When You Get Married |

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Stan Marsh

Stan adjusted his tie, his eyes locked on the giant mirror in front of him. He looked stunning, however his hair kept sticking up.

Growling, the combed a hand through his dark, shaggy locks. "Hm." He hummed, still combing.

He smirked.

It looked great.

"Hot." He mumbled, right before leaving out the dressing room doors and down the aisle.

- - - - -

Kyle Broflovski

Kyle took in a deep breath. He wasn't ready just yet to go out the doors.

"Where's that dang tie?" He whispered, frantically looking around the room, the ringer on his phone going off. "Three minutes!" He screeched, looking harder around the messy dressing room.

"Ah, damn it! Where did I leave it?!" He yelled, his heart rate slowing when he saw the tie placed neatly on the dresser.

"I'm overreacting," he said, adjusting the tie around his neck.

"I hope I don't ruin this for ______," he whispered, then he was out the door and down the aisle.

- - - - -

Kenny McCormick

Kenny smirked. He looked like an animal in his blue tuxedo. His dirty blonde hair was combed over messily, and his collar was slightly ripped. He'd had sex with his soon-to-be wife earlier, and had to scurry to get dressed after she'd left to get ready herself.

For their wedding.

"Not much to fix," he commented, "I look sexy, like always."

After winking at himself in the mirror, he left the room, hoping to see his fiancé in that tight dress he'd bought her.

- - - - -

Eric Cartman

"Ah, god damn it!" Eric yelled, tripping over the tenth thing today.

He growled, throwing the chair to the other side of the room. "This wedding better be worth it!" He said, remembering ______ and why he was here exactly.

"That beautiful bitch." He mumbled, walking towards the door. "You owe me."

Then he left the room... tripping over the rug while walking down the aisle.

- - - - -

Craig Tucker

"Fuck this." Craig said, crossing his arms at his mirror.

Besides his mother yelling at him to constantly be ready in five minutes, he was having a hard time getting his tuxedo right.

"Fuck, damn it!" He yelled, pulling the sleeves up, then back down. "How in the hell does anyone wear these damned things?!"

He groaned. Three minutes.

"Fuck it. I'm not impressing anyone." And with that, he was out the door, flipping people off who told him he didn't look presentable.

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