This is pretty close to my last fanfic (three days of Christmas or something like that) I think it came in inspiration in having piping hot hot chocolate tipped all over my left leg, so, at the moment, I have the mobility of a new born one legged sloth. In response to Gyrex, sorry! I forgot! I couldn't exactly put you in considering I was working on it right up to the second I posted [address], I know Sheila wasn't a Jew of a broslofski, or that her parent's were alive, but I wanted a laugh, so I killed everyone off and left six people alive. (For your info, Mrs. & Mr. B, Ike, Terrence and Philip and Kyle the author.) SO, I guess you could call it a hallucination, or a vision, or a hangover, but what ever it is, I'd like to say in the light of the current events, IT DIDN'T HAPPEN! I've decided it will be constructed of three to four main parts with little sub-parts in-between, I think they're called chapters. It's a future based one, so they'll all be in they're twenty's (South park crew) But all the adults in the show will still be adults, just a bit older. :)
Just some quick background info on this fic. In the future (2345) South Park has boomed into a City with four different sectors, Shag town (prostitutes) OAP village (duh) Happy People ville (people who have medical treatment with prozac.) and the space village. (recruitment offices and hotels.)
But, enough with my insane ramblings, On with the fic!
South Park: The Final Freakout
"DESCRIBE, USING DIAGRAMS WERE APPROPRIATE, THE EXACT CIRCUMSTANCES OF YOUR DEATH."
Kevin had been dead for at least two weeks now, and so far, he hated every second of it. Being dead wasn't all it was cracked up to be. You had to send back your birth certificate to have it invalidated. Your pension was withdrawn and given to his wife, no, his *widow* Cindy. His death certificate had to be sent back to his GP, with a signed passport photo of his corpse as well as being signed by the deceased himself, but that seemed hard, so the coroner usually wrote 'unable to sign document, hand missing.' He looked out into the black inkyness of space and sighed. He looked at the hard grey metal desk bolted to the floor and the document on it. "Your own death and how to cope with it." Christ, when you're dead, you should put six feet under and have a marble gravestone, the bastards should leave you alone.
'If I die, Hon, I wish for you to start over, find Mister terrific and start a new life.' What a dumb thing to say! A dumb thing that only a living person would say! He knew the risks when he joined the corps, space mining was dangerous, that's why the money was good. He knew the risks, he wrote every week, explaining what he'd done that week, and every fourth week, he'd ask her if her periods were hurting her. No! If she finds Mr. Terrific, he'll ask her that! His question! They'll probably have three kids and become super rich. They'll probably do it in his bed. His *martial* bed! And hell, she'd probably enjoy it! They'd use the condoms he left in the bedside cabinet. The ones he bought for a joke, the flavoured ones!
'NO!' he screamed. 'Nooooooooooo!' He slammed his fist into the desk. The fist passed silently through the steel and smashed with incredible force into his testicles. You see, Kevin wasn't alive, he was a hologram. A software ghost. As he lay squealing in the foetal position, he thought about his life, and his death, and how much it sucked. He wondered why they had brought him back. If they'd let him have his new emerphiral body, absolutely fine. He'd float around in his new shiny body in the next plane of existence and be as happy as Larry. If after death, he ceased to be - again, fine, but why the hell would they bring him back? Down below on Earth, in the small town of South Park, Kenny McCormick was going to solve all his problems.
Kenny McCormick sat in the 'Ooh Laa Laa' Cafe. He ordered a double rum without ice. He couldn't stand a rum without ice, but the cubes would be clanking around in the glass, transmitting his fear of the oncoming threat of death. A lap dancing came along a began to strip in front of him. His eyes diverted from the gaze when three large men walked in. Arms like tanks, legs like rolls of carpet, the only bodies that looked good in a posing position. The largest of the three sat in the two seater pink sofa, taking up both spaces. The other two forced themselves into chairs, the chairs making wide vees when the men were sat in them. The waiter came over and took their order, three coffees, deceive. They talked, small talk, trouble parking, weather etc.. But Kenny couldn't help but feel they wanted to tear off their clothes, get nude and begin oiling up. He looked over to the man in the sofa, fiddling with the lock on his briefcase. Everything was too small for him. He couldn't help for a second but feel sorry for him, but then he noticed he had a pair of industrial sized bolt clippers and then focused back onto the situation at hand. They slid over a paper and pen and Kenny told them how he couldn't sign this document. Kenny McCormick left the ooh laa laa cafe carrying his nose in the panties of a stripper.
Stan flicked on the "for hire" light in his hopper and bounced
off down fifth and main at the speed of an irratic gazelle. Hoppers were
introduced to the city of South Park when congestion got so bad, that cars
had to be abolished. Traffic jams were appalling. People were know to have
died of starvation in particularly bad ones. Hoppers could bounce over
obstructions and spent most of they're time in the air. But, parking was
still an issue. In London, people parked were it was possible. In Paris,
people parked were it wasn't possible. In South Park, people parked atop of
people who were parked were it wasn't possible. Stacks of hoppers, three,
maybe four high lined the roads as Astros and space guys went wallet bulging
crazy after three years in deep space with no female companionship if you
get what I'm saying. South Park was a popular stop off point for asters
looking for a good time, owned by a corrupt mayor with links to the Spainien
Mafia, prostitution legalised and gambling legalised, it had a wealthy
income of money and since it was owned by Spain, their was an endless supply
of bad spanish Coffee and bad spanish tobacco. Stan wanted out of this dump,
and stealing hoppers was the way of doing it. When all the hopper drivers
congregated in one hopper for warmth and a conversation, he'd steal the rear
most hopper and go round the seedier parts of South Park were no police and
absolutely no hopper drivers went.
How Stan arrived in South Park was still somewhat of a mystery.
He remembered going to a Monopoly pub crawl around new York. They would have
a drink at every square and continue round the board. At the square garden,
they had pina coladas, at the empire state building, bloody marys. After
half way round the board, four of the eight remained, and only two of those
had the power of speech. Stan remembered seeing a advert in the back of a
taxi about trips abroad, to the heart of America. Then, a horrible, grey
gunky blackness. He remembered waking up in a McDonalds bar in South Park,
wearing fishing waders and a pink crimpalene hat. He had a passport in the
name of 'Sandra Bollocks' and most frightening of all, he had a worrying
rash.
If Stan had set about his hopper stealing scheme more business
like, he could of been out of South Park within a month, but since yo had to
pay the customs officers to sneak you out, it usually cost eight hundred
dollars. And since Stan found South Park so depressing-even more depressing
than Denver- he usually blew all his money on booze. And since drink was so
ludicrously expensive in south Park, Stan only ever had enough to get him in
the mood for serious drinking and then his money ran out. He'd then leave
for the shuttle port and hire a left luggage locker, and sleep in it.
Stan bounced heavily down the avenue leading to Denver,
occaisionally missing the pedestrians. The suspension was shot to hell, and
the next landing was the worst. He hit a drain cover and bit his ciggarette
in half. The smouldering end rolled inbetween his legs and disapeared. He
could smell burning hair, and since he was the only thing in this hopper
with hair, it was obvious that something on him was on fire. But all the
parts that had hair he like, they were his favourite bits. He looked for a
place to park, in South park on a saturday night? Good luck! The hopper
caroomed off the road and took a large chunk out a neon sign boasting car
insureance before he wrestled it back under control. Smoke was pluming from
between his legs as he grabbed the thermos flask from the seat next to him.
He fiddled with the unfamilear lid before pouring the contents over his
loins. The hiss marked the end of the cigarette before Stan smelt coffee.
Piping hot coffee. Piping hot coffee that was covering his genitals. The
pain hit before he tipped a bottle of upholstery cleaner over his legs. He
spotted a uniformed officer and pulled over to him.
'Twenty-Second and third.' The officer said.
'Goin' to a brothel?' Asked Stan as the officer stepped in.
'No! I am an officer and to not frequent brothels.' He tapped
the gold lapels on his blazer.
'Well, I thought become 22nd and third is slap bang in the
middle of the red light area.'
'You're paid to drive, not think.' Stan flicked on the "hired"
sign and changed the gear to jump and bounded off down the freeway.
'What's it like?' Asked Stan.
'What's what like?'
'The corps, I'm thinking of joining up. D'ya need any
qualifications?'
'Not really, they don't let in any old riff raff.' Stan
watched in jelously as a hopper sped past him with the grace of a rabbit.
Stan's hopper had the grace of an overweight hippo. The legs retracted into
their housing a thudded into the ground, throwing the hopper fifty feet down
the road. On the landing, the officer's head disapeared into the thick
matting of the roof.
'what the hell is wrong with the susp-' his head reamerged and
his finished his scentence. '-ension?!'
'It's the roads.' Stan lied. He pulled to a stop outside a
restaurant and looked round. He didn't want to cruise around in the
break-your-back wagon for another fare.
'Do you want me to wait? I don't mind.' He asked before the
officer stepped out.
'I here the South Park three eyed fish is very equisite. Then
there's desert, brandy, cigars. Say...ten minutes? PLay it safe, twenty.'
'Fine.' Stan watched his fare walk over to the restuarant and
look at the menu, before turning and walking straight into a building with
the large neon sign flashing 'Girls, Girls, Girls, Sex, Sex, Sex'. Kenny McCormick put the antique charlie & weston to his mouth
and put his finger near the trigger.
"I bet this doesn't work." How wrong was he. The gun went off,
splattering brains all over his cabin, and sending the bullet straight
through the largest, greenest leaf on his rubber plant. The rubber plant was
shocked. If the rubber plant could talk, it wouldn't, that's how shocked it
was. When the coroners hauled away the dead body of Kenny, and mourners
walked past his cabin, muttering and looking around. They didn't know why
Kenny blew his own head into three differnt peaces, but the rubber plant
did. Stan looked at his watch. It had been forty five minutes since
his fare left for the restaurant. He looked outside into the dark streets as
two pimps were fighting over a girl called 'Cindy'. He unscrewed the thermos
and poured what remained into the lid, lighting a cigarette, looking out
into the South Park Night. What could be better than drinking spanish coffee
and smoking spanish tobacco? Well, having your body rubbed vigourously with
a cheese grater sprung to mind.
Saturday nights in South Park were pretty wild. Infact,
AMAZING wild would still be an understatement. They're so wild, that the
South Park had to add an extra day to their callender. Saturday, Sunday 1,
Sunday 2, monday. They needed the extra day to recover from the Saturday.
Stan didn't notice as the hopper rocked gently from one side
to the other. He looked up and an ear landed on the windsheild with a
sickening plop. It was joined by another, smaller, one.
"What's going on? It's raining ears." He turned on the
windscreen wipers and wiper fluid and the ears were gone and so were the
pimps. He slid the taxi-driver's night stick up his arm and locked the
hopper on his way out. He stepped over a dead pimp and walked into the
'Girls, Girls, Girls' building. Stan entered the plush lobby and looked at the reception desk.
He watched a small, ginger, man walk up to the receptionist and take an
order.
'What buttocks would sir like?' she asked.
'Cidy's left, Mandy's right.'
'What would you like breast and face wise?'
'I'll have barbie's boobs and Charlene's face.'
'Barbies boobs, very popular. And legs?'
'Mary's.' The recpetionist clapped her hands and two
technisions began swapping buttocks, replacing breats and swapping faces,
what seemed to be much at the man's delight. Stan had trouble keeping his
lunch in. When the red man had walked off with his prosti-droid, he walked
over to the recpetionist.
'Hello, sir. Would You like a pic-n-mix or an off the peg?'
She asked.
'No, you don't understand-' Stan replied.
'We have some lovely boy-droids.'
'No, I don't want a boy droid.' The receptionist clapped her
hands again and a flock of sheep bleeted their way down the corridor.
'No-'
'Baaa.'
'Look, listen.'
'Baaaa.'
'SHUT UP!' The sheep walked away, the last turning and winking
at him, then walking off swing it's hips provocotatly.
'Oh, god no. I'm looking for someone, an officer.' He followed
the receptionist through to the sauna room. His fare sat in a jacuzzi talking to the building manager.
'You should've heard my screams! She nearly ripped the damn
thing off!'
'It was a slight circuitry problem, would Sir like another,
courtesy of the house.'
'Are you insane? It's going to be out of commission for at
least three months!' He looked up and saw Stan. He continued his
conversation pretending he hadn't seen Stan. 'You know, I think I will have
that bladderfish. But I have seen a fin of it. You know, I think this is a
brothel.' On the journy back, the officer was applying a fake moustache
and clearing his throat. Stan felt for the fare enhancer under the dashboard
and found it.
'Could you, please keep my little accident under wraps? People
speak.'
'Sure, man.' Stan stopped the judder-mobile outside the
spaceport and let the officer out. He handed over his fare and a one dollar
tip.
'Here, enjoy yourself on me.' The officer limped away and just
before he reached the doors, Stan leant out and screamed 'HEY! WHOREMONGER!'
The officer ran back and hissed in his ear.
'People have ears!"'
'Instead of a 100 dollar tip you've given me one.' The officer
reached into his money belt and pulled out a wallet.
'I supose I have to pay the fine. It's a dirty world.' He
handed over a stale smelling note and Stan read the ensignia. Pip, B.S.C,
S.S.C, G.S.C.
'See ya, Pip.'
'Yeah, bye.' Pip said instictivly.Kevin lay on the psychiratrists chair, at least it looked like he was
lying. Infact, he was suspended a quater of a millimetre above the chair
whilst the shrink tried to get it into him that he wasn't Kevin.
'Kevin is dead, mmkay?' The counselour said.
'A four tonne wrecking ball hit him on the head, he couldn't
be deader.'
'But, you are not Kevin.'
'Yes I am.'
'Listen to this, You think, therefor you might possibly be.'
the shrink blurted out.
'What?' Kevin asked.
'You are not Kevin.'
'Yes I am.'
' No, you're not. You are a computer representation of Kevin.
The real Kevin is off floating around in his new soul exsistence.'
'I think, so I might possibly be?'
'Yes!'
'Yes! You're finally getting it!'
' No I'm not, I'm an engineer, not a philosopher. Dammit, can't
you just turn me off?'
'OK, let's try this again.' He was talking like a father
talking to a baby that had splattered mushed up apricot and banana baby food
on his new suit. 'You are not Kevin. You are a graphical representation that
Ike thinks that's how Kevin would act. OK?'
'Yes, I think I understand.'
'Thank you!'
'Later, Doc.' He walked out, mumbling to himself. Clyde ran in
through the hatch, passing straight through kevin.
'Sorry, Kevin, but I've got some bad news for you.'
'I'm being transferred to the womens genechology department?'
'No, Kenny McCormick just killed himself and since he's a
higher rank than you-'
'I'm going to be turned off?'
'The boys upstairs aren't sure, he killed himself, so he could
be unstable.'
'This is hella great!' He was dancing on the spot.
'Why, Kevin?' asked the shrink.
'I'm going to die for the second time in two weeks!' 'First name.' The recruitment officer said.
'Stan.'
'Surname.'
'I told you, Stan.'
'So, you're called Stan Stan?'
'So, I'm called Stan Marsh.' Jesus reached for the tip-ex.
Stan stared out the window and tried to read the big bold letters. "ECIFFO
TNEMTIURCER KRAP HTUOS"
'Date of Birth.' Jesus asked.
'Unknown.'
'Whadda mean "unknown?"'
'I don't know when my birthday is. I am twenty five though.
Found in '09.'
'So, when do you celebrate your birthday?'
'Most of the time acctaully.'
'Does October the 26th sound fine?'
'Sweet.'
'Qualifications.'
'C programming. But it doesn't really count does it?'
'Why?'
'I failed.' Jesus obblitterated the word 'GCSE' and replaced
with 'no-hoper'
'Why do yo want to be a member of the Space cor.?'
'I want...to explore strange new worlds. To seek out new
civilizations, to boldly go when no other person want's to.' Jesus wrote
'possibly mentally unstable.' Jesus' job was to promote the Space cor. as a
welcomed future for people. But when they'd get in, they'd know the truth.
But, he had to sit in a warm office, with two people arm in arm in a large
painting, recruiting suckers like this jerk to give themselves to them.
'I just need your signature and then you're in.' Stan
scribbled down his signiture and pocketed the pen and holder. 'At the moment
there are no ships available with your qualifications.'
'What qualifications do I have?'
'you have none. You will enter at the D technision level.'
'Tech-Nish-Ern. I'm a technishern don't yew now!' Stan rolled
the word round his mouth.
'Do you8 have an adress we could contact you at?' After some
debate, they agreed on Luggage locker 245, space port. 'This Has got to be a joke.' The Saints said as they walked up
to Stan's home. She rapped on the metal door with the baton. The Saints were
the people you did not mess with unless you wanted your skull re-aranged to
look similar to a map of the fault lines of Mars.
'I still say this is a Joke.' She knocked on it again and Stan
came out his paralictic sleep. He was dreaming of a pickle sandwhich that
spoke fluent Japanese and they traveled through the world's clubs
translating dity jokes.
'Uh, hello?' He asked.
'Is 'Stan' there?'
'Yeah. Why do you want him?' He stalled for time as he pulled
on his coffee and upholstery satined combat trousers.
'They've found him a ship. It's leaving today.' Stan kicked
open the door of his luggage locker and jumped down six feet.
'You're-'
'Hang on, I can't see.' He placed a hand on his chin and the
base of his neck. He pulled his head upwards, then to the left and right
with an assortment of gut-churning sounds. He rubbed his eyes and blinked
rapidly until the two Saints came into focus.
'I would invite you in, but it's more of a bachelor luggage
locker. Do we have time for breakfast?'
'Yeah.' He skipped over to the "Nice n' Noodley" fast food
joint and ate a half eaten noodle burger that people of the weaker
constitutions could handle. He finished off the octuple-thick milkshake and
wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
'You may think I'm a slob, but I'm just hungry. I would take
you out to dinner if I wasn't leaving.' He was talking to the female.
'Yeah, we could've rooted around in the bins outside the curry
house and grabbed a couple of Kormas. Then back to your place for some
parafin, it could've been *so* romantic.'
'Yeah, it would've wouldn't it?' He smiled.
'Let's go.' The female Saint said as he skipped after them,
matching her speed as he caught up. Stan watched a two mile long ship flitter past his window as
he stood up to look at it.
'SIT DOWN BACK THERE!' The pilot screamed from the front.
'What? Fuck off, bitch.'
'What did you say?!'
' Duck's can itch.'
'Yes, I supose they can.' He was aware of a whiskey laden
breath behind his head. He ignored it, and looked back at his window again.
It was filled with Red, Lot's of Red.
RED
RED
AND RED.
'The Ike.' Stan turned to see a guy in a green jacket. 'Kyle
Broslofski.'
' You'll have to write that down. Stan Marsh. That has to be at
least five miles long.'
'Summink like that. It could eat South Park and have Denver
for afters.' The shuttle swung round and prepared to dock with the Ike.
'SIT DOWN BACK THERE!'
'AHHHHHH!' Stan screamed back.
'AHHHHHHHHH!' The pilot screamed as well.
'AHHHHHHHHHHHH!'
'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!' The shuttle swung into the docking bay,
Crabtree screaming throughout. When it came to a stop, they all ran off and
into the main ship.In the mess hall, the four hundred off-duty officers listened to the
obituary that the captain was reading out. It described how Kenny had lost
all his money on the game of "Gazmo". Gazmo was a game were two lesbian bred
snails with vibrators on tenticles were placed into a ring and the first one
to orgasm lost. Although it took at least five hours to actually 'find' the
hole, the punters consumed insane amounts of alcohol and put more and more
money onto their favourite snail. If the snail missed and hit the side of
the other lesbian snail, it would retreat into it's shell and wait in there
for three hours. When Kenny lost three times his annual salary, he took a
loan from "Happy Family" loan company which took fine print to the next
dimension. In the microdot in the dot of the i in family, which said
"Welcome to the family, you never get out". When kenny payed off the debts,
he received his first bill. He noticed that the average APR was 976%, so in
fact, he owed them fifty times what he originally took out from them.
Representitives from the happy family loan company met him in a strip joint
in South Park. Kenny told them he couldn't sign the document and the people
at the joint watched as Kenny got force fed his own nose. When he left, he
regretted signing the "Pay-up-by-midnight-and-don't-get-murdered" scheme and
left for his cabin. He explained his predicament to his rubber plant and
gave his cabin a new lick of paint.
'That was a lovely obituary, I'm glad I wrote it.' Kenny said,
rubbing the back of his head.
''Hey, Stan.' The sober Kyle said.
'Yeah.' Stan replied.
'I've got this urge to go OH MY GOD! THEY KILLED KENNY!'
'YOU BASTARDS!' Everyone's eye's fixed on them.
'Ned gave us LSD!' Everyone looked at Ned.
'Mmmdammit.' He was hauled off by the shoulders and taken to
the brig. Afterwards, they all sat around a table. Stan watched people
dancing, people singing, people kissing. But he didn't know that in seven
months, every single on of them -bar him and Kyle- would be dead.-End, for now.
Stumpy "The gopher boy" Grasshopper.