard. “Like I give a shit which of you douchebags uses the car tomorrow.”
“Oh, please say I can use the car,” Kenny wheedled. “You know it’s very important that I see my father. I don’t think I can remain on the path to righteousness unless he rapes me at least once a year.”
“Eric, you know this is ridiculous,” Kyle asserted. “I have a very important gay Mormon conservative political discussion forum. I need to lobby to have our streets repaved before someone falls down and sues us.”
“I just wish no one would fight anyone,” Butters said wistfully.
“God, you bitches suck,” Cartman moaned. “Okay, here’s what I think. Kenny, your father can come over and rape you here. Kyle, you know you’re not supposed to have a life outside of this house, and by this house I mean three houses. Now get in the kitchen and make me some brownies.”
“Oh boy!” Butters cheered. “Brownies!”
“Yes, Eric,” Kyle said sulkily, tying on his apron.
“I’m going to go watch TV,” Cartman announced. “Call for me when dinner’s ready.”